Awake in Nanjing

the instant the sky wakes my eyes are shut I’m listening to the rainfall huh 
 huh huh listening to half a lifetime of rainfall isn’t romantic
the sound of rainfall approaching unites with the sound of a solitary car
the car going away pushes the sound of rainfall away but maybe it’s not pushed 
 away so much as letting up
like someone’s existence maybe it’s not the person disappearing so much as 
 lightening

imagine raindrops hitting the ground umbrellas raincoats scenery soaked
one two three four five six construction sites of silent scaffolding cranes no 
 workers climbing up or down or all around
a shop owner figures umbrellas and raincoats will sell in weather like this

strange
light rain from the country falling on hard heads in the city
apricot blossoms in the light rain peeping through a window at a poetaster 
 sipping tea this is my image of Jiangnan

this is the Jiangnan of the scholarly landlord and the peasant in concert with 
 the maxim that houses of gold and jade-like faces are contained within 
 books
but are the Jiangnan of the small-business owner and the day laborer still 
 Jiangnan the capitalist’s Jiangnan
is definitely not Jiangnan since jade-like faces no longer seek shelter in books

why don’t the birds sing is it the morning’s fault or the birds’ fault
don’t they know I’m searching with ears of the blind
in Beijing the birds start singing at four a.m. but here what time do the birds 
 start singing this is a Shakespearean question

or else the birds have signed an agreement not to sing
Meng Haoran died about 1,300 years ago and for 1,300 years the little poem
 he wrote about birds singing has lived in his stead
that’s a long time for an American but won’t impress an Egyptian

Meng Haoran was used to a life of sharp mountains and clear waters so we 
 can infer how sharp and clear he looked
but we can’t imagine how he could make a living as a poet without ­representing 
 advanced social productive forces

it wasn’t strange for him to get something off his chest from time to time 
 and tell it to the river
is this why he stood apart from the crowd how trading up on his grievances 
 he associated with Wang Wei and Li Bai
but Wang Wei and Li Bai never acknowledged each other when they were 
 both in Chang’an they looked down on each other

the river flows on night and day oh the river flows by my bedside oh this is 
 too much

I’ll withdraw it

the river flows by the door of my hotel in Nanjing or Jinling or the ancient 
 capital of the Six Dynasties
is this a hotel or an inn or is this a guesthouse or is it a resort
to friends on the phone it’s a resort it’s an inn to me

what’s the difference the ancients only lived in inns and wrote poems on walls
but in the Republican era Fang Hongjian got a girl in bed only to find a dirty 
 ditty on the wall behind the pillow
written yesterday

girls girls though red lanterns are still raised over the river Qinhuai at night 
 there are no more seductress spirits just snack food
on a clean white bed lie four white pillows I use only two
body comfortable erection comfortable I’m in my yesterday not in my day 
 before I’m not in

in the symmetrical room in the mirror is another me are you the me I’m 
 symmetrical with
the red light in the left lower corner of the black TV screen is on to show the 
 power is on like the Young Pioneers showing they’re ready at any minute
use me
a press on the remote control and it’s the world of media

I open an eye and then shut it

who will die today whose nude photos released which factory explode
which police department will commit brutality today which bridge collapse 
 which politician detained

at 7:20 I hear the birds singing that’s incredibly late am I in some deep ravine

in the split sense of reality in my mind the birds started singing hours ago
I’ve never told anyone that the birds in my mind come from Jingting Mountain 
 not far from here
Li Bai saw the birds on Jingting Mountain all fly away but never learned 
 where those birds went they flew into my mind and won’t stop chirping

they’ve divided into sixteen competing camps and decided to hash it out in 
 my mind
hashing it out they have no idea they’re singing for the rising sun

while the birds singing outside do their best to satisfy Meng Haoran’s 
 eavesdropping
as if the world outside the window weren’t the real world only the world 
 where accidents happen is the real world
a world where accidents don’t happen can’t convince people of its reality like 
 Baudrillard’s simulacrum can be unsure sometimes

so someone who jumped off a roof was caught by someone on the street 
 stretching his arms
the one who stretched his arms to save him was crushed into paraplegia the 
 townspeople were so moved by the appeals in the newspaper they 
 donated money and goods
and the one who’d been saved refused to make a donation the turmoil in his 
 mind the night before he jumped
and the shocked parents of the one who was saved thought there’d be calm 
 and peace in the world

sounds of people in the hallway the bacteria in the carpet eat up all the 
 sounds of footsteps

at 7:25
the residue of a dream
Xia said the water in the pool was too cold so she got out put on a shirt and 
 went back in
the manager told her to get out he said you can’t wear shirts in the pool if 
 you’re cold you’ll have to put on three swimsuits

at 7:27
the residue of a dream
Feng hears someone knocking at the door asks who is it on the other side 
 someone says in a husky voice it’s me well good guy or bad guy
Feng asks what is it and on the other side someone says in a husky voice I’m 
 not sure

is a dream the past
if a dream isn’t the past why does the past try to keep up with dreams

