Luo Ying
(China)
(From 7+2 Mountain Climber’s Diary)
SOTEN
Good-looking Soten has youthful energy
He loves putting mountains on film has climbed Chomo Peak
As I trek across snowy ground he records my ordeal
He asks me to smile and show that I’m at ease
In snowy wind he climbs above to get an eagle’s view
Tries to capture the stepwise ascent of my spirit
From the edge of a snowy slope takes a wide-angle shot
I get a flash of his shape plunging through space
He records me rising with the sun at daybreak
He records the sun and me settling into camp at dusk
Late at night he starts woo-wooing in his dreams
Some think it’s musical, some hear the mountain god in it
I surmise he is the mountain god’s child
A handsome youth but also elfin
On snowy slopes he flies along with strong steps
The mountain boulders never tire of talking with him
Today I recite a poem with Cho Oyo behind me
He says the background is clear, the sound records well
Indeed I need another kind of evidence
To prove my different way of living in this century
Steadfast like a ridgeline
Pure like snowpack
Aloof like a boulder
Elfish like Soten
2008-09-08
Cho Oyo 5200M Transit Camp
PRAYER FLAGS ON THE MOUNTAIN
Today I will string up a pavilion of prayer flags
To express my awe of the mountain god
I am certain that this matters to the mountain god
Because at dawn a marmot came to see what I was doing
I held up prayer flags and hatas for her to see
In friendly spirit gave her “Qiaqia Melon Seeds”
It turned out to be a bright, clear-sky day
Cho Oyo peak loomed like a great big father figure
Sitting there motionless he watched us
We lit sweet grass laid out offerings cans of Red Bull
We did a dance sprinkled tsampa yelled Zashi Dele!
Raised our voices so crows and marmots could hear
Big array of prayer flags catches sun with five colors
Big array of prayer flags snapping in mountain wind
Big array of prayer flags shining back at the big father
We drank the Red Bull ate up the offerings
We felt our own colors waving with the prayer flags
We already knew
This time the great big father would watch over us
Thanks to you
Our furry ground-dwelling brothers!
2008-09-10
Cho Oyo 5800M, ABC Camp
LITTLE MARMOT
I didn’t know the little marmot was my neighbor
I liked to have her coming in and out of view before my tent
After a snowfall she would pop out of a snowdrift
Her exquisite eyes would widen in surprise
Then narrow into slits because of the bright sun
That was how she watched the mountain and my movements
Late nights it seemed she never went to sleep
She quietly crawled into my tent-fly to look around
The beam of my headlamp gave her a fright
Maybe she thought its underground fire would scorch her
Unlike my ears, her ears were perfectly round
By their twitch I could tell she always noticed things
That day I dumped my piss jar in a stone crack
I saw her agitated shape fleeing from the spot
I hadn’t known that was her domicile
I was a terrible neighbor but not through cruel intent
She ran off and I saw no further trace
Only my ears remained, listening for her change of heart
Only my jar remained, and my regret over dumping it out
My civilized life was a bane to her existence
In the name of global trends we ruin nests of the weak
2008-09-14
Cho Oyo 5800 M, Camp ABC
GLOBALIZED YAK
Twenty-four yaks pack in our food and equipment
Nine breed yaks have energy they cannot release
Because of the U.S. sup-prime mortgage problem
Because of China’s macroeconomic planning
The world’s climbers feel the pinch in their wallets
The world’s white collarites are in a crisis of livelihood
Today the mountain is beautiful
Today the yaks have put on weight
However today’s climbers are fewer
And so are yak patties on the slopes
The breed yaks are not in a good mood
They run wild on the slopes and down below
Upend their loads and burst their carry bags
Across the wild slopes strewing global manure
Italian climbing shoes float down creeks
American energy bars are treats for crows
Japanese anti-perspirant briefs are nightwear for rabbits
They make love while bedded down in underwear
“JUIBO” snow goggles get cracked on rocks
Reflective fragments like gleams from globalized eyes
Mountain dogs have gagged on “LIUBIJU” stinky bean-curd
My “BLACK DIAMOND” staff was dragged off in a snow-cock’s beak
To barter with a certain Swiss girl for “CARMEX” lip balm
Which soothes blisters caused by too much kissing on the sly
The breed yaks have upended my globalization
