艾未未 + 艾青 : Ai Weiwei + Ai Qing: “Without movement there is no Life…We should use our energy to the fullest.”
Posted: August 17, 2013 Filed under: Ai Qing, Chinese (Mandarin), English Comments Off on 艾未未 + 艾青 : Ai Weiwei + Ai Qing: “Without movement there is no Life…We should use our energy to the fullest.”The retrospective exhibition Ai Weiwei: According to What? opens today at the Art Gallery of Ontario in Toronto, Canada. Ai Weiwei (born 1957) is China’s most famous – or infamous – depending on your weltanschauung – contemporary artist. Currently without a passport and not permitted to leave China, Ai Weiwei has, with a team of energetic workers, fashioned bold sculptures from humble stools, bicycles, firewood, compacted tea leaves – even rusty lengths of rebar.
“Straight” consists of several thousand sections of rebar salvaged – then straightened out – from 2008 earthquake rubble of collapsed buildings that killed 5000 schoolchildren – a horrific event – combined with shoddy “tofu” architecture – that Chinese authorities tried to downplay but which Ai Weiwei sought to memorialize. David Jager, in the August 15th issue of Toronto’s NOW magazine, writes: “Every element of the sculpture, from process to material to final form [ an undulating moraine with a rift through it ] expresses Ai’s deep desire to reshape a hopelessly corrupt and tangled situation. Knowing that the bodies of the earthquake victims were once trapped within the sculptural material makes as visceral an impact as seeing a pile of shoes from Auschwitz. This is what art is supposed to do.”
Whether he is letting drop and smash a Han dynasty urn, or starring, with shaved head and red rosebud lips, in the “music video” Dumbass – about his 2011 jail experience – Ai Weiwei provokes us and respects our intelligence.
.
Ai Qing (pen name of Jiang Haicheng, 1910-1996) was Ai Weiwei’s father, and a notable poet of the Mao Zedong era in China. In his early 20s Ai Qing was imprisoned for two years for opposing the Kuomintang; in 1957 he was sent to a hard-labour camp for criticizing his government in print; he spent the next twenty-plus years emptying latrines and so forth as part of his “mental correction” for Wrong Thought under Mao. We feature here a selection of Ai Qing’s poems…
. . .
“Wall”
.
A wall is like a knife
It slices a city in half
One half is on the east
The other half is on the west
.
How tall is this wall?
How thick is it?
How long is it?
Even if it were taller, thicker and longer
It couldn’t be as tall, as thick and as long
As China’s Great Wall
It is only a vestige of history
A nation’s wound
Nobody likes this wall
.
Three metres tall is nothing
Fifty centimetres thick is nothing
Forty-five kilometres long is nothing
Even a thousand times taller
Even a thousand times thicker
Even a thousand times longer
How could it block out
The clouds, wind, rain, and sunshine of the heavens?
.
And how could it block out
The currents of water and air?
.
And how could it block out
A billion people
Whose thoughts are freer than the wind?
Whose will is more entrenched than the earth?
Whose wishes are more infinite than time?
.
(1979)
.
. . .
“Trees”
.
One tree, another tree,
Each standing alone and erect.
The wind and air
Tell their distance apart.
.
But beneath the cover of earth
Their roots reach out
And at depths that cannot be seen
The roots of the trees intertwine.
.
(1940)
.
. . .
“Fish Fossil”
.
With such agility in your movements,
Such buoyancy in your strength,
You leapt in the foam
And swam in the sea.
.
Unfortunately, a volcano’s eruption
Or perhaps an earthquake
Cost you your freedom
And buried you in the silt.
.
After millions of years
Members of a geological team
Found you in a layer of rock
And you still look alive.
.
But you are now silent,
Without even a sigh.
Your scales and fins are whole
But you cannot move.
.
So absolutely motionless,
You have no reaction to the world.
You cannot see the water or the sky,
You cannot hear the sound of the waves.
.
Gazing at this fossil,
Even a fool can learn a lot:
Without movement
There is no life.
.
To live is to struggle
And advance in the struggle;
Even if death is not at our doorstep,
We should use our energy to the fullest.
.
. . .
“Hope”
.
Dream’s friend
Illusion’s sister
.
Originally your shadow
Yet always in front of you
.
As formless as light
As restless as wind
.
Between you and her
She keeps her distance always
.
Like flying birds outside the window
Like floating clouds in the sky
.
Like butterflies by the river
She is sly and lovely
.
When you rise, she flies away
You ignore her, and she nudges you
.
She is always with you
To your dying breath.
. . .
“Coal’s Reply”
.
Where do you live?
