Walking
When I walk, my shoes squeak in pain
I pretend it’s a blessing
Walking will take my health to void
So I pretend not hearing the pain
The leaves on the roadsides are rustling
Are they moaning for my shoes? Or just singing for autumn?
Sand is a raging bull, his horns against the red capes of my shoes
Maybe sand feels the pain, when there’s no more wound
Shoes, are you moaning about my heavy middle age?
Are you coughing for my life, through your grinding teeth?
Each ounce of pressure under my step adds pain to the earth
But I’m grateful how you turn pain into songs, using wind as your melody
No matter where I’ve traveled, there’s no destination to keep me there
Only home, just the right size for my thoughts and worries
I haven’t put on weight all these years, maybe it’s my way
To say how much I treasure you, with my fixed weight
走路
走路时，鞋子一直沙沙叫疼
我装作那是祝福
想到走路会把健康带给虚无
我就装聋作哑
路边的树叶也哗哗哗
是为鞋子叫苦，还是为秋天唱着颂歌？
沙子是一群发怒的牛，用犄角顶着鞋的斗篷
也许没有伤口，才是沙子一生的痛苦
鞋子，是抱怨我越来越重的中年？
是用沙沙声，替我为生活咳嗽？
我给鞋子的每克压力，也是给大地的一克苦难？
我感激鞋子，配上风的乐曲，把什么都唱出来
走再远的路，都差一个终点把我留住
只有家，刚好可以放下我的牵挂
我从未发胖，也许身体怀着对鞋子的愧疚
用恒定的体重，道出对鞋子的珍惜
Devil’s Ivy
I bought two pots of Devil’s Ivy, its leaves dangling from the ceiling
Below one plant is the wall for climbing
After a year, the leaves have reached the floor
Like the training for long distance running
A shy teenage has grown into a brave young man
Not afraid of falling to the ground, even jumping off the cliff
Is it sticking out its tongue to my failures?
Will it not abandon me, even if we can’t communicate?
Is it bending its head to the earth, lower and lower, with guilt?
Under the other plant, is the shelves where books sleep
The Devil’s Ivy never let it depart
I stare at it, can’t tell if it’s been sleeping or not
Is it doubting my intention to let it hang?
Is it worrying to fall from the ceiling, like trash?
Maybe it hangs on the shelf because it loves books
Guarding their dreams, like brows guarding eyes?
Or it wants to climb up, to see future, like books?
One pot wants to grasp life on the floor
The other just wants to stay on the shelf, for an inner life?
Maybe they both represent my wishes
Each with its own edges and corners
两盆绿萝
我买来两盆绿萝，让藤叶从楼顶垂下
一盆下方，是能攀援的墙壁
一年过去，它已让藤叶够到地板
它经历了锻炼体魄的长跑
让害羞的少年，长成了勇敢的青年
哪怕需要跳崖，也不怕摔到地上
它向有缺点的我，伸着劝诫的舌头？
哪怕话不投机，也不离不弃？
它心怀愧疚，让道歉的头向大地越垂越低？
另一盆下方，是让书沉睡的书架
绿萝却一直不让藤叶出发
我盯着它，看不出它有更多的睡意
它怀疑，我让它垂下的善意？
它担心，从楼顶落下，就像垃圾被人抛下？
莫非它爱书，要留在书架的上方
像眉毛呵护眼睛那样，呵护书的美梦？
它要永远登高，看清书能看清的远方？
一盆，对地板上的生活，伸手想抓住？
另一盆，守着书架，过着内心生活？
也许它们，代表我的两种愿望
每一种，都有每一种的棱角
The Fall Wind in Beijing
The fall wind in Nanjing is nothing but
Moldy breath. Those who feel its blow
Know the wind carries no hatred
Only in Beijing, I heard the wind’s sobbing
It treats me like a cold war foe
Slicing my greeting in half
Scolding me with its thrill voice all night long
Blocking lies to take off from my dreams
When the sun came out, I kept listening to the wind
Guessing how many tons of explosives were hidden in the gusts
Trees along sidewalks, sold to the wind
Tried to show the appearance of a great harvest
I know, because of the howling wind
No matter how much I drink, it’s not enough to keep up my spirits
No matter how tightly I wrap my coat around my destiny, it’s still too thin
Oh wind from Beijing, how I want to know
When you’ll get tired!
