11.20-22: from epic paint to epic paint

11.20
If I go back to Henan next weekend with a couple that I really despise and am uncomfortable with exposing the kids to, it will be a chance for me to face up and make positive change, even make amends. I should probably look at it the other way, too. The kids don't need my protection; in fact, they might just cleanse us all for one more weekend.

But I'm still torn about whether to go to the Shaolin Temples, which aren't even remotely Buddhist any longer and have been reopened by the government specifically as a tourist attraction in response to its popularity in contemporary fiction. I might see this degradation of the heart of the martial arts and turn to blame those too familiar to me, the ones close to home. The little girl we met last time, locking the gate of a school in the village, told us she wasn't surprised to meet a foreigner because she saw white people before at Shaolin. Wudang wasn't entirely pure, but at least it remained religious and locally Chinese.

I just went to the chuanr place on campus and got two chicken wings on skewers. Eating them without my hands and spitting out the bones, I thought of Kate plucking berries for me at the mountain. I'm going for the kids' sake, which is the only way I can make this my sake.


11.21
Went to 圆明园 today, and stopped by the local market to eat the greatest 煎饼 this side of Beijing. Once we were inside the park, Joy kept saying it was like she had gotten sucked into some nutcracker dream, it was so quiet and empty. We watched weeping willows in all the autumn colors sweep their hair across the ruins of the old Summer Palace. We sat at the bank of a lake, our feet at the ice-frosted shore, watching the wind blow ripples westward, listening to the crisp of that year's leaves like rainfall in the dry branches. We watched a lone rowboat and its lone passenger, soft in the sunlight. We saw old men fishing in streams and lowering their catches back into the water. We skipped rocks on frozen waters.

And the three of us talked, and discovered each other and that it's not too late to make friends.

Victoria from Henan sent me an email with a poem by 顾城. This is my effort at my first poem translation.

我是一个任性的孩子
I'm A Willful Child

我想在大地上画满窗子，
I want to draw a full window in the earth,
让所有习惯黑暗的眼睛都习惯光明。
turn the eyes of dark habit into the promise of light.
也许我是被妈妈宠坏的孩子
Maybe I let my mother spoil me
我任性
into willfulness.

我希望
I wish
每一个时刻
every moment
都像彩色蜡笔那样美丽
was crayon-pretty
我希望
I wish
能在心爱的白纸上画画
I could draw on the blank pages o fmy heart's treasures
画出笨拙的自由
draw the clumsiness of freedom
画下一只永远不会
draw forever-
流泪的眼睛
tearless eyes
一片天空
one slice of heaven
一片属于天空的羽毛和树叶
and one of heaven's plumes and leaves
一个淡绿的夜晚和苹果
the light green of evening's apples
我想画下早晨
I want to draw daybreak
画下露水
draw ephemeral dew
所能看见的微笑
the ability to catch smiles
画下所有最年轻的
all the youngest
没有痛苦的爱情
and painless loves
她没有见过阴云
which have never seen dark clouds
她的眼睛是晴空的颜色
which have clear eyes
她永远看着我
that always see me
永远，看着
forever seeing
绝不会忽然掉过头去
never to suddenly fail
我想画下遥远的风景
I want to paint the distant landscapes
画下清晰的地平线和水波
paint clear horizons and ripples
画下许许多多快乐的小河
paint countless joyful rivulets
画下丘陵——
paint hills--
长满淡淡的茸毛
growing softly everywhere
我让它们挨得很近
I'll bring them closer
让它们相爱
make it love
让每一个默许
make it requited
每一阵静静的春天激动
every quiet burst of rain in spring's stirrings
都成为一朵小花的生日
become birthings of flowers

我还想画下未来
and I want to paint the future
我没见过她，也不可能
I haven't seen her, I can't
但知道她很美
but I know she's beautiful
我画下她秋天的风衣
I'll paint her autumn clothes
画下那些燃烧的烛火和枫叶
paint those burning candle flames and sweet maple leaves
画下许多因为爱她
paint countlessly for my love
而熄灭的心
because she extinguishes my heart
画下婚礼
I'll paint weddings
画下一个个早早醒来的节日——
I'll paint every early-morning holiday--
上面贴着玻璃糖纸
paste candy glass on top
和北方童话的插图
and fairytale pictures from the North