.
I live in ten thousand years of steep mountain
I live in ten thousand years of crag-rock
.
And your age?
.
My age is greater than the mountain’s
Greater than the crag-rock’s
.
How long have you been silenced?
Since the dinosaurs governed the earth
Since the earth felt its first tremor
.
Have you perished in this deep rancour and bitterness?
.
Death? No, no, I’m still alive
Please, give me a light, give me a light.
.
(1937)
.
. . .
Translations from the Chinese: Chen Eoyang, Peng Wenlan, and Marilyn Chin
. . . . .
Bai Juyi’s “The Old Charcoal-Seller”
Posted: December 13, 2012 Filed under: Chinese (Mandarin), English Comments Off on Bai Juyi’s “The Old Charcoal-Seller”Bái Jūyì (772-846)
Mài Tàn Wēng
(Kǔ gōngshì yě.)
.
Mài tàn wēng,
Fá xīn shāo tàn nánshān zhōng,
Mǎn miàn chén huī yān huǒ sè,
Liǎng bìn cāngcāng shí zhǐ hēi.
Mài tàn dé qián hé suǒ yíng?
Shēn shàng yīshang kǒu zhōng shí.
Kělián shēn shàng yī zhèng dān,
Xīn yōu tàn jiàn yuàn tiān hán.
Yèlái chéng wài yì chí xuě,
Xiǎo jià tàn chē niǎn bīng zhé.
Niú kùn rén jī rì yǐ gāo,
Shì nán mén wài ní zhōng xiē.
Piānpiān liǎng jì lái shì shuí?
Huǎng yī shǐzhě bái shān ér.
Shǒu bǎ wénshū kǒu chēng chì,
Huí chē chì niú qiān xiàng běi.
Yì chē tàn, qiān yú jīn,
Gōngshǐ qū jiāng xī bù dé.
Bàn pǐ hóng shā yí zhàng níng,
Jì xiàng niú tóu chōng tàn zhí.
. . .
This poem appears here in Hanzi (Chinese logograms or characters) and then in Pinyin (Chinese characters in Latin script). Following, “The Old Charcoal-Seller” as translated by Burton Watson in his Po Chu-I Selected Poems (Columbia University Press). Watson is a scholar, just as is Frederick Turner (see Turner’s translation in the “Snow” post above), yet Watson’s translation of Bai Juyi’s evocative poem is markedly different…
. . .
Bai Juyi (772-846)
“The Old Charcoal-Seller”
(Lamenting Hardships Caused by the Palace Purchasing Procedure)
.
Old Charcoal-Seller,
cutting wood, making charcoal in the southern hills,
face soot-coloured, covered with dust and grime,
sidelocks grizzled, all ten fingers black,
peddling charcoal to get money – and what does it go for?
Clothes for the body, food for the mouth.
But – pitiful! – his body clad in one thin robe,
he worries how much his coal will bring, praying for cold weather.
Last night snow outside the city heaped up a foot deep;
at dawn he sets off in his cart, wheels crunching over frozen ruts.
Ox exhausted, driver hungry, sun already high,
they rest in the mud by the market’s south gate.
And who are these two horsemen arrogantly galloping by?
Yellow-robed palace attendant with his white-shirted lackey.
Hand waving a document, mouth barking out an order,
he turns the cart around, shouts at the ox, heads off north.
One whole load of charcoal, a thousand “catties”* and more,
but when palace attendants whisk it away, what good are regrets?
Half a roll of cheap red silk, a swatch of damask tied to the ox’s horn
– this their “full payment” for the charcoal!
.
* “catties” – 1 cattie equals about 500 grams
. . . . .
The New Year…and Crows!
Posted: January 23, 2012 Filed under: Chinese (Mandarin), English Comments Off on The New Year…and Crows!January 2
I thought I wanted to say something
I looked at the snow then went back to the desk
Or perhaps I counted money or perhaps I did laundry
Crows flew in the suburbs flew by the front door
I waited quietly
like a hotpot in winter
There won’t be any more discounted plane tickets
I waited to sacrifice myself and then it was the new year
*
January 13
The new year’s bus
shines in the sunlight the dust shines too
the crows have no eyes
iron’s leaves the hearts inside of stones
last year the year before pale blue shoulders
slide toward the next wave
_____
© Yan Jun
Translations: © 2010, 2011,
Ao Wang and Eleanor Goodman
Special Thanks to PIW
_____
Editor’s note:
Yan Jun’s “new year” in these two poems
appears to be of the Western – not the
Lunar/Chinese – Calendar. But we have
posted them this Chinese New Year’s Day
(January 23rd) so as to contrast them
with Mao Zedong’s poem “New Year’s Day”.
