《Chao’s Poetics》

2011-09-05 22:11:58  巢圣  所属诗集  阅读5921 】


Chao's Poetics

The poet sees things pass through himself
and alight on the palm of the sun
or fall tripped into the trap of dark-
the bottomless pit
from where locusts
cut off from their mouths
swarm out
and sting like scorpions
leaving the back of your head
caught in its sleepless paws

There must be some control
as a surfer stands
on the crest of craggy waves
preying on the earth
to arrest its death

Writing poetry makes a poet light
like a tongue tasting its voice
and the breath of a language
looking for a vessel

Writing poetry you die to yourself
for another life
a greater one
which walks on the high
to skip the world

You are gone-
an incarnation of a breath
the poetry in flesh

I saw a crow fly into the poetry of Chao
who opened the wings of the morning-
the crow fluttering out of the ark
whose hoarse voice broke
a jar full of night

The crow perched in front of me
like Chao's profound pupils
And the bread carried to Elijah
now filled
my stomach

I saw Chao's poems come out of the cave
and arise on the hill
dancing in the wind
And after the collapses of rocks
was a tiny voice-
the voice
like the kernel of the crow
the pledge of the universe

I never thought the playful actor
chose to read Chao's poems
in his extreme exhaustion

Chao's poems are refreshing he said
tend to catch a lock of his hair
lift him up like a kite
poised in the mid-air

Chao's poetry is not realistic he continued
and calls the realistic to be surrealistic
The human plight is so realistic
as to lose their reality
so their hairs are blown away
by the four winds
ahead of their fates

with a body of flesh and bones
bogged in the muddy pit

Too late to say goodbye
before another generation is born-
a mixture of sperm and egg

I asked God to drift with me from dust to dust

After all, nothing can be uttered
better than to design
series of images
for those well-off
to enter and ponder
over the aesthetics
of language and literature

Writing can be such an exile
that you wonder whether
to be worse in its end
than a cattle
that knows its owner
or an ass its stable

Summer Vacation: New Wandering Images

On the globe of high temperatures
frequently spread obituaries-
man disappearing like gnats

Into the holes over Himalayas
the Antartic and the Arctic
scatters the sky like smoke

Outside a chain hotel window in Hangzhou
a lone sparrow was rusting

Overlooking the city
I saw life's worries riches and pleasures
wild as thorns on the earth

Waiting for high-speed rail in Zhenjiang
while disaster struck Wenzhou and Hongqiao

My life was mercifully spared
and the West Lake was cast behind

The flesh is a palmful of dust
and its realness proceeds from Adam's mouth

The first Adam became a living being
and the last Adam a living spirit

Staring at the speedy road after some naps

There is a way walked by few-
it is the voice of speaking
the breath of the word
the life

Finally anchored in Lake Luo, Shenzhen

Mark from the States is a Chinese folk artist
dressed with Chairman Mao all over

I read a poem but he forgot to play the flute
I played the harp but he forgot the ancient riddle

We wandered through Shenzhen, Hongkong and New York

Wall Street was a wall
begun by the Dutch and finished by the British
embanked today by the Americans from the world

The noises from within and without
they cast into fire and a bronze bull came out
the god made in the desert
to lead them out of their nations
and hail mammon

Dalian's cruise was a dream
like lying in an Egyptian tomb

The hard hearts reject the oracle
Pharaoh a noise speaking on their own

And the sleepless body became a dried vanity

The roar of many countries and peoples
the rumbling of warring carriages-
Syria Yemen and Libya, USA and Europe

Standing on the sea of glass-
another state of mind
the whole body full of eyes

As the wheels move forward
so do the the living creatures

History as man is but a robot
thrust down to the ground

The Kinship

From one blood has man flown
multiplied by the same breath of life
nostrils to nostrils vessels to vessels
though sprinkled over the earth
with predestined boundaries
and lengths of years

Destined to be selfish is he
of the residue of the spirit
The road his life zigzags
like the cunny snake
repeats that story ancient

With the selfish eyes opened
he tends to shift his sins
resulting in conflicts and wars-

between peoples, husband and wife
father and son mother and daughter-

In the cool of day the shadows fled away
His self put on the tree of good and evil
birds perching on its boughs
beasts sheltered under it

When the selfish heart was brightened
nakedness was and is everywhere
hard for civilizations to cover

Selfishness mixed up with language literature
fill a handful of dust
fully grown with thorns and thistles-

the field our ancestors ploughed with sweat
the body of earth their descendants tilled

