Um Mondneujahr, von einem Essen zum nächsten,
fällt mir beim Fahren ein Lied ein, vom Flaschensammeln.
80er Jahre, ich hab eine Armeetasche,
mit Notizbuch, Feder, Zigaretten, Zündhölzer
und eine Kassette von Su Rui.
Das Titellied, vom Flaschensammeln.
Ein paar Jahrzehnte sind vergangen.
In meinem Herzen bleibt ein Bild,
eine alte Frau ist unterwegs, kauft leere Flaschen,
sie hat ein Kind daheim, das auf sie wartet,
das Kind bin ich.
Heimfahrt auf regennasser Strasse,
kühler Wind kommt durchs Fenster,
sehr angenehm.
Will ein Gedicht schreiben,
weiß noch nicht wie.
Zheng Zhongji singt schwermütig aus den Lautsprechern,
“Nie erwähnen, dass ich dich liebe”
Warum kann man nicht sagen, dass man jemand liebt?
Von der Guanghua-Strasse in die Guanshan-Strasse.
Ein Arbeiter in Leuchtweste auf einer Hochleiter
repariert gerade eine Straßenlampe.
Er könnte nach zehntausend Sternen greifen,
warum konzentriert er sich auf die Lampe?
Sie kamen aus allen Himmelsrichtungen im Unterleib der S-förmigen Gestalt in diese katholische Schule. Am Vormittag auswendig lernen von “Pfaue fliegen nach Südosten”, am Nachmittag Rezitieren aus dem Truyện Kiều. Sie aßen Fladen aus Fujian, tranken Coca-Cola mit Eis, Salz und Zitrone. Sie schauten Lady Chatterley’s Lover und hörten “Heute kommst du nicht heim” von Yao Surong. Sie lernten für die Matura und waren verliebt.
Aus welchem Grund würd ichs vergessen?
Tränen fließen entlang der immer wieder nach Süden begradigten Fronten des Unterleibs. Der Fluß rauscht ganz nah an den Straßen der Stadt. Ein Kampflugzeug fliegt den Nachbarn ins Wohnzimmer. Ein Panzer bricht durch den Bildschirm des Fernsehers. Ein Stahlhelm ohne Gesicht nach dem anderen hebt sich fragend zum Himmel. Eine Uniform ohne Glieder nach der anderen lässt die M16 sinken. Ein Flachboot ohne Pulverdampf nach dem anderen. Ein Mädchen winkt und wird getrennt.
Aus welchem Grund werd ich 2022 den Jahrestag des Falls von Saigon vor 47 Jahren vergessen?
Ich komm zurück vom Meer,
der behinderte Sänger
singt auf dem Damm,
Brennende Liebe, ich mag das Lied.
Er hat lauter Tränen im Gesicht.
Wieviele Geschichten hat er hinter sich?
Ich bleib stehen und warte, bis er fertig ist.
Ich hab auch lauter Tränen in meinem Gesicht.
Wie viele Geschichten hab ich hinter mir?
Ich schau auf den Boden, scan seinen Barcode,
und geb ihm fünfzig Yuan.
Ich zahl die Rechnung für die Traurigkeit.
Die koreanische Kirche
lässt einen nicht rauchen,
lässt einen nicht trinken.
Am Samstag kommt aus China
ein gut geeichter Herr.
Ich hab ihn bewirtet.
Am nächsten Tag zu Mittag
gehts in die Kirche zum Gottesdienst.
Ich komm rein, sing mit dem Chor,
der Lobpreis klingt wie Trauermusik,
ich fang an zu schnarchen.
Die Leute in meiner Bank
rütteln mich hin und her,
kriegen mich nicht wach.
Es geht nicht anders,
der Pfarrer kommt selbst vom Altar
bis an meine Seite
und schreit,
Herr Hong,
Station Paradies!
Ich blinzle ein bisschen,
frag den Herrn Pfarrer,
wieso seh ich dann Jesus nicht,
leg meinen Kopf auf die Schulter
der schönen Christin rechts neben mir
und schnarch weiter.