I couldn’t deal with globalization in the first place
Of course I can’t do anything about breed yaks either
Terribly crude with great bodily strength, so I think
Monogamy fits with global imperatives after all
2008-09-10
Cho Oyo 5800M, Camp ABC
BORDER CROSSERS
Covert migration is an international problem
I know it deserves to be discussed that way
But looking out from the front of my tent
I see a death route for border crossers
This is a glacier at 6200 meters
On the far side is the Chinese border and Nepal
In 2003
Covert migrants killed border guards and seized weapons
Some say people smugglers charge 10,000 RMB per head
From 5800 meter camp you see the crossers’ dot-like shapes
You can also see their fallen bodies on the glacier
Some are chased away, some become amputees
Because they have to cross the border zone at night
These are high-mortality hours for climbers
In time of mortal need they beg the guards for help
The guards are stuck with the job of carrying them down
These are 18-year-old children with no high altitude training
They drink up water from the border guards’ canteens
The guards themselves often pass out on the glacier
When these youngsters recover they try to cross again
Sometimes they form groups and set ambushes for the guards
I really don’t know how to judge these border crossers
My tent is facing a 6200 meter glacier
This is a site of tragedy, filled with death and violence
ADDENDUM
In the climbing season of 2003
People smugglers crossed the 6200 meter glacier
Border guards went out to stop them
They saw a woman passed out before a big boulder
The young border guards ran forward to help her
Thirty thugs leapt out from hiding and stoned the guards
They killed the guards and took their guns
They fled by night towards Nepal
A young sergeant chased after them with two soldiers
The two soldiers fell along the way, overcome by altitude
The sergeant shadowed the thugs alone
The thugs fired their weapons until the last bullet was gone
The sergeant ordered them to put down the guns and run
The sergeant trekked the hard road back, carrying guns
Crows circled over his head ceaselessly
He went snowblind, ran out of water and rations
On the third night he ran into foreign climbers
The climbers gave him food and water
If he hadn’t met the climbers he would be dead
2008-09-15, Cho Oyo
6900 meters, Camp ABC
UNCONTROLLED SLIDE
Deep snow-mist it feels thick enough to engulf the world
Snow falls by inches the fixed rope is crusted with ice spines
Footprints that bloom like snow lotuses are soon gone
I cannot make out if my steps point to Heaven or Hell
Soundless, formless snow-mist seems to harbor leering ghouls
With muffled steps I trudge into Hell’s very atrium
Then loose snow gives out I plunge like a gull from the sky
I roll downslope a spell of somnolence overtakes me
A edgeless cloud of soft snow buoys my helpless limbs
It dawns on me: there is no ground to stand on in this world
Ramming arms into the snow I clamp onto the world’s spine
No thought for cries of pain my death flower stops blooming
Standing up slowly I see light of sky begin to show through
I free my D-ring, solemnly raise it to eye-level, hitch to the rope
Striding back to the main trail as if urged on by drumbeats
Ganmi waits smiling outside the tent and I smile too
Ah yes..not being dead I have a right to wear this grin
2010-05-17, after summiting Chomolungma
App. 9:00a.m. at 8000 M Assault Camp
THINGS THAT HAPPENED IN THE MOUNTAINS (5)
Heavy snow is falling on the mountain
We won’t be going anywhere
We can only stay in a tent and listen to stories
Listen to Team Leader Wongya tell stories of climbing disasters
…
5
I’ll tell you what happened to a handsome young American
Wongya held his butter tea a long time before he could speak
That one was a tall, good-looking youth, well-spoken and kind
He could ski the riskiest routes coming down from high peaks
For three straight years he was an eagle in these mountains
For three years he took on the most challenging slopes
Eagles in the mountains knew him on sight
They would cavort behind his fantails of snow
Crows in the mountains were afraid to watch his doings
They held him in awe as they did the mountain god
When he stepped onto skis he was a prince of the mountain
With gold hair trailing he was a deva-god of the world
From the zenith of life he came soaring downward
He’d make you forget the lowdown ways of our kind
In the end a freakish change of wind blocked his route
