These are unusual times. These poets are tale-tellers of their world.                  (All rights reserved.)
ISBN 978-1939426017
Selected Poems of Ren Xianqing (1/2013)

This book contains 30 poems by Ren Xianqing. 任先青.

Ren Xianqing was born in 1943 in Shandong Province. He graduated from Qufu Normal University (Shandong Province) in 1966, majoring in Chinese Language and Literature. He then worked as a teacher and a school administrator for more than 30 years until retirement. Mr. Ren has published three collections of poems in China.

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    * Paperback edition is bi-lingual. (印刷版:中英对照); Kindle edition is English translation only. (电子版:英文)


  • The Dreams of Siberian Cockleburs  |  蒼耳之夢
  • The Wintry Mix  |  雨夹雪
  • Palm Reading  |  手 相
  • Fire Fox  |  火 狐
  • Qu Yuan, the Poet  |  屈原
  • Waiting for a Train in the Land of Poetry  |  等待詩裡的火車
  • The Ink and Wash Painting  |  水墨畫
  • Fixed Gaze: Thin Frost  |  凝望:薄霜之美
  • Fixed Gaze: Water Reeds  |  凝望:葦湖之美
  • Silver Bracelet  |  關於銀鐲
  • Pagoda Tree Flowers  |  槐花開了
  • The Sound of Spring Thunder in the Air Again  |  又聞春雷
  • Paper-Cut Window Art  |  剪窗花
  • Ms. Grain Rain  |  姓谷的雨
  • The Old Cellar  |  窖 藏
  • Homecoming  |  返 鄉
  • The Shattered Porcelain  |  瓷 碎
  • Alone at Night by the River  |  河邊獨坐的晚上
  • Cold Silvery Rain  |  涼涼的雨絲
  • The Unusual  |  非常
  • I See Myself in the Chrysanthemum  |  從菊上看見自己
  • Chance Encounter  |  偶 得
  • On Sundays  |  星期天
  • Bell Chime at Dusk  |  黃昏鐘聲
  • Insomnia  |  失眠之夜
  • The Setting Sun  |  西望,落日
  • Tribute to Mother on Grave Sweeping Day  |  清明祭母
  • Like Grass, I Sense Autumn Is Here  |  我如草木 知秋
  • The Flower Street  |  路過花市
  • Let Grass Grow in My Head  |  裝一腦袋青草

From Selected Poems of Ren Xianqing

  • Your palm opens up like a map,
  • where the rivers flow
  • and have many tributaries.
  • Confusion and malaise hide between your tight lips.
  • Your bright eyes cannot see,
  • but follow the palm reader's strange vision
  • to a dry creek or clear spring.
  • With a touch, she sees your fate, a blemish amid beauty,
  • and flickers of blessings and mishaps.
  • Right now, I calmly sit on the shore
  • watching you drown without calling out for help.
  • You close your hand firmly
  • to make sure
  • there is no chance for destiny to escape.
  • A green castle is set ablaze, not by battle fires
  • but by flamboyant flowers.
  • The crispy scents of these white flowers,
  • like raptures of pent-up affections,
  • gather to welcome the rising sun
  • swaying tipsy and shaped like a fruit!
  • The affair of these gorgeous flowers
  • has a kind of innocent girlish candor,
  • even though their showy bloom
  • may not forecast a year of good harvest
  • for the village elders.
  • After a night of breeze and drizzle,
  • the pagoda trees wear glittering shawls.
  • With a purified heart and deep longings,
  • I accepted their invitation to play a song.
  • Spring thunder is a tree
  • with scraggly branches and enormous fruit.
  • Spring thunder walks like a stooped old man.
  • The sky shatters like glass,
  • cracking and shards exploding.
  • Spring thunder is a simple man
  • missing his faraway home,
  • so he runs madly in rumbling steps
  • as if to besiege his hometown.
  • Spring thunder rolls across April’s horizon,
  • carrying his knapsack and taking big strides.
  • The earth is surprised and moved.
  • In an instant, it paints a field of verdant flora
  • to please her hero.
  • Spring thunder has no rivals;
  • even the little flowers are his friends.
  • He wakes up the world to tell his innocent intent.