In der Schlafzimmerwand ist ein Loch für die Klimananlage. Letztes Jahr haben Spatzen darin ihr Nest gebaut. Ihre ganze Familie hat immer um fünf Uhr früh oder so mit lautem Gezwitscher unsere ganze Familie aufgeschreckt. In diesem langen Virusfrühling, nur daheim, nirgends hingehen, hab ich jeden Tag gewartet auf die verschiedenen hellen Stimmen die aus den Wänden ertönen. Aber bis jetzt hab ich sie nicht wieder gehört. Ich sag mir zum Trost, die haben sicher ein besseres Haus für sie gefunden.
t says I don’t understand what t says he says no, no, no you’re wrong. when he was a t, everything was t. everything was t. he says even though you know what you know he knows he is ready to t, couse you’re making him t like he’s never been teed.
rump says I don’t understand what rump says he says no, no, no you’re wrong. when he was a rump, everything was rump. everything was rump. he says even though you know what you know he knows he is ready to rump, cause you’re making him rump like he’s never been rumped.
rump says he knows what it’s like to be rump. he knows what it is to be rump.
rump says who put all those rumps in your rump? rumps that make you rump like he rumps. and he’s making you rump like you’ve never been rumped.
How many pence must a pence pence down,
before you pence him a pence?
And how many pence must a white pence pence, before he pens
in the pence?
Yes, and how many pence must the pence’s balls pence,
before they’re forever penced?
The pences, my pence are pencin’ in the pence, the pences are pencin’ in the pence.
How many pence can the pences expense,
before they are penced to the pence?
And how many pence can some pence expense,
before they’re allowed to be pence? Yes, and how many pence can a pence turn his pence,
pretending he just doesn’t pence?
The pences, my pence are pencin’ in the pence, the pences are pencin’ in the pence.
How many pence must a pence pence up before he can pence the pence?
Yes and how many pence must one pence pence before he can hear pences pence?
And how many pence will he pence till he pens that too many pences have penced?
The pences, my pence are pencin’ in the pence, the pences are pencin’ in the pence.
my nephew from america
eric wan
spent a year in china to learn chinese
now he’s going back
he sums it up for me:
“in my year in china
I ’ve learned two chinese songs ….”
he sings them to me
oh! I know at once
the first is the national anthem
of the people’s republic
“march of the volunteers”
the second one is the song of the young pioneers
”we carry on for communism …”
he makes me laugh
I ask him,
“they made you a young pioneer?”
he says,
“I don’t know,
I got a red scarf
from our teacher”
June 2015
Tr. MW, 2015
Yi Sha 《親眼所見》 SAW IT WITH MY OWN EYES
a rainy day
a sprinkler truck
still spraying water
and with a song
one of those red
revolutionary anthems
just like a cartoon
June 2015
Tr. MW, 2015
Yi Sha 《在北京仲夏詩歌節上》 BEIJING MIDSUMMER POETRY FESTIVAL
somehow I pity him
before and after
he reads a poem
he has to stress
his understanding of poetry
making him different
how many times I’ve heard him say
exactly the same with my own ears?
on the other hand
I put three centuries between me and him
between myself and other people
but I don’t explain that
it would be beneath me
that year our teacher loved chi zhiqiang
actor who went to jail for loose behaviour
we had a contest for prison songs
my “tears on prison bars” earned me first prize:
black “hero” fountain pen
du you think you are an existentialist?
do you think you like to eat zha jiang mian?
do you think you are collecting antiques?
do you think you are following fashion?
do you think you have improved since you started?
do you think you have fulfilled your ideals?
do you think you’re a patriot?
do you think you love the truth?
do you think you dare to say it?
do you think you don’t fear retribution?
do you think you’re a good writer?
do you think you’re a poet?
do you think you’re a good mother?
do you think you’re a good father?
do you think you have loved?
do you think you are moral?
do you think microblogging makes China improve?
question mark mark mark
do you think they are prophets?
do you think you’re a groupie?
do you think there are things you don’t talk about?
do you think there are people you cannot offend?
do you think this novel is your autobiography?
do you think you have talent?
do you think your stuff is going to last?
do you think you have secrets?
do you think you have a big heart?
do you think you are fair to everyone?
do you think you’re responsible?
do you think you play by the rules?
do you think you have nothing to be ashamed of?
do you think you are self-important?
do you think you want revenge?
do you think you are scared of dying?
do you think you make people like you?
do you think you make people hate you?
do you think you have a future?
do you think you are falling behind?
do you think you are lonely?
do you think you are writing a poem?
this girl makes you crazy
let her go on babbling
asking herself
Tr. MW, June 2014
Chun Sue DREAMING OF LIVING INSIDE A DREAM
Tr. MW, June 2014
Published in EPIPHANY magazine, fall 2014. Go on, look for this great Chinese Dream! I spent October 2014 at Vermont Studio Center with Yi Sha, editor of the daily New Century Poetry series 新世纪诗典. Chun Sue is one of the most well-known figures within this huge independent circle of poets.
