Hu Xian
(China)
Pebble Pathway
In the blind’s mind, this is a different
version of darkness: a type of boundless evil
operates its concentration camp in the music:
Takes the gentle lick of dripping water
as a gloved executioner’s practiced caress,
we see ourselves as being this unfortunate.
When sharp corners dull, its enormous body
attempts to become an eye…..
But then what? All types of evil seem
entirely haughty, not caring what you can see,
even more, can appear as portraits, fully realized.
Like knowing simple pleasures, like
developing a certain delight in
pondering the end. This is a howl
sliding out from your body, constantly
looking out for the deeper, more secret things in you.
You are continually losing, and so your blurred view
slowly becomes more clear. But then what? Years,
they quietly watch, have yet to say why all needs eyes.
When you appear on this path, there is no scenery.
—Feet, stamping on mounds of eyes. Only
the few to experience this, only they can see
the remnant fear in your mind and know
why it is you all squeeze so tightly together.
(Translated by Brendan H.)
Crack
From things once whole it starts
Makes the unprepared mind
Suddenly have this coast, and that.
And so, there are those who build bridges
Those who build boats…..
An unknown spirit controls this all, and travels
Cultivating talented sailors. Up until,
Things break off.
Two separate halves split
by a patch of white space.
Looks like, each half is a whole;
Looks like, there is no crack.
(Translated by Brendan H.)
Wind
Perhaps you’ll never know
how it is the wind blows.
When one journey’s far, there’s no news
and only the wind whispers. When one
comes back from afar
this has already become a time out of reach.
Perhaps you’ll never know,
wind both carries along and leaves behind.
Anything it comes across, it’s already
met with its inherent passion.
Wind blows past rocks, weighing their silence;
flows over water, that impregnable surface.
Sometimes, you think it’s all gone by,
but a breeze builds, and all come and gone
returns in the wind.
Sometimes there’s no wind. Quiescent
like a breath in the face of nothingness.
Sometimes, wind blows, blows, then leaves
like a deep rooted wound.
After a passing gale, docks and boats
seem the only reminder of our world.
But you still don’t know, wind
is a constructed secret
and an intangible entity.
(Translated by Brendan H.)
The Sands
I hold in my hands, the sand falling from the passing time
What can figure from them?
So small, each of them, so impersonal, imprinted with nothing
Perhaps to guess by seeing how they fall from my fingertips?
Favor follows the revolutionaries, desolation leaves for their return
Only things lost are still expanding its free land, its territory defined by the
Humblest god
While the biggest wind adjusting themselves in their smallest senses
Sands, I see once more
Once again, I adore your vastness
But you only see the presence of me, here and now
Now the dunes begins to move, any grandeur, any time, has to be buried by
this sloppy floating.
(Translated by Sun Dong)
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BIO
Hu Xian (1966-), born in Tong Shan County, Jiangsu Province.Editor of The Yangtze Poetry Journal in Nanjing. Member of Writers’ Association of China. Publications of Verse: Ten Years of Light (2007),Shower(2010) and Search for the Chinese Cultural Root(2015);Prose:Caishu Vegetables and Their Anecdotes(2008).Recipient: TheTopTen Young Poets of the New Century by Poetry Journal(2009),The Second Biennial TopTen Poems Award by Fragrant Grass Jounal (2010),Wen Yiduo Poetry Award (2011),The Yearly Long Poem Golden Award by Works Journal(2011),Xu Zhimo Poetry Award(2012), The Yearly Poetry Prize by October Journal (2012), The Best Chinese Poet Award by“The First Reader »(2012),The Yearly Ten Top Young Poets Award by Modern Youth Journal(2013), The Yearly Poetry Prize by Times Literature(2013),Rou Gang Poetry Award(2014)and The Yearly Poetry Prize by Poetry Journal(2014).