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
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