These are unusual times. These poets are tale-tellers of their world. Their poems are for real people.
ISBN 978-0-6156781-8-4

21st Century Chinese Poetry, No. 4 (JUL 2012)

This issue features  the poetry of  Niu Qingguo  牛庆国,  Zhang Fanxiu  张凡修,  Ren Xianqing 任先青, Sha Ma  沙马, Yan Meimei  颜梅玖(玉上烟), Yi Hu 亦乎, Yang Kang 杨康,  and Meifu Wang 王美富.

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Contents


Niu Qingguo 牛庆国

Zhang Fanxiu 张凡修

  • The Spectacles  |  被看见
  • A Train Comes through the Sorghum Field  |  火车开进高粱地
  • Letter to My Son  |  与子书

Ren Xianqing 任先青

  • The Wintry Mix  |  雨夹雪
  • The Dream of Siberian Cockleburs  |  苍耳之梦
  • I See Myself in the Chrysanthemum  |  从菊上看见自己

Sha Ma 沙马

  • Aboard the Ship  |  上了船
  • I Can't Dawdle on Like This  |  我不再这样耗下去
  • At the Cafe of California Sunshine  |  在加州阳光咖啡馆里

Yan Meijiu 颜梅玖(玉上烟)

  • Conversation with a Stranger  |  其实我们从未相逢
  • Untitled  |  无题
  • Five Glasses  |  五只玻璃杯

Yi Hu 亦乎

Yang Kang 杨康

Meifu Wang 王美富

From 21st Century Chinese Poetry, No. 4

  • It stands there like a loose tooth
  • peeking through a mountain gap.
  • The broken glass has been patched up with a newspaper
  • and I wonder if it‘s the Capital City Newspaper,
  • and could my name be in it.
  • — Niu Qingguo, A Glimpse of Puxing Grade School

  • Some hubbub is going on
  • in the redwood forest by the cornfield.
  • People file into the woods
  • for the forester’s funeral.
  • — Zhang Fanxiu, The Spectacles

  • Below the antiquated city wall,
  • a Chrysanthemum is still open, all by itself,
  • as if autumn has left us with an unspoken word.
  • — Ren Xianqing, I See Myself in the Chrysanthemum

  • You are a romantic lady, sitting in California Sunshine
  • and talking to me about birds, otters, giraffes,
  • African zebra,
  • their behaviors and habitats;
  • it reminds me of Mr. Zhao’s TV show “Man and Nature”.
  • — Sha Ma, At the Café of California Sunshine

  • The kungfu of being invisible was lost
  • before the Song Dynasty, a modern scholar claims.
  • The truth is that in our beautiful country
  • there are still many who practice this art.
  • — Yan Meijiu, Seeing and Being Seen

  • Today's sunshine is prettier than yesterday's,
  • but there is something horrific about it.
  • Yesterday, I lay down nude in the sun
  • pondering how to compose a murder story,
  • but today’s sunlight seems murderous
  • for its own sake.
  • It’s too bad
  • if things continue this way
  • without a drop of rain or a wisp of wind
  • to stir my hair.
  • — Yi Hu, The Horror of Perpetual Sunshine

  • The wind blows, sending the crickets up the rice stalks,
  • flowering and ripening;
  • in no time, the rice will be golden.
  • Starting with a few stems,
  • next, a few paddies, then, almost infectiously
  • every single stalk in the valley will look shy,
  • bending its head.
  • — Yang Kang, Golden Rice

  • When I close my eyes, I hear footsteps—
  • in groups of threes or fives, light and lively,
  • a chorus of footsteps, like a song with wings
  • that lifts me out of despair.
  • I would listen to it in the morning.
  • I would listen to it in the afternoon.
  • — Meifu Wang, Dirt Road