And what’s your new plan for those destined to work overtime?
I’m just a poet from the South
No matter how big, the wind from that soil can’t draw blood
The worst it can do is to spit some foamy complains to water’s surface
To show that winter is about to land
北京的秋风
南京的秋风，只是
一股股发霉的口气
被吹到的人，知道风里没有仇恨
当我来到北京，才听到了风的哭泣
风还把我当作冷战的敌人
把我张口的问候，一劈两半
它还用整夜的厉声，训斥我
阻拦谎话从梦里上路
太阳升起时，我继续听着风声
猜测风里藏着多少炸药？
街边的那些树，因被风雇佣了
努力显出收割落叶的丰收模样
我知道，因为风大
我身上有再多的酒气，仍嫌不够
有再多裹紧命运的衣裳，仍嫌单薄
北京的风啊，我多想知道
你何时才有倦意？
对人们加班中的命运，你已有新的安排？
我只是来自南方的一个诗人
那里的秋风再大，也啼不出血
它顶多朝水面，吐上一层抱怨的口沫
表示，冬天正在登陆
Tiger
He is the mid-summer, as soon as you get close
Your sweat begins to pour over your clothes
Your courage gets shorter inch by inch
As you get closer
The zoo keeper locks him in the steel cage
But the threat lunges at you through the steely bars
Your life may be glorious, but you still can’t escape the whipping of his eyes
You only live in the festival of shopping, in the waste land of money
He strides in the cage, and you realize
Even if you got thousands of rivers and mountains to choose for your travel
Your only path lies under your feet
And you dare not invite him to squander it with you
Under his gaze, you feel you’re becoming a defendant
虎
它就是酷夏，一靠近它
你的汗，就开始荡洗衣服
你的勇气，随靠近它的距离
一寸一寸缩短
饲养员把它锁在铁笼里
但威胁，照样穿过铁笼扑向你
你活得五光十色，却逃不出它目光的鞭挞——
你不过活在衣服的节日里，金钱的荒凉中
它在笼中的高视阔步，永远令你回味
你纵有千里江山可以行走
脚下却只剩一条路
你甚至不敢，邀它一起挥霍
在它咄咄的逼视下，你仿佛正成为被告
Horse Ride
Last summer, I went to Nalati for a horse ride
The horse bent his head. In a hurry, I became his master
How much effort do I need, to get close to his running heart?
I tightened my legs, holding onto a gust of wind, like a dark cloud
Where’s the city road running on the grassland?
The thick grass loves horse hoofs, far better than wheels
They hope the horses will iron their summer clothes one more time
The horseback bumped my name down the lightest on earth
I don’t know the design woven by his hooves
I can feel the pain in his songs through each of his steps
Maybe the horse knows my destination ahead of us
But the kind Ha boy let me understand: the beginning is the end
骑马
去年夏天，我去那拉提骑马
马把头垂下，我在慌张中成了它的主人
要费多大的劲，我才能靠近它那颗奔驰的心？
我夹紧马肚，像一朵乌云，抱着一团风
草原上，哪里有城里人说的那种路？
遍地肥草对马蹄的爱，远甚车轮
甚至期待马蹄再熨一遍它们的夏衣
我被马背，颠成了世上最轻的一个名字
我看不懂蹄印编织的图案
但猜测，那蹄声也有着民歌的疼痛
也许马知道，前方还有一个我该去的地方
但善意的哈族少年让我相信，起点就是终点
***
Translator’s Notes
Born in 1963 in rural Hubei province, Huang Fan is a leading writer of poetry and fiction, known for his unflinching confrontation of contemporary issues in China with dry humor and dark lyricism. His poetry collections in Chinese include Elegies of Nanjing (2011), Selected Poems of a Decade (2013 )andMoon Losing Sleep (2018). ‘Middle Age’ was included in One Hundred Poems for One Hundred Years of Modern Poetry, and the editor of United Daily News called him the most interesting Mainland poet to Taiwan readers. His fictions include The Eleventh Commandment, The floating colors, Until Youth Disappears , One Inch Master; the short story collection, Girl School Teacher and the essay collection,Chinese Wander. When His novel The Eleventh Commandment was serialized in Sina.com.cn‘s literary section, it received over 3 million hits and was rated one of two “must-read” novels for young people to read. His prizes include China Good Poetry Prize（2017）, the Beijing Literary Prize for Poetry（2016）, the Fangcao Biennial Top Ten Prize for Poetry（2010）, the Jinling Literary Prize for Poetry(2010), the Writer’s Golden Prize for Short Story(2016), , the Biennial China Houtian Culture and Art Prize 2009-2010: Novel（2013）, and the Zijin Mountain Literary Prize（2017）for Long story. Huang Fan’s works have been translated into English, Italian, German, Greek, French, Japanese, Farsi and Korean.
