BEI DAO
from Sidetracks
Translated by Jeffrey Yang
Bei Dao reading Poem XXXII (India section) of Sidetracks, May 2023.
This video courtesy of Anatoly Detwyler and the Consortium of Humanities Centers and Institutes, University of Madison, Wisconsin. Subtitles by Yiyun Li.
XXX
winter night Sierra Nevada Mountains deep forest
Gary raises the kerosene lamp fetches firewood
fire is the heartbeat he sits in the empty valley
coyotes chase a long letter
anti-spiritual pollution campaign chases me
late fall 1984 he and Allen
meet me in secret at the Bamboo Garden Hotel
whistles drill through the sky blue of dream
roof tiles blanket the fictitious night
woodcutter seaman forester
you are the mind circling in meditation
dwelling in Kyoto’s Shokokuji Temple—
wind chimes and crickets echo each other
he invited me to join a poetry class
wilderness students playing language games
sunlight on Putah Creek distracting me
American Indians who lived here near the waters
fish-scale days passed through the net
“comrades fight for you when you’ve been wronged”
some people threw me out of the system
both the American Indians and I have lost a home
drifting drifting in America
the young heifer died the little boy so heartbroken
walks to church the priest shakes his head—
No the young heifer cannot enter Heaven
the boy has lost his faith in Christianity
Buddhism assumes the equality of all living things
somewhere outside Nevada City we lose our way
search the stars in the upside-down map
he leads the way passing through room and forest
misty rain weaves the cloth of early spring
zazen room abode of the soul he sits cross-legged
before the meditation table lights incense presses palms to the heart
strikes the chimes shakes the bell raps the tortoise shell
form is emptiness emptiness is form
receives the wholeness of the land valley forest and birds
an axe handle is an extension of a verb
growth rings recount their own suspicious years
he splits firewood to get through winter
a thousand paper cranes cross mountains of love
crossing the Pacific Ocean I lead the way
from Hong Kong Island to the poetry festival port
he meditates on deck I fall asleep
ocean rises vertically all living beings sculpted in relief—
the sickness of humanity an illusion
Mazu Temple incense smoke curls into the air
he uses simple hand gestures in place of spoken words
pushing open door after door of sorrow and happiness
No Nature between exhalation and inhalation
three of us cross the border a broken line is also the way back home
on the hillside at White Dove Nest Park
we sit around a stone table and talk about the world
night falls the chessboard flips over
dhyana plays a game with the mountains and rivers—
I lift up a corner from that curtain of night:
He cries out, rises up and stands
Facing toward the torrent and the mountain
Raises up both hands and shouts three times!
XXXI
the sun pulses Baiyang Lake—
wind blows the reeds boat rocks across the sky
early summer 1982 Adachi Souichi
hungover we have no oars
just married he stretches out with the cooking smoke
in a hutong alley in Beijing
Tokyo twentieth anniversary of Today magazine
on the road from the end to the start of the journey
the tyrants of language go crazy
how far Japanese poets travel for Chinese poetry
the audience recedes like tidewater
exposing the anchor’s memories
Kinkakuji Temple flickers in the pages of the yellow-cover book
set ablaze by the young Buddhist monk —
Mishima Yukio grasps ephemeral beauty
splits the sorrows of water with a blade
sakura petals scatter on a tray
pachinko machine makes my blood surge
a flash and thunder apprentice to fate
all the parts I’ve assembled have been taken over
as the steel balls roll into the chute
China-Japan unite poetries—“seas of the millennium”
end to end connect wave into wave
I gaze dazed at Mount Fuji in the distance
heart disease and the Hiroshima bomb
midlife crisis nowhere for me to flee
bow before the eight directions of the wind—
Shun Korenaga’s hair washed white by the years
my Japanese shadow wanders around
car tracks awakened in Fukude fields—
childhood a slight figure drinks water
reads Lu Xun’s Wild Grass in middle school
the dangers of climbing over the stockades of language
Kyoto stillness little temple
the dice in the stars roll in the night sky
a wild deer follows my daughter
sutra of light deaf flowers
sun from a past life in the hot spring
my shadow continues to roam
Izu has no dancing girl rain falls harder
opens the rhythm’s oil-cloth umbrella
end of a tunnel greeting butterflies of light
ruins from the firebombing of Tokyo
a small tree grows in the middle of delusion
taking root alarm signals through the generations
on the subway escalator going up to the planetarium
why erect your own poetry monument
at Kamogawa City rain-soaked mood
I wear rubber boots muddy trail reaches the end of the world
absence lasts longer than debate—
the spirit of poetry lives transiently in stone
I pay a visit to Tanikawa Shuntaro
at the old house in which he was born
pencil mast blank paper storm
two billion light years of loneliness
teacup water whirlpool Mars-speak
XXXII
“a conversation between two eastern civilizations”—
Himalayas seas of ice heap into peaks
the zone of farming civilization in Asia
New Delhi India International Centre
Chinese & Indian writers sit at a conference table
I. Allan Sealy takes us to Vrindavan the city of widows
sun halts the scale of suffering
a sari winds around the lifetime of a woman
the texture of flowers from blossoming to withering away
a monkey sneaks behind Allan and steals his
eyeglasses looks calmly out from the temple roof
little hotel without glass
expands the transparent lungs of midnight
mosquitos go on a trip with us
distant singing from a wedding draws near
betrays the cloven hooves of dawn
Varanasi sun sets on the Ganges
flames turn into a dragon the motion and stillness of waves
a temple drifts toward us
Magris and I barefoot and garlanded with flowers
people lead the way he leaves a dāna for the gods