I hear a toilet flush I’m alive others are alive too
the water-treatment plant in the vicinity of the Yangtze might make a 
 difference of thirty percent

but to piss directly into the Yangtze I won’t do that like Mencius ate meat 
 but kept clear of the kitchen
it’s a little hypocritical it’s the hypocrisy necessary for civilized behavior
if I can lie in bed looking at the Yangtze I will hypocritically and happily give 
 thanks to both legal life and illegal life

outside the inn at night there must be Chinese sturgeons swimming by in 
 the Yangtze but what kind of fish is this
such a grand name such a mundane name who conferred it is it an endangered 
 species
why isn’t the giant panda called the Chinese bear

the sand barges on the Yangtze ride low in the water paint blotchy not a 
 single boat is new
the women baring their breasts to the water at stern and bow all women’s 
 women not a single one ugly

Du Shiniang threw her treasure chest into the water
of all the pretty flowers on the banks not one blooms because of this of all 
 the cheery lanterns not one goes out because of it

thus eastward do the torrents of the river flow

last year I took a trip here and gazed at the river from the Yuejiang Tower it’s 
 reconstructed all wrong
I pretended I was the painter Gong Xian gazing at the openness of the river
I tried to pretend I was the poet Gao Qi ascending Rain-Flower Terrace to see 
 the river emerge from ten thousand peaks but I couldn’t get it right

the Yangtze changed its course from Rain-Flower Terrace you can’t see the 
 river as it was in the Ming dynasty

from my bed I can’t see the river either which means I’m not Emperor 
 Kangxi I can’t see all under heaven
I can’t see the teeming multitudes in Guangzhou I can’t see the teeming 
 multitudes in Chongqing
I may as well accept my fate as an ordinary man at least I have nothing to do 
 with the plight of the empire

reading the paper reading online news worrying about everything under 
 heaven it doesn’t do shit read short stories instead
my grammar-school teachers my high school teachers they ruined me for life 
 they trained me to be an observer
an observing peach or plum tree doesn’t even need to blossom
the paulownia trees in the city have been felled the property developers have 
 friends in city government
if I were the next mayor I’d have all the Republican-era paulownias replanted 
 back where they were but this is impossible

so I don’t make that kind of friends

I don’t drink my dad doesn’t drink my grandpa didn’t drink

so I can easily open my eyes at 7:30 my bleary brain just lets in the light
I look at the ceiling obviously in luxurious European style but it’s made of plaster

who gives a shit about mountains of plaster wealth so lofty it’s scary
who gives a shit about the three beef patties that fell on my head yesterday 
 who gives a shit about a modicum of fame
accomplishment comes too easily for engineers accomplishment comes too 
 easily for masters of arts and crafts

who gives a shit about liking to pretend not to be so vulgar it’s vulgar who 
 gives a shit about average talent but even that isn’t easy
but who gives a shit

power and influence were of supreme importance to Han Feizi but Zhuangzi 
 didn’t give a shit about them

my brain is wide awake buzzing for my soul to wake up

which is greater that which can be understood in history or that which 
 cannot be understood
how can refined taste be propagated in a crass age
propagating refined taste means propagating the seeds of the collapse of the 
 country take the Northern Song dynasty for example the new tycoons 
 aren’t buying it

ugh the discontent you can’t speak freely and the complaints you won’t make 
 out loud
I should get up and shower bedhead makes people think you have nightmares 
 every night but that’s not the case
I should lose some weight my teeth need brushing I have bad breath when 
 I get up
Han Yu wrote a poem about losing his teeth it must have been before he 
 turned fifty

at 7:35 who wound me up like a watch to make me take such good care of myself
last night I flipped every switch I couldn’t figure out how to turn off one 
 light so I left it on until now

sounds from last night’s banquet still linger
two men hugging each other they drank so much two tongues fattened 
 by alcohol
one said I just went to Frankfurt look at my bag the other said I just went to 
 Paris look at my shoes

they were talking about package tours to Europe man see ten countries in 
 nine days
Confucius traveled through the central states if he’d kept that pace there’d 
 have been no degeneration of the rites under heaven 2,500 years ago
but running through Europe just proves there’s nothing to see there
or else proves they come from a lately developed country it’s not easy for 
 them to relax

but it’s nothing like spending time in Jiangnan and watching the river flow
from different angles
when Emperor Kangxi came it must have been a real campaign

it’s almost Dragon Boat Festival
Dragon Boat Festival doesn’t mean anything in any country it only means 
 something in Jiangnan and Jiangnan is this area beneath my bed
it was the kingdom of Wu but was it also the kingdom of Chu

I have friends from Chu I have no friends from Wu I do have some friends 
 from Jiangnan but right now I’m on my own
how far into the distance stretch the roads inn after inn along this road 
 reduplicating themselves to the end of the sky

I toss off the blanket slide my feet into two paper slippers

a deep breath

and I stand up

—Translated from the Chinese by Lucas Klein

If you enjoyed this poem, why not read …

• “Mourning Problems” by Xi Chuan, also published in issue no. 213, Summer 2015?