_____
Contemporary Chinese poets: 2
Posted: January 23, 2012 Filed under: Chinese (Mandarin), English Comments Off on Contemporary Chinese poets: 2_____
Zhang Zao (1962-2010)
The Chairs Sit out in the Winter . . .
The chairs sit out in the winter, all in all
three of them—coldness being muscle—
spaced out in a line,
terrified of logic. Among angels,
there are not three who could
sit themselves down in them, waiting for
the barber who skates across a river of ice, though
ahead is still a large mirror,
magpies tidying away small coins.
The wind’s weaving loom weaves the surroundings.
The Void is Lord, remote
he stands on the outskirts, exhaling warm air,
features painted heavily, counting the chairs:
without touching it, he could eliminate
that middle position,
if he were to transplant that chair on the left
all the way to the farthest right, forever—
Such an assassin at the heart of
the universe. Suddenly,
in among the three chairs, that unwarranted
fourth chair, the one and only,
also sits out in the winter. Just as it was that winter . . .
. . . I love you.
_____
Elegy
a letter opens, someone says:
the weather’s turned cold
another letter opens
it’s empty, empty
but heavier than the world
a letter opens
someone says: he sings at the tops of his lungs from the mountain
someone says: no, even if the potato died
the inertia living inside it
would still bring forth tiny hands
another letter opens
you sleep soundly as a tangerine
but someone, after peeling you of your nakedness, says:
he has touched another you
another letter opens
they’re all laughing out loud
everything around them guffaws endlessly
a letter opens
a cloud-natural, river-smooth style on the rampage outdoors
a letter opens
I chew over certain darknesses
another letter opens
a bright moon hung in the sky
after another letter opens, it shouts:
death is real.
© Estate of Zhang Zao
Translations: © 2003, Simon Patton
Special Thanks to PIW
_____
After Mao Zedong’s death in 1976 Chinese poetry began to shift away from
the oratorical and inspirational toward the private – and the obscure.
From Hunan province, Zhang Zao went in his own direction, mixing
Western and Chinese worldviews, and distributed his poems via photocopies.
He lived abroad for a number of years and taught himself several languages –
something that both widened and strengthened his Chinese-language poetry.
Mao Zedong: a January 9th poem…
Posted: January 9, 2012 Filed under: Chinese (Mandarin), English, Mao Zedong Comments Off on Mao Zedong: a January 9th poem…Mao Zedong (Mao Tse-tung)
A poem written January 9th, 1963
Reply to Comrade Guo Moruo
(to the tune of Man Jiang Hong)
On this tiny globe
A few flies dash themselves against the wall,
Humming without cease,
Sometimes shrilling,
Sometimes moaning.
Ants on the locust tree assume a great-nation swagger,
And mayflies lightly plot to topple the giant tree.
The west wind scatters leaves over Chang’an,
And the arrows are flying, twanging.
So many deeds cry out to be done,
And always urgently:
The world rolls on,
Time presses.
Ten thousand years are too long,
Seize the day, seize the hour !
The Four Seas are rising, clouds and waters raging,
The Five Continents are rocking, wind and thunder roaring.
Our force is irresistible,
Away with all the pests !
_____
Mao Zedong: Winter Clouds…& so forth
Posted: January 9, 2012 Filed under: Chinese (Mandarin), English, Mao Zedong Comments Off on Mao Zedong: Winter Clouds…& so forthWinter Clouds
– a lu shi
(1962)
Winter clouds snow-laden, cotton fluff flying,
None or few the unfallen flowers.
Chill waves sweep through steep skies,
Yet earth’s gentle breath grows warm.
Only heroes can quell tigers and leopards
And wild bears never daunt the brave.
Plum blossoms welcome the whirling snow;
Small wonder flies freeze and perish.
Militia Women – Inscription on a Photograph
– a jue ju
(1961)
How bright and brave they look,
shouldering five-foot rifles
On the parade ground lit up by
the first gleams of day.
China’s daughters have high-aspiring minds,
They love their battle array,
not silks and satins.
Guo Moruo’s Poem
On Seeing The Monkey Subdue The Demon
– a lu shi
Confounding humans and demons, right and wrong,
The monk was kind to foes and vicious to friends.
Endlessly he intoned “The Incantation of The Golden Hoop”,
And thrice he let the White Bone Demon escape.
The monk deserved to be torn limb from limb;
Plucking a hair means nothing to the wonder-worker.
All praise is due to such timely teaching,
Even the pig grew wiser than the fools.