Bus Route 400: A String of Happy Bullets
In certain cities, on certain evenings, there comes a brief and exquisite interval — when the sky turns a blue that defies description, quiet and seemingly eternal, though in truth it is about to go d…
Tag: #poetry
7 posts
Gray Snow Mountain
I often dream of a gray snow mountain, grayer and vaster than any snow mountain I have ever dreamed of. Once, I dreamed of it continuously for months, trekking day after day across a rock on the south…
The Politics of Poetry
There is an old saying in our tradition: "to not lose the teaching of poetry." To have grievance, to have satire, and for these grievances and satires to be expressed rightly—this is called not losing…
He Turned to Dust in China
I saw this poem on the Shuimu BBS forum, and I must credit the poster by name: topboy. It is a poem by the English-American writer W. H. Auden, translated by Cha Liangyong (Mu Dan):
Summer
Summer arrives the sky blank again the sun shining clearly on this side of the world the other side asleep houses standing upright on the ground drenched in sunlight as though humanity has perished th…
The Masked Rider on the Motorbike Taxi
The leaves hang motionless in the sky, only I can feel the wind. I am the masked rider of this city, masked with a face you do not know. Where did you see me? You might have just walked out of a shopp…
The First Snow of 2017
Head full of white snow like white hair,