Chun Sue MORNING, AVENUE OF ETERNAL PEACE
Little Brother says: dad, Avenue of Eternal Peace
take a good look
This is the road you walked for over 20 years
I am sitting with Papa and Little Brother
I am almost crying
Finally I know
why I like the Avenue of Eternal Peace
Slowly the car passes the Military Museum
and the red walls of Zhongnanhai
and Xinhua Gate
Papa is small now he fits in an ash box
sitting between us
doesn’t take up much space
We pass the Gate of Heavenly Peace
and I see him
He stands on the square
watching us while we’re passing
Why was it so hard to write about you
You’re the son of a peasant
I was born in a village
I am also the child of a peasant
I put on army songs for you all night
Crying my heart out —
I like all that too.
李勤岸Li Khin-huann
Translated by Tiunn Boo-thinn 譯 …
We planted sunflowers at Parliament
To bring some sunshine inside
To bring all that mold to light
To bring the people’s rights to light
We planted sunflowers on the president’s lawn
To throw the floodgates wide open
And flood away the steel webs of a dictator
And let the young whales of democracy swim on, and on and on
We planted sunflowers in the streets
To bloom come rain and bloom come wind
To bloom for always and for all days
By the darkening roads we must yet take
We’re planting flowers in every alley and every valley
In the cities and in the country
In the mountains and by the sea
The sun will still flower
May the will of young hearts
Rise up high in our free skies
阮種日頭花
–《人面冊ê花蕊》264
李勤岸
Li Khin-huann
WE PLANT A SUNFLOWER
we plant a sunflower in parliament
to draw in the sun
stir up the poor state of our congress
stir it up for the rights of our people
we plant a sunflower in the president’s palace
to call a young sea spirit of Taiwan democracy
to stir up a flood
to sweep away the iron nets of dictatorship
we plant a sunflower on every street
to brave wind and rain
to stir and bloom
to shine a light on our dark road ahead
we plant a sunflower on every corner
in the village in the city
on the mountains at the sea
to stir and bloom
our spirit of youth
will brighten our homeland and our skies
Li Cheng’en, born in the 1980s. Published poetry, essays and a novel.
As soon as I read this, I was reminded of Woeser 唯色, the Tibetan poet. Didn’t know Li Cheng’en was also a woman. All those verses with “I give” could be “I gave”. In the Chinese, there is no difference. The sentence construction is also unique. It is the “ba-construction”. Sometimes the “ba” is a “jiang”, but not here. Anyway, it’s a construction often discussed in Chinese grammar. Literally I think it’s like saying “I take my flesh and give it to the mud for keeping”. Maybe you could also just say “I put my flesh into the mud”, or into the soil. But why would you call on the mud to hold it for you? MW
My translation was originally based on this picture version sent around on Tencent Weibo and Sina Weibo as part of Yi Sha‘s regular New Century Poetry Canon. Li Cheng’en has since told me about a mistake in the copying process. In the Weibo image “warmth” or literally body warmth occurs twice. Li Cheng’en says it should be “eyes” instead of warmth the first time. So originally I had “I give my warmth to the sun and the moon. When I need it, please give it back!” I like both versions. Somehow I’m glad about the mistake. Makes for closer attention.
In German, I first had “ich borg’ meine wärme der sonne dem mond – wenn ich sie brauche, gebt mir’s zurück!”.
I am still not sure about how to translate all these “ba-construction” – verses in German. Now they sound stranger than before, but this is how I had them first. The German equivalents of “please give it back” or “please give them back” sound very colloquial. It’s not standard grammar. Some people don’t like that. Maybe I’ll find a better version later.
