The Crow Won’t Be Taken as Divine
designate the crow the nationalbird
but if possible, it’ll
hang on the wall
sit straight in the livingroom
stand still in various solemnplaces
it’ll be solid black
its songs will be sung
by great sons anddaughters
I Love Beijing Tiananmen Square
is a pair of underwear
it holds tight to myoriginal intention
if you can’t
withdraw your scream
from the expanse
if you can
grow flowers and trees
on the street
and no one willinterfere
I live with a herd of animals,
only I am dressed neat and tidy.
They walk to and fro
none of them bothered by my beauty.
The dark clouds in the distance dissipate and gather again
thunder is pressed down
searchingconstantly in the gaps between buildings
The animals are walking
the animals arewalking
the animals are stillwalking.
Finally a great big animal
lying bymy side, lets me touch
its ice-cold face
We Are Playing Games Barefoot
I’m not someone with a feel forlanguage.
You cover my eyes,
youhold my hand, the right hand
On the left a candle is lit
On the left another candle is lit
On the left a third candle is lit.
I want to feel the light’s heat,
totell the first candle
The person holding me has bright eyes,
She’s embedded in the dark figure ofshadow,
whileI lean my back against her breasts.
Passing Through These Things, Move Enough
We’ve all come here riding horses.
One horse. Two horses. Three horses.Four horses. Five horses. Six horses.
In the sky dark clouds press down.
Betweenthe dark clouds and far mountains is drawn awhite line.
Just one white horse.
Just her eye.
Just her eyes.
Just her eyes shed.
Just her eyes shedding.
Just her eyes shedding tears.
Just her eyes shedding teardrops.
The Height ofthe Master Almost Reaches the Eaves
Acraftsman carves a piece of wood into a Master
he’s painted black to show the existence of a soul
he’s painted with greasepaint to show the heart’s purity
he doesn’t pee, only sweats in summer
My wishes go away from me.
They brush past my shoulder,
walking onto my back
My back shines a dim light, which is melancholic, gloomy,
and obscure, but extremely beautiful.
I hold my breath. My eyes’ expression is to go forward,
but my bewilderment stands heavily in the same place,stuck.
Melancholic in the rose of flame
Zidane and Zidane separate
to play their own balls
four Zidanes are running
three Zidanes are running
two Zidanes are running
separately, only one Zidane
the Zidane in the heart
is melancholic in the rose of flame
so lonely that he can only see
the Zidane of the heart
the ball has become a nuisance
This Rotten Poem Is for Pound
I am indeed lonely
if death by loneliness is my punishment
three deaths are not enough
I miss light when there’s no light
lift up my face as if to greet thethunder in the sky
actually it’s to wait for raindrops
the light drops down, section by section
when the eyes are used up use the muscles
when the chest is used up use the ankle
on the ground a pool of light gathers,like dust
which will fly away if I blow
I adjust my steps to it carefully
and spin my waist, lest the future
Love in Despair
I’min the shape of a ring, a snake
I’mnot able to walk out. The crowd surrounding me
hold flowers and cheese in their hands
asif they were comforting a patient
somany people look like gentlemen
peoplein black top hats
peoplein black scarves
whyso many of them.
I’min the dark, I still see you
youbare your upper body, revolving crazily
youare bumping against the edge of the wall.
Catch,you catch the wall,
catch,you catch a hooting light,
thefence is growing around me
inthe speed of spring, although she
hasno idea what she’s growing. Still,
I’min the shape of a ring, a snake
but now even smaller, more bewitching,herrr——
patheticnessand loneliness in all pictures
alate portrait of love is worshiped
onthe table full of rotten flowers; only one person
indark sunglasses is looking at me
andchanting, half-heartedly, the despair
Translated By Zheng Xiucai、Paul Manfredi、Jeffrey Twitchell-Waas
Zhou Yaping is a Chinese poet, director and producer. He was born in Jiangsu on July 25th in 1961. Now he lives in Beijing and works at China Central Television. Zhou Yaping began writing poetry in 1980s. He and Che Qianzi organized « Formalist poetry Group at Nanjing University » and « Original: Chinese Language-Poetry Group » in late 1980s. In 1994, The journal Parataxis, which is edited by the British Poet J. H. Prynne, made a special issue called Original: Chinese Language-Poetry Group which is a English collection of the poems and articles by Zhou Yaping, Che Qianzi and several other poets. In recent years after 2008, Zhou Yaping published several new poetry collections, including If Wheat Dies, Vulgar Beauty, Opera Theatre, Red White Blue Grey Black Black, With the Public, The Crossed-Out Words and To the Sordid Taxi Driver. Zhou Yaping was selected as one of the “China’s Annual Poets” by the Poetry Magazine Poetry Exploration in 2011 and won the first Eraser Literary Prize organized by the Independent literary Magazine Eraser in 2014.