He flew down a slope from which no man returns
Wongya saw countless eagles swooping down from peaks
The wilderness rang with mournful cries of eagles
Crows spread the bad tidings with raucous sobs
Climbers pulled off breathing masks and paid respects
Even now nobody knows his name
We wish to see him again soaring on the slopes
Wongya said a certain eagle would often cry out to him
A lone wolf on the glacier would make keening howls
Climbers on the peak would release the Stars and Stripes
The flag would whirl up and drift into the valley
Male eagles would go spiraling down behind it
The lone wolf would run wildly under it
I think it must be that handsome youth, missing his kinfolk
2008-09-14
Cho Oyo 5800M, Camp ABC
LAST NIGHT’S WIND
Last night’s wind was a demon wind
Just now I think it tore the canopy of heaven
From deep in the cosmos it came in fury
I even heard rocks on the slope screaming
All I could do was cower in my sleeping bag
I think this wind was like a binge drinker
Stripped naked and waving an axe about
Just escaped from some cosmic dungeon
Unleashing its hatred on the human race
I sat up dressed, awaiting its barking summons
But at daybreak it just dashed about crazily
Ruben and Saife had a dreadful night
I said take it easy
No need to blame the wind
2009-11-24, 11:47
Aconcagua Camp 2 (5400 M)
WAITING ON MOUNTAINS
I have waited on many mountain peaks
Sometimes due to snow, sometimes wind
When snow drifts over my tent at midnight
I think I may end up waiting for death
When wind wants to tear and upend all things
I imagine myself as an airborne rag
Stiffly spinning, not catching sight of the land
It is minus 40 degrees in that sky, mind you
In fright I call someone’s name now and then
I never call “Father” or “Mama”
Because they would suffer and worry
Might as well call out my own name
When the storm stops I am never elated
Waiting has made me aloof
Given the time what would I say to the world?
Right now the world keeps me waiting
2009-11-27, 11:30
Aconcagua Main Camp
YOU’VE TRAPPED ME ON A PEAK, ARGENTINA
You’ve trapped me on a peak, Argentina
Is it because I’m an alien element?
I expected to dissolve my cares in Latino revels
But you’ve captured me on your Aconcagua
I promise never to steal so much as a rock
On the peak I will sing your praises
You should know I write beautiful poetry
How could you bear to freeze my fingers?
Argentina At last I’ve seen your tangoing mountains
With crashing boulders sounding a drumbeat
Ready for a man to dance on a giant scale
Argentina now I know your amazing powers
Maybe I was the one who let you down
Because I didn’t bathe before this climb
But they sent my stuff ahead on muleback
Argentina are you holding that against me?
2009-11-27, 11:35
Aconcagua Main Camp
ON MULEBACK DOWN THE MOUNTAIN
Riding a mountain trail is no picnic
Self-willed mules won’t take an extra step
Yet they won’t eat the bread I give them
They only drink brown water from glacial streams
With legs mired in slush they stay balanced
They manage to curb their desire to gallop
They have an urge to end their labors quickly
When fording rapids they are unfazed
Like Heaven’s pillars their strong legs ferry my ass
You should know they earn only 150 dollars
This is probably the world’s most unfair labor deal
Seeing bones of their own kind in a ravine
They merely hasten their steps
I think they recall their cohort’s death
But can’t be bothered to explain it to me
Sold to be rendered as glue or killed by a fall—no difference
That’s how it is with mules no use complaining
2009-11-28, 00:01
Mendoza, Diplomatic Hotel
AT MY FEET, AN ARCTIC FOX
Lovely snow-white vixen kneels looking up
We’re gulping down drinks and seal meat she only grins
She bewitches like the daughter of Yang Guifei
As if descended from a different plane, marmoreal white
Beauty taken at its height is pure and tantalizing
I imagine apple blossoms in her world of snow
The petals are her bed, and spun ice is her gown
Her lithe walk can set the whole world swaying
No living things can catch the meaning of her faint gentle yelp
At death’s door bearing great pain she summons up a smile
Who killed whom thereby slips the grasp of sad philosophizing
The long night’s wind stirs her outer fur and ear-tips
She stiffens slowly to keep from frightening fish under the ice
I take her picture catch a gleam from mournful eyes
In truth that is a look reserved for angels
2011-04-04, 20:53
Arctic Circle, Longyearben Hotel, Rm.330
