Low-lying Land

Xi Chuan

There is still a stretch of short trees
that needs bats to light the imagination
it lies between a depression and a precipice
that presses the night on the Bohai Gulf
deep into my heart
and over the bitter salty ridges between fields
the last thread of sunlight is warm
the saline white soil divines
any consciousness
sunk way out there in the gasping air
with a jolt that suddenly leads to
me passing through the hollow, ten minutes will be
kept immortal in a corner of the world
I will always believe in the assaults of
birds, salt, wind, and green spring in the sun
in my feeble old days, I will remember
a thread of dark light passing through the depression
cast into the night and the sea on the forest's side
the twilight of early spring covered in mud and sand
three people walking together, the clean tree leaves
rustle in their heads.

Peach Blossoms Bloom [桃花开放] 1988

A large swarm of bees flies up before long
because peach blossoms on the hill have bloomed already
into little pea-green petals not to disappoint
as if confirming a prophesy for me and my lover
My lover's look isn't last year's
her hair is cut very short, this shows
she once sported long hair in winter
and during winter in this region the frigid air cuts to the bone, it's extraordinarily bleak:
Withered trees fling off all their eye-catching yellow leaves –
like an oldster who's thrown away all the cash in his pockets
a sparrow, bony as kindling, bolts out of the city's blockade
drops on a frozen lake, onto a crack in the ice
I don't know if the frozen lake took it in
a sparrow's soul and a human's are alike
if it is not fleeing amid catastrophe
it will still live many years, will gain strength
Just as my lover cut her hair short
spring returns to the earth, she still wants to ramble along the lake dike
climb up into hills overgrown by bush, and see again
the caps of peach trees open for miles on end
My place is far-off in the din of city center
I mean to move onto the broad lakeshore
reeds outside the door, eating away at the waves of words
swallowing the last shards of ice, the basest desires too
Because I will have a hectic summer season
when I lean on the door completely exhausted
I enjoy hearing my lover's whisper
in deserted rooms, I love to pat
the walls grizzled by the bent refracted light off the water
with my yet unborn son talking loudly
and he will dazzle me like a small mirror
so I won't be able to open my eyes: he is hiding behind the light