Why did poetry enjoy such reverence in highly cultured times, the Tang, Hellenic Greece, the Ottoman period? Because no one had TV or the Internet? Probably. Today, words and viewpoints are cheaper than air, and poetry’s currency has plunged. But Burma had good reason to jail Maung Thura. Effective poets set off wildfires of individuality and freedom, a direct threat to those who rely for power on sleeping souls.
Contemporary Chinese poetry is dwarfed by the tradition which precedes it. Nevertheless, a clutch of artists continue to rely on wordplay as a means of expression. Views from riverboats, moonlight, and lonely horses have little part in these new poems, as they have in new China. These poets have refined their perspectives to a shiny glass, to shimmering windows. Through them we can marvel at pieces of China otherwise invisible to the eye.
RECITATIVE BEFORE THE ARIA, by Chen Dongdong
The dock is higher than the shore
To catch the ferry, a mailman pushes his bicycle
He pulls up gently on the rusty handles
The river is in compliance with the spring
Currents swirl, dirty. In the commotion,
A boat whistle offers a break from soot billowing
In the shape of a black uniform. Next comes
A short steep drop towards the river.
The bicycle, like a dog on a hunt,
Lunges downhill. The mailman dashes
After, pulled along, whose image
After ten years once again disappears
Into a cabin’s greasy gloom, where he turns
Into a dark-skinned Division Director
Straddling a motorbike, a tiger
Of destiny he rides and often gets fined.
Crossing this river, he can catch his breath.
Until the bow whacks the rubber bumper on the far shore.
The whole boat quivers. He’s quick on the kick-start.
That leaf-soft sail visible, moments ago, through his half-closed eyes
Is in a flash the wings on his plastic helmet
Hesitant, trembling, speeding in pursuit . . .
Scenery blurs. He guns the bike.
His acceleration makes of all that flies by
The broken stones of the past.
And the road rushing before his face
Is a registered letter he delivered
Once, ten years ago
LOTUS, by Shu Cai
I have spent many tranquil and desireless nights
Sitting, my legs crossed in meditation.
I breathe a human’s breath- in and out-
eh, world? It hardly exists.
Another world exists…
Other winds, other sacrificial lambs,
other faces, not necessarily lively…
In other words, they belong to another space.
I spread my hands,
the only two lotus I own.
You say they are growing- but in what direction?
You say they are traveling/on their way- but where?
I’m merely learning to forget-
that huge university not seen by eyes of flesh.
LOST WAY, by Yang Jian
A being
wandering the wood
enters fear
and the mind can’t help
lions and tigers coming forth
and those hungry ghosts
of childhood’s hell mirrored
as if alive now, parading out of the past.
At first he walks slow
Pretense of the benign and no worry in
One step and another and then the stalking
rushing rustle from behind,
as if pursued, so dare not
turn the face back to see it.
The wood darkening,
tigers, lions, and these ghosts of the heart
more vivacious, movie-like.
Alas, fleeing
one foot eastward
one westward,
and then suddenly where is
the road after all.
The real tiger may have ravaged him,
or was it his own fear.
The wood remains as its usual self
radiating in a gold-rimmed dusk.
The way clear enough
a vivid light-
only few recognize
and walk out on it.
MARIONETTES, by Cao Shuying
1.
For years they have followed you,
the three ephemeral moons behind your back.
I imagined they were witches, skirts
floating footless above the ground.
And when your diaries take you home,
you see their feet pausing along the streets
of Chengdu to display their useless beauty.
2.
Your back a thunderstorm,
Your eyes hidden behind mountains.
Tears shimmering a lake. Your forehead drizzling.
One two three. Three of them holding their breath
and pulling their strings closer and closer.
I remember the tails you left dangling
from dresser drawers, waiting to be pulled.
What’s is it? Do you feel bad, darling?
Why is your red sweater so tight?
Why do you look so shifty?
3.
Three moons always there,
more faithful than your shadow.
In sleep you’re scared, feeling them inside you.
You bought many erasers to rub out
their eyes and listening ears.
4.
When I hold you, they loom over me,
I see them perfectly. The plain one with a crystal ball
of steaming food. Through the steam
I see a roadstand, chopsticks clacking their heads together.
I see a girl’s dorm and the cheap red lamp
threatening her curtains drawn against the sun.
I see the lost clothes belonging to…who?
Hanging ripped on the throat of a naked tree.
The most beautiful of the three has marks on her swan’s neck.
The myth of Narcissus written all over her.
I know you’ve read her many times. Stars glow between the lines.
The embarrassing hyperbole of your smile.
5.
Do I scare you? Yes.
They are right behind you.
When you bend to embrace me,
three lights drop with you,
their faces shining fiercely.
When you dance with me,
they float beside us like heartbroken leaves.
You are their marionette, your eyes
drawn backwards even as you face me.
Do I scare you? Darling.
Now let’s look in the mirror.
There is the possibility of an argument here claiming that this is an effect of Chinese cultural imperialism, especially with regard to minority nationality poets resident in areas of China in which, until recent decades, they made up the majority population, particularly with regard to Tibet, Inner Mongolia, and the Turkish-speaking Arabic-writing peoples of Xinjiang.
Chinese poetry is the most highly regarded literary genre in China. Traditionally, it is divided into shi (詩), ci (詞) and qu (曲). There is also a kind of prose-poem called fu (賦). During the modern period, there also has developed free verse in Western style. All traditional forms of Chinese poetry are rhymed, but not all rhymed texts in ancient China are classified as poetry – for instance, lines from I Ching are often rhymed, but it is not considered poetry.
Reading those things in Chinese, one is seized with horror. The resistance against tradition has transformed into madness, animalist outcries that were too long repressed; the pathological predilection for unseemly words of a well-raised child. The bottom of the soul has been rooted up in China and her most precious cultural assets have become unbearable to her.
Not many books have been published in English that focus on modern Chinese poetry, and the published ones offer long-range surveys and histories of poets and poetic works.
Why did poetry enjoy such reverence in highly cultured times, the Tang, Hellenic Greece, the Ottoman period? Because no one had TV or the Internet?
Chinese poetry is the most highly regarded literary genre in China.
Im writing an essay on a poem of the chinese obscure poet Haizi.
Does anyone know about any reliable websites about obscure poetry in China (朦胧诗) in english or chinese?
Literary tradition of Chinese poetry is divided into four categories but most of the ring, it is also necessary to connect each other. … There are two other forms of poetry may be more the popularity of the code … First of all, opera, literature and so on. The other is the story of poetry lallad member.
Modern Chinese poems usually do not follow any prescribed pattern. Poetry was revolutionized after the May Fourth Movement when writers try to use vernacular styles closer to what was being spoken (baihua) rather than previously prescribed forms. Early 20th-century poets like Xu Zhimo, Guo Moruo and Wen Yiduo sought to break Chinese poetry from past conventions by adopting Western models; for example Xu consciously follows the style of the Romantic poets with end-rhymes.
In the post-revolutionary Communist era, poets like Ai Qing used more liberal running lines and direct diction, which were vastly popular and widely imitated.
To quote:
one foot eastward
one westward,
and then suddenly where is
the road after all.
I like a lot. I am currently studying modern chinese poems.
Really interesting. I have read a lot about this on other articles written by other people, but I must admit that you is the best.
High praise indeed, tadalifil. Thanks!
Wow this is unbelievable !
Modern Poetry in China is not popular at present as before.