NAKED MAN
This man goes about like a leaf
Without a stitch on he looks me in the eye
Like a dried vine he is gaunt and graceful
When he opens his mouth he calls me brother
Feathers in his hair proclaim successful hunts
A boar’s tusk hangs at his chest
Walking naked in sunlight he glistens
Talking naked his boar’s tusk seems to smile
I secretly figure how thick my clothes are
Counting up the layers that cover my heart
This jungle is a many layered fringe of leaves
This is a summit where nothing is found
I am a climber in wind-proof clothes
I dare not encounter wordlings with naked trust
2010-07-24, 21:11
Irian Jaya jungle
A TRIBESMAN’S BOW AND ARROW
Noontime a tribesman shows his bow and arrows
Aims at a tree the tree trunk quakes in fright
His buttocks are dark rocks squeezed dry
His bamboo arrows are green thorns from Hell
He says he once hunted heads, his teeth are bright white
A boar’s tusk still hangs from his neck
Climbing, bridge-crossing, drinking his bow in hand
I guess he misses his warlike past
In the capacity of warrior he serves as my porter
He watches the jungle waits for enemies to show
When setting out he disappears ahead
But he always knows my every move
When I slid downslope his face peered from leaves
The bow slung on his back waves with each step
In long jungle nights maybe he weeps over this
2010-07-27, 10:35
Irian Jaya
A SALT-SECRETING TREE
In the jungle salty fluid seeps from a big tree
This could be tears of a witch’s daughter
Inch by inch it dries to white crystals
The tribesmen sprinkle it on potatoes
At night a wildcat gathers it to haul home
Its ghostly green eyes glisten knowingly
A woman hauling salt glides through a clearing
Beads of water show her gleaming footprints
I imagine the witch in a treetop eating beans
Will she change me to a porcine salt licker?
Anything could exist or happen in the jungle
Like a big tree that weeps and trickles salt
With a wave of branches it pours salty rain
The jungle only weeps for itself
As a woman on a far hill starts a cooking fire
Saltwater trickles from a big tree
2010-07-28
Irian Jaya jungle
SLEEPING WITH SWINE
Last night I slept with a herd of swine
An extended family of three or more generations
A tribesman took my payment hiding a smile
Assured me the pigs would be quiet under my bunk
But I knew the creatures were quite displeased
Far into the night they squealed with all their strength
They had no idea what a good fellow I am
Perhaps they took issue when I passed gas
Thought I was disrespectful to female and junior pigs
What good would it do to complain of sleeplessness?
This night was time for saying goodbye to my climb
In a whisper I told Andersen’s tales to the grunters
At dawn they were snoring beneath my bunk
I greeted the sow and quietly rolled up my bag
Goodbye to Chaya and to my sleepless night
2010-07-28
Mountain village in Irian Jaya
WHY WE GO JOURNEYING
(4)
Journeying as the sun rises and goes down
The body’s warm vapor turns to ice or frost
Footsteps become fatigued and halting
Hence a question—to walk onward or not in this world?
Watching crows fly home behind who-knows-which mountain
A journey takes on philosophical meaning
For instance…how far under ice will one’s death be frozen?
Returning home which door of the world will one enter?
How many arms and legs to take back from my journey?
That is…should I return as mule or as half a horse?
Such a big event may be decided on a journey
On a journey…I am no longer a classifiable animal
Just now…no need for more explaining of ice-sheets
I have just finished pissing on the snowpack
Its yellowness melts down towards earth’s core
This is proof of my journey across the ice-sheet
2009-12-24
Third Day Rest Camp tent
(5)
Journeying…over an wasteland or waste of ice
My shadow could be anywhere
I cannot see if it wears clothes or not
Journeying…is really walking after my shadow
Take a look…at emptiness walking through desolation
This may be a prelude to cerebral stroke
As I calculate sips of water left in my pack
Journeying…body odor like a rotten yellow pear
Most of all talking with a marmot that can’t fly
Journeying…may be like drunken flirting or coquetry
Just wait…what brings it to an end may be a stone
Once it knocks crows come flying to scarf edibles
Late sun by this will have dropped from sight
What happened will have quieted down
Afterward…the ice-sheet stretches coldly
Straight to every dead-end of the world
Why do we go journeying?