我是一个任性的孩子
I'm a willful child
我想涂去一切不幸
I want to black out every misfortune
我想在大地上
on the earth, I want to
画满窗子
paint a full window
让所有习惯黑暗的眼睛
and turn all the eyes of dark habits
都习惯光明
into the promise of light
我想画下风
I want to draw the wind
画下一架比一架更高大的山岭
paint bookcase upon bookcase of mountains
画下东方民族的渴望
paint the Eastern minorities' thirsty longings
画下大海——
paint the open sea--
无边无际愉快的声音
the sounds of limitless joy
最后，在纸角上
and lastly, ont he paper's corner
我还想画下自己
I still want to paint myself
画下一只树熊
I'll paint a tree-bear(?)
他坐在维多利亚深色的丛林里
sitting in a dark victorian(?) jungle
坐在安安静静的树枝上
on a quiet, peaceful branch
发愣
in a daze
他没有家
he's homeless
没有一颗留在远处的心
no distant place to leave his heart
他只有，许许多多
only countless
浆果一样的梦
dreams like berries
和很大很大的眼睛
and enormous eyes

我在希望
I'm wishing
在想
and wanting
但不知为什么
but don't know why
我没有领到蜡笔
I haven't gotten a crayon
没有得到一个彩色的时刻
or succeeded in coloring the moment
我只有我
I only have myself
我的手指和创痛
my fingers and these wounds
只有撕碎那一张张
only shredding sheet by sheet
心爱的白纸
the blank pages of my heart's treasures
让它们去寻找蝴蝶
making them look for butterflies
让它们从今天消失
making them disapper from this day

我是一个孩子
I'm a kid
一个被幻想妈妈宠坏的孩子
a kid spoiled by my mother

我任性
I'm willful

Damn tiring. 8 pages! I used "draw" and "paint" interchangeably. I don't know what the window's about, or the victorian busines. The bear in the tree must be the poet with the big-eyed vision.

This is much prettier in Chinese. In English poetry, we strive for more imagery and less flowery language because the latter is trite, but in Chinese the imagery is already entwined in all the words, etymologically speaking or just in idiomatic usage. Triteness in Chinese becomes an exquisite hark back to a history of tradition and culture.

One more note: in English, when we say "I wish" we have to switch into the subjective tense, acknowledging we're not discussing reality (I know this from teaching thsoe poems in Hong Kong!). But in Chinese, there is no subjective tense. Your wish just is.


11.22 - "I ain't drunk / I'm just drinkin' "
My ears are still ringing from a night of live blues by Black Cat Bone (黑猫骨), self-described as "badass blues brewed in Beijing." It began with a harmonica solo in dim lighting, and then the drums and a hard Gibson SG came busting out. The guitarist clearly picked up the instrument originally just to be in the spotlight. The 50-yr-old singer is going home with more than one lady tonight. The bassman was definitely the coolest cat of all. And the harp-man, plus the Chinese guest with his own blues harp, are the reason Im' buying a harmonica when I get back to the states. The other guest with her banjo and smoky voice was very sweet too. I dug it when the guitarist tripped on his way down the stairs to jam a solo with the swing-dance club that came (not to say that I danced). I dug it when the harp player took a break during one song and had a smoke whiel bobbing his head to the music. I dug the "One Way Out" cover (from one of my earliest forays into the blues and The Allman Brothers) that hit all the notes in the solo with the harmonicas. And I dug the Muddy Waters song. And the Hendrix.

I remember my first roller coaster was six years ago in Guangdong. My first clubbing experience was last month in Shanghai. My first Jack D was in Hong Kong. My first beer, first smoke, first dance. I'm super satisfied with my first live band-show being real blues with white band members who spoke fluent Mandarin between songs, not to mention the Chinese harp player touches me deeply with ethnic pride.

Also, Peking Duck and bullfrog meat tonight. And a fried seahorse on a stick. Oh yeah.

If only all this somke and pollution weren't shrivelling my lungs into nothingness. I can hardly speaking without interrupting myself to cough. There's some assortment of healing I need to do soon.

Also, I need to stop making so many judgments. The pair I spent the day with surprised me tremendously. People are ultimately really worthwhile and enriching in all their complicated foolishness. I need to be a window in this world, turning dark habits into the promise of light.