MW
Li Cheng’en
GEISTERBESCHWÖRUNG
im traum im hotel
hör’ ich ein lied
“ich nehme mein fleisch und geb’ es dem lehm.
wenn ich es brauche, gib mir’s zurück!
ich nehm’ meine knochen und gib sie den steinen.
wenn ich sie brauche, gebt mir’s zurück!
ich nehme mein blut und geb es den flüssen.
wenn ich es brauche, gebt mir’s zurück!
ich nehme mein hirn und geb es dem berg.
wenn ich es brauche, gib mir’s zurück.
ich borg’ meine augen der sonne dem mond –
wenn ich sie brauche, gebt mir’s zurück.
ich nehm’ meine wärme und geb sie dem herd
wenn ich sie brauche, gib mir’s zurück.
nur das herz muss ich selbst mit mir tragen … ”
ich wache auf
öffne das fenster
seh’ eine kleine bewegung am berg.
ein dünner bach
aus meinem traum.
ist es meine
wandelnde seele?
kommt sie zurück?
ich behalte
ein staubiges herz.
doch meine seele
wo ist sie verborgen?
wer gibt sie zurück?
Übersetzt von Martin Winter im Oktober 2013
Li Cheng’en, geboren in den 1980er Jahren. Publizierte einen Roman, Gedichtbände, Essays.
Picture by Sara Bernal
李成恩
招魂歌咒
我在旅馆的梦里
隐隐听到了招魂歌咒
“我把肉体寄存给泥土
要的时候你可得还啊
我把骨头寄存给石头
要的时候你可得还啊
我把鲜血寄存给江水
要的时候你可得还啊
我把脑浆寄存给雪山
要的时候你可得还啊
我把眼睛寄存给日月
要的时候你可得还啊
我把体温寄存给炉火
要的时候你可得还啊
只有心我得自己带走… …”
我醒来后
推开窗户
看见雪山缓缓移动
一条薄薄的河流
像是从我的梦里流出
我的魂魄
游走了？
还是回来了？
我守住了
一颗沾满灰尘的心
但我的魂魄
寄存在哪里？
谁又能还我？
Li Cheng’en
GEISTERBESCHWÖRUNG
im traum im hotel
hör’ ich ein lied
“ich habe mein fleisch dem lehm anvertraut.
wenn ich es brauche, gib’s mir zurück!
ich hab’ meine knochen den steinen gegeben.
wenn ich sie brauche, gebt mir’s zurück!
ich habe mein blut den flüssen gegeben.
wenn ich es brauche, gebt mir’s zurück!
ich hab’ mein gehirn dem berg anvertraut.
wenn ich es brauche, gib mir’s zurück.
ich borg’ meine wärme der sonne dem mond –
wenn ich sie brauche, gebt mir’s zurück.
ich nehm’ meine wärme und geb sie dem herd
wenn ich sie brauche, gib mir’s zurück.
nur das herz muss ich selbst mit mir tragen … ”
ich wache auf
öffne das fenster
seh’ eine kleine bewegung am berg.
ein dünner bach
aus meinem traum.
ist es meine
wandelnde seele?
kommt sie zurück?
ich behalte
ein staubiges herz.
doch meine seele
wo ist sie verborgen?
wer gibt sie zurück?
Übersetzt von Martin Winter im Oktober 2013
Li Cheng’en, geboren in den 1980er Jahren. Publizierte einen Roman, Gedichtbände, Essays.
irgendwann beisst die kaelte zu
wenn du draussen wohnst
kennst du die wege
unten am bach, wo das licht nicht hinkommt
koennen enten im wasser schlafen?
enten stecken den kopf in die federn
im schilf in den straeuchern im haus auf der insel
obdachlose schlafen am spielplatz
jedesmal wenn sie ein spielzeug verliert
einen kleinen drachen eine matrioschka
ist meine tochter traurig.
manchmal singt sie dem spielzeug ein lied.
one day or another you feel the jaws
when you live out there
you know the paths
by the stream where the light can’t enter.
are they sleeping on the water?
ducks tuck their head in their feathers
in the reeds in the growth in their house on the island
sometimes the homeless sleep on the playground
each time she looses a toy
a little dragon a matryoshka
my daughter is sad.
sometimes she’ll sing her plaything a song.
