Qijue

流浪猫蜷在路旁
毛蓬乱饥肠辘辘
在扰攘之中假寐
在梦中他是老虎

            There's a stray cat curled up
            by the roadside with an empty belly
            and scraggly hair. He gets his head down
            in the hustle and bustle. He dozes and dreams

                                                about tigers.

 

 

Beijing Hymn

Everything's come up cats and sparrows
after a harrowing day on the town; people have come clean,
set down their worries like beer on a coaster. Even the propaganda posters
are looking cheery in their red coats today: there's a certain spring in the air,
the skies are blue and gold with it; and here's me sold on it,
sitting in the street like a jackass singing to God.

There's the migrant worker, brick-footed;
putting down his hard hat to light a fag. There's the rag,
the shirt he wipes his face with. I hear him babbling, voiceless and ear-plentiful;
I see him wrinkle quickly as a stream. And I see him tan like a cherry in summer,
all road-dust and brown. I see him building a tiny shanty town;
I pick up that idea and put it in myself.

There's the street kid in her sticky face
and hands; there's the mouthful of rice she represents
roaring with joy. I see her chasing, racing the city wind and the sound of fall
running blind; she can make two hundred paces in those little plastic shoes.
Once I saw her licking up something sweet from the road:
I pick up that idea and put it in myself.

Now my mouth lounges loud and the world
is delicious at my feet; we are knock-kneed and rapturous,
rocking understanding between us like a boy. Even the propaganda posters
are seeming meaningful today; there's the hush of winter in my eardrums,
the sweet promise of a season on hold and here's me sold on it,
getting off in the glorious centrefold of it,

sitting in the street like a jackass singing to God.