2009-12-24, 12:47
Third Day Rest Camp tent
SNOWY NIGHT
Snowy night…the bright sun-disc rises slowly
Her rosy tint suffuses the snowy plain with red
I watch her shine in polar night that never darkens
I think loving someone must be like this
Ah sun…sliding along just over the snowpack
A little bit like my speed of trekking
I follow her on foot not marking my route back
Anywhere one gets to is the end of the world
Turning toward the sun I also laugh coldly
I wish to tear off her indifferent veil
For hours she may be blocked by clouds
Leaving me alone on the ice days from anywhere
Snowy night…still the darkness does not come
I don’t quite know how to deal with this
Like having a wife who never shows resentment
And always feeling that the guilt is mine
2009-12-24, 14:25
Third Day Rest Camp tent
CHRISTMAS EVE ON THE SOUTH POLE
Today is “silent night” on the South Pole
After dinner we eat a cake together
Each sings carols in his own tongue
Kai hangs up a picture he did in pastels
He gives each of us a postcard
On the South Pole this is without precedent
Over the ice cap I see planets twinkling
Each one a pale reflection of our sun
Christmas Eve here is lit up with splendor
One half deep-blue, the other pure-white ice
Our tents are red like boots of Santa Claus
I believe that the Lord above can see them
He will sigh at the warmth we bring to the Pole
Christmas Eve the ice-cap is like a giant silver tray
Holding us up in front of God
2009-12-24, 20:40
Third Day Rest Camp tent
I WALK IN A STARRY VOID
As sky shows its blueness, the ice-sheet is undisturbed
In perfect stillness it becomes the night firmament
Thousands of stars twinkle ceaselessly
Spotless snow becomes a white heaven of sorts
Where my footprints are lit by heavenly bodies
As tiny stars watch from their respective distances
Each time I tread on those starry sparkles
They give off a surprised crunch
It is nothing like the sky in high mountains
This sky of snowpack sparkles at all hours
Which may be related to the world’s excess darkness
Snowy stars reflect the changing sun in unison
One can almost hear them singing in a choir
Whatever happens there should be grounds for joy
Because their sparkles are so bight and assured
2009-12-25, 19:28
Fourth Day Camp tent
GARDEN OF THE LORD
Clouds in the sky take changing shapes
Sun on the ice plain keeps changing colors
It lights up the plain like a hovering disc of ice
Rays suffuse the ice with limitless radiance
An ice-plate takes on a rosy red hue
Blue distance is like a pasture of swaying lavender
A gold-yellow slope is like the Lord’s sliding board
This chromatic plain has witnessed great events
Like a young girl I fall into a waking fantasy
Waiting for God to come walking over the plain
His towering stature growing larger with each step
He waters His garden with fluttering snowflakes
He never speaks, His features are severe
In His garden He simply paces here and there
Now I too am pacing through the Lord’s garden
Dear Lord I won’t presume to break a single branch
2009-12-18, 11:17
Patriot Hills Camp tent
I HIDE IN MY SLEEPING BAG FROM VASTNESS
Returned from the vast, silent ice-sheet
In my sleeping bag, glad to be back alive
On the ice I feared a giant eagle would grab me
Or a giant whale would breach the ice in fury
I kept wondering what hid behind the horizon
All that muteness made me feel stifled and helpless
That huge expanse shrank me to beetle size
Some kind of gnome seemed to watch my moves
In this sleeping bag I feel warm and peaceful
Right now any sound I hear sounds like gospel
I would rather be banished to fight with Hell’s demons
Than cross an ice-sheet where curses have no object
In a world of absence your spirit is uneasy
On this still ice flat you can’t even talk to yourself
So you quickly burrow into your sleeping bag
Like taking cover in Mother’s womb
2009-12-18, 19:35
Patriot Hills Camp tent
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Tr. by Denis Mair