wipes the dripping sweat from his face and turns to me
Ganges breath of lightning and the land
prayer bathing dancing cremation
the heart’s oil lamp illuminates my skin
did the gods precede the caste system
shimmering seeds scatter into the night sky
Deer Park where is the Bodhi Tree
I am enchanted by the fear of death
Xuanzang passing through shifting borders
prayer flags fly up Buddhist sutras reach China
the temples sustain the lives of the people through wind and rain
count the mala beads of the days—
the conversation between Chinese & Indian writers continues
flies slipping in time
at lunch a large crow swoops down
and snatches away Ouyang Jianghe’s tasty meal
swerves into our themes and variations
Ellora Kailasa temple Cave 16
how many generations chiseled the basalt day night day
the architect sees the landscape on paper
I’m like a blind man feeling the edge of the vestibule
the artisans carve my eyes—
Blue City looking out from the castle fort
a deep well is the solitude of kings
thirsting near water the golden cups are
silent I ride a camel with my daughter
the desert is an advertisement for time
sun and shadow how can you describe the wind
Rajasthani nomads ancestors of freedom
untouchable ones of the caste system
we taste the bhang cookies
chase the canvas tents chase the homeland of the wind
fourth round of conversations between Chinese & Indian writers
Hong Kong the peacefulness of the night before a tropical rainstorm
prepare for the different typhoon warning signals
birds veer into the hour of osmanthus redolence
West Lake we take a group photo with Tagore
Notes
Poem XXX
anti-spiritual pollution campaign: A failed political campaign launched in October 1983 under paramount leader Deng Xiaoping to eliminate both leftists and decadent rightists in the communist party by taking active measures against cultural and ideological bourgeois liberalism. Bei Dao was an outspoken critic of the campaign, which was quietly canceled by the end of January 1984.
“comrades fight for you . . .: Bei Dao quotes Gary Snyder.
form is emptiness . . .: From the Mahaprajna Paramita Heart Sutra.
poetry festival at Hong Kong Island: The International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong, a poetry festival spearheaded by Bei Dao, held its first gathering in November 2009.
three of us cross the border: A conversation between Bei Dao, Gary Snyder, and Eliot Weinberger that was later published in a book through the poetry festival titled Ancient Enmity (古老的敵意, gulao de diyi, 2012).
He cries out . . . three times!: From Gary Snyder’s poem “Meeting the Mountains.”
Poem XXXI
Adachi Souichi: 安達壯一 (Anda Zhuangyi, b. 1950), former executive at Sony (China).
twentieth anniversary of Today magazine: Celebrated in Tokyo in early December 1998.
“seas of the millennium”: Theme of the second international poetry festival held in Shizuoka, Japan in November 2000.
Shun Korenaga: 是永駿 (Shi Yong Jun, b. 1943), scholar, poet, and translator.
Izu has no dancing girl: Allusion to Yasunari Kawabata’s novel The Dancing Girl of Izu (1926).
poetry monument: Bei Dao’s stone poetry monument in Kamogawa, Japan was unveiled on November 19, 2016.
Tanikawa Shuntaro: (b. 1931), Japanese poet and translator. His first collection of poetry, Two Billion Light Years of Loneliness, was published in 1952.
Poem XXXII
“a conversation between two eastern civilizations”: Today magazine and the online journal Almost Island co-host the India-China Writers’ Dialogue Series. The quote is by the political psychologist, social theorist, and critic Ashis Nandy from his opening remarks to the first conference held in February 2009 in New Delhi.
I. Allan Sealy: (b. 1951), Indian novelist.
Magris: Claudio Magris (b. 1939), Italian scholar, translator, and novelist.
Ouyang Jianghe: (b. 1956), Chinese poet and critic.
Blue City: Jodhopur, a city in the Thar Desert in the state of Rajasthan famous for its bluepainted buildings.fourth round of conversations: The fourth conference of the India-China Writers’ Dialogue Series took place in Hong Kong and Hangzhou in October 2018.
Tagore: Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941), Bengali poet, writer, painter, and composer whowas the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913.
Bei Dao was born in 1949. He spent eleven years working as a construction labourer. He is one of China's most significant poets, and has lived in exile since the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989. His work has been widely translated into English. His books in translation include The August Sleepwalker (1990), Old Snow (1991), Forms of Distance (1994), Landscape Over Zero (1996), Unlock (2000), The Rose of Time: New and Selected Poems, and the most recent City Gate, Open Up, a memoir, translated by Jeffrey Yang. He is one of the founder editors of the literature journal Jintian, begun in 1978. Jintian published a new literature which expressed the importance of the imagination and of individual perception, long suppressed in the Chinese context. It was banned in 1980, and was later revived by Bei Dao in exile, and he continues to edit it today. He currently lives in Hong Kong.
Jeffrey Yang is the author of four books of poetry: Line and Light, Hey, Marfa (winner of the Southwest Book Award); Vanishing-Line; and An Aquarium (winner of the PEN/Joyce Osterweil Award. He is the translator of Bei Dao’s autobiography City Gate, Open Up, Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Liu Xiaobo’s June Fourth Elegies, Ahmatjan Osman’s Uyghurland, the Farthest Exile, and Su Shi’s East Slope. He has edited the poetry anthologies Birds, Beasts, and Seas and Time of Grief, a volume of Walt Whitman’s poetry and prose, The Sea Is a Continual Miracle, and an expanded edition of Mary Oppen’s Meaning a Life: An Autobiography. Yang has received fellowships from the DAAD artists-in-Berlin program, the Lannan Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Omina Freundeshilfe Foundation. He is the Editor-At-Large for New Directions Publishing and also edits