Translator’s Bio
Wang Ping was born in Shanghai and came to USA in 1986. She is the founder and director of the Kinship of Rivers project, an international project that builds kinship among the people who live along the Mississippi, Yangtze, Ganges and Amazons Rivers through exchanging gifts of art, poetry, stories, music, dance and food. She paddles along the Yangtze and Mississippi River and its tributaries, giving poetry and art workshops along the river communities, making thousands of flags as gifts and peace ambassadors between the Mississippi and the Yangtze Rivers.
Her publications include My Name Is Immigrant, poetry, Hang Loose Press 2020, Life of Miracles along the Yangtze and Mississippi, 2017 AWP creative non-fiction award, University of Georgia Press 2018, Ten Thousand Waves, poetry from Wings Press, 2014, American Visa (short stories, 1994), Foreign Devil (novel, 1996), Of Flesh and Spirit (poetry, 1998), The Magic Whip (poetry, 2003), The Last Communist Virgin (stories, 2007), all from Coffee House, New Generation: Poetry from China Today, 1999 from Hanging Loose Press, Flash Cards: Poems by Yu Jian, co-translation with Ron Padgett, 2010 from Zephyr Press. Aching for Beauty: Footbinding in China (2000, University of Minnesota Press, 2002 paperback by Random House) won the Eugene Kayden Award for the Best Book in Humanities. The Last Communist Virgin won 2008 Minnesota Book Award and Asian American Studies Award.
She had many multi-media solo exhibitions: “We Are Water: Kinship of Rivers” a one-month exhibition that brought 100 artists from the Yangtze and Mississippi Rivers to celebrate water (Soap Factory, 2014), “Behind the Gate: After the Flooding of the Three Gorges” at Janet Fine Art Gallery(2007), “All Roads to Lhasa” at Banfill-Lock Cultural Center(2008), “Kinship of Rivers” at the Soap Factory(2011, 12), Great River Museum in Illinois(2012), Fireworks Press at St. Louis(2012), Great River Road Center at Prescott (2012), Wisconsin, Emily Carr University in Vancouver(2013), University of California Santa Barbara(2013), and many other places.
She collaborated with the British filmmaker Isaac Julien on Ten Thousand Waves, a film installation about the illegal Chinese immigration in London, the composer and musician Bruce Bolon, Alex Wand (Grammy award winner), Gao Hong, etc.
She is the recipient of National Endowment for the Arts, New York Foundation for the Arts, New York State Council of the Arts, Minnesota State Arts Board, the Bush Artist Fellowship, Lannan Foundation Fellowship, Vermont Studio Center Fellowship, and the McKnight Artist Fellowship. She received her Distinct Immigrant Award in 2014, and Venezuela International Poet of Honor in 2015. My Name Is Immigrant was longlisted for the National Book Award, Pen Literary award and Griffin Poetry Award.
Wang Ping is Professor Emerita of English at Macalester College.
***