I don’t think Murong Xuecun exaggerates, like one commentator suggested on the MCLC list. Yes, you could encompass many alarming, saddening, embarrassing stories in one speech in other places than China, and people do it all the time, naming names, practices, products. The difference is that in China you will be silenced more swiftly and harshly. Yes, there are exceptions.
Does Mo Yan revel in cruelty like Dan Brown? Does Yu Hua make better use of the cruel parts in his novels? Ok, I’m an interested party, I can’t really say. Would be interesting to analyze in detail. Mo Yan’s novels are great works, at least those I have read, he has written a lot. Deep, cathartic, even accusing use of cruel events and structures. I love Yu Hua’s tone. And I associate Liu Zhenyun in Remember 1942, and Murong Xuecun’s Sky and Autumn speech.
We had Jeremiah in church today, along with that story where a guy goes abroad and gives his gold and silver to his servants. The ones that receive more trade with it, and when their lord comes back, they can give him double. The one who received very little buries it, and when the lord comes back, he digs it out and says, I know you are a harsh governor and reap where you haven’t sown, so I was afraid to lose what you gave me, and kept it double safe. His colleagues get to join the big party, and are rewarded with great posts. He is cast out into the darkness, which is filled with howling and chattering teeth. It’s a horrible story. Yes, it’s a parable, and if you have very little reason for faith, you should still risk it and try to make more, because if you bury it deep in your heart you might lose the little trust you had and received and be cast out into the darkness. But if you are the one who has reason to be afraid, how can you trust your lords? The ones who have more and get more have it easy. Even if they lose everything, they are often rewarded – those powerful managers and functionaries. And if there are enough of those who are cast out, and they get organized, maybe some bishops or other lords might dangle from lamp posts. A Hussite reading, said my wife. Yeah, maybe. No shortage of horrible stories in Chinese literature, like in the Bible.
Jeremiah is even worse, it’s a much bigger story, infinitely more horrible. And there is a detail, not in the Jeremiah parts used in church today, but in the songs in exile. By the rivers of Babylon, where we sat down, where we wept when we remembered Zion. And in the end the singer wishes, or the singers wish they will one day brutally kill the children of the oppressors. That’s the detail in Murong Xuecun’s speech I was thinking about.
The calling of Jeremiah, where he says he’s too young, and God says he has to go and obey, and open his mouth, and God will put His words into his mouth, and he will be set above nations and kingdoms, so he can pluck out and demolish, ruin and destroy, as well as plant and build. The preacher said she thought of parting and setting off to other posts, and how the Marschallin in Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s and Richard Strauss’ Rosenkavalier sings of what she will have to give up. What a horrible comparison! There is nothing light in Jeremiah. There are no waltzes. Ok, Rivers of Babylon, yes. But with Jeremiah, if you have to mention Austrian writers, Franz Werfel would be much more apt. Werfel was Jewish and used Jeremiah, a lot. Ok, she did mention, much too briefly how nobody would heed Jeremiah, and that it’s actually the most terrible story.
Anyway, when I heard Jeremiah, I thought of Bob Dylan. Masters of War. “How much do I know, to talk out of turn? You might say that I’m young; you might say I’m unlearned. But there is one thing I know, though I’m younger than you, it’s that Jesus would never forgive what you do. […] And I’ll watch while you’re lowered onto your deathbed, and I’ll stand on your grave and make sure that you’re dead.” I don’t know if Dylan thought of Nixon and Kissinger explicitly, when he wrote this song. America’s Vietnam War was raging, and I think the song came out when Nixon and Kissinger where in power. Anyway, there is that Monty Python song about Kissinger. Very explicit. Dylan and Monty Python would not be able to sing these songs in China on stage today, to say nothing about what Chinese artists can do. No, Murong Xuecun doesn’t exaggerate.
x and y
x was cruel
butt is sore
y was able
and suave.
both loved culture
both destroyed
hundred million
butts are cold
MW March 2007
Yes, I thought of Mao and Nixon, and their sidekicks. But x and y could stand for many people, and could be mentioned anywhere, at least today. Almost anywhere, probably. Anyway, it’s about smoking, you know. Littering. OK, enough for today.
中国大好き 