They labored
though tearfully
failed to wash their selfishness

And man was and is being devoured
by his self and serpent

A lonely stroll through the woods of words-
the world comes down and down
filled with the covenants of the eyes
the lust of the flesh
and the boasting of riches

A lonely stroll through the world of words-
the wood comes down and down
weighted with the worries of life
dissipation and drunkenness
choked by thorns and briers

A lonely stroll through the words of the wood-
birds of every kind assemble with animals
to gather for the feast
the sacrificial banquet of the end

Both the rich and the poor
are being coined by money
turning the millstones
of their hard hearts

These people are also poor
can never use up their money
with their belly as their god

Making covenant with eyes is a sin
Thus warns my father

The eyes of the head are really bad
keep rolling without cease

A glance is followed and swallowed
by stopless whims from within

All eyes are murmuring all time

Loneliness lept up
whirling its body around
in the air in an aesthetic way

Two dead carps were put in the jar
and became alive one by one
as water was poured there

A sea was there in their stare

Then appeared two faces
a male and a female
with a voice saying to them
your lives have been prize of war

Suddenly the jar was a pond
and my carps were gone

Poems on Man

A breath in the nostrils
a remnant of the spirit
confined in bones and flesh
coming out of a womb-

like flowers
blooming in the morning
to wither in the evening-

a colorful life
for a day

1. Stephen Crane

A life spent
eating of his heart
with the red badge of courage
like the hunter in the wilderness

Interpreted by students
who become lecturers and professors-
fruits of the one who sold his birthright

Sneaking out of the hairy voices
I climbed onto the roof
missing the one in a trance
taken by the heavenly cloth

2. Emily Dickinson

A lonely woman
in a beautiful prison

The letter that kills
stilled a window of imagery-
poetry which was scenic philosophy
and the elements of the world

Alas! No essence! No oil! No lamp!

Born in a wrong time
you had no bridegroom
A life wrung, screwed up by hyphens
like bones lined up as fences

Poesies slanting the American balance

3. T.S. Eliot

Eliot, you announced the death of many an age
the death of memory and the death of any sage
the death of poetry with the sea and its foams
the death of images with their ruins

Eliot, if the two empires have declined
you are to blame as a person enshrined
you have uprooted their civilization
without sowing the good seed for solution

Those who understand you sigh and suffer
those who don't marvel at you as a winner
Eliot, I just want to say by taking a risk
you have thrown away the earth like a disk

And then disappeared

4. Thomas Transtromer

Dreams were caged on white page
free of criminal psychology

Outside the window is a fox
who destroyed the vineyard
his hungry footsteps
marring the white snow-

the language from above

5. Bertrand Russel

The night woke up with a moon
eyeing me with calm

The mouth of the moon can be your best wine

A voice burst out, saying to Bertrand
Philosophy takes captive even if
cloaked in philanthropic love

Wisdom is the truth
the breath of life

Now it cries aloud at the gate of a century

But ears have been lent
to an illogical reality
unfurling any irrational

The Writing Class

They dug with their pens
and dug out a mirror on white papers

The reflection was glittering waters
their body and mind like shaking waves

From time to time I looked up
they seem to be a special troop
lurking in ambush
outside the city

I wrote in English yesterday morning
drunk, murmuring to myself
Who has put wine in the language?

This morning as I thought of English
nerves began to energize themselves
brains charged like swollen

Why is the language like this?
Who has cast a spell
that it has colonized the heads
and set up a common speech
to ascend into the sky

Bumping into the sounds of the language
you may experience a lot of fun
for it takes you where you've never trodden
and undresses you like you are old

Here I sit, a professor of writing in China
typing tripping over fingertips to a mirage
with time ticking tricking in its parade

Shall I go back to the ancient confusion?
Do I want to rebuild the tower for my fame?
Or recall the River of language literature?
A question or two is often my challenge

Some academic authorities
seated by a high speed tilt
a starting station or a destination
the common road for their chairs
the high speed their assessment table

Some subjects were not calm enough
jumped up and became a toll station
Some authorities like Sherlock
took the balance to weigh blood

Two red mouths
flowering in the painting
bleeded the wall

made both men and women
within and without
all dressed in scarlet
The food

served was bloody
blood is life-
two lives
one born to die

the poet was not
on the agenda
he ate and left

Please buy me! Please sell me!
She shouts to the earth with her hands up

And a great city begins to fall
with its images shattered on the ground
language and literature laid in waste
a desolation of wisdom and art
a golden cup
making drunk
all nations

The City

The dark was crunching on bones
with the mouth of a dog
a crackling noise, and the filthy air
on the stiff ground

An overpass, over an overpass
an underground, under an underground

Those digging after their own ways
sank deeply and helplessly
into a wandering life
while up in the height they ran
at a full speed of nothingness

Those homebound commuters in long queues
groaning yawning-
a facial distort out of control-
a roaring lion ready to swallow
the whole world

For the sake of survival buses begin to move
slowly, a pace in funeral farewell

Taxis, trucks, cars, tricycles and bicycles
and modified motors, with a whirlpool
of milling people wrapped up in memory-
searching for their mother's hand
in an old age of the city

The prostitute took a seat in the high places
her shouts stretching out her flesh
hooking his soul

Like an arrow shooting through his liver
the desires of his eyes
a pig in the slaughterhouse

As he was in a lustful situation
she vanished-a quick action!
His suits were tossed up
by four winds into the deep pit

the darkest psyche of the country
in the howl and prowl of ghosts

the horrible hollow of human hearts
the halloween harrowing homo sapiens

condemning them to the dead
and the beautiful land to Hades

Those confined on earth
performed various flights
like swinging up in the air
or falling down from the roof

The most gripping of that circus
was the madness of three motors
hunting after one another
in a cage-like globe

Their gyration
was a friction of internal death

And the saddest of the night
was those women
suspended within a snare in the air
were slowly carried above our heads
to the stage

They were struggling up there all time
as if violence was being done to them

In danger these acrobats burst
into a rendition of human sufferings
With stunts they monkeyed
with the nothingness of the world

Alas! All the city stuff
seems no more than a circus

On the upslope of the city university
I first encountered my retired dean
who said, you have got a tummy
and looked me in the face
like an old fortune teller by the road
murmuring mysteriously
a stomach of social status

then met my retired director
who looked straight at my belly with a smile
it is the belly full of the scroll, I explained
ready to be taken up to space

later came across my classmates thirty years ago
We shook hands
tried to make out one another
but failed
some faces were stamped
with the postmarks of years

I walked and thought, thought and murmured
if only they could be marked
with the seal of the sky

During the lunch
they put up hands to vote for a Thailand tour
for the thirtieth graduation
and they were excited about a male
turning into a female
acting as a prostitute

I refused to go
but the official's wife to right of me
and the female official to left of me
both pushed my hands upward
for democratic sake

And the ceremony was closed
by five heavy smokers
breathing out rings after rings
smelling like the sulphur of the earth

The Moon Festival

A promised planet
is a longing land tonight
in the possession of light

Diasporas of the world
gaze upward and wonder
when we'll settle up there

Flourishing with her hands
the child was crazy about the stars
awarded by her teachers

The man is keen on the morning star
arising in his heart
which is his teacher and light

Sitting alone
I plead in my heart
feeling its weight of power
muscular like a boulder-
the spiritual rock
the everlasting rock

Night. I've decided to run away
to pursue the open scroll
and the light in the heart of the Moon
To elude the wrath of the future

Golden idols and silver idols
I made with my understanding
I throw to the field mice and the bats

I say I have to go. If you like
we can make an appointment
under the secret place
of the Big Rock

Read aloud
to disturb the deep night
Make it split in fission
to be the day's child
Let those in the dark
come out of their grave
to hear the thunder

We must stand with the cloud
to witness the breath of the wind
which blows onto the bones of the wilderness
till they grow out flesh ribs and skins
and become a great army
to slug it out with the evil
that human enemy

I tell you
the louder our voices the mightier
the might to create the worlds
and make the universe
rumble in its expansion
cheering like the Galaxy

Standing in the noise which beats the world
to enter the depths of the language
and become the pillar of the temple

The rain from heaven tells the story above
hard to be comprehended by hard hearts

Those who chew are born from the rain

The east wind was wrestling with the forest
overnight, and the tribe of Jacob limped
at dawn. The wounding was a blessing
and the healing was the earnest

Night. The stone rejected by builders
shines fully in the heavens
bringing a nation into unity
in the form of a family


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  •   鉴赏、评论:
  •   juliotulipan     2011/9/8 21:55:33     3 楼

  • 拜读了!如果诗友有更好的外国原创诗,请多发表些,cheers!
  •   juliotulipan     2011/9/8 21:52:24     2 楼
  • 送了5朵鲜花
  •   查实     2011/9/5 22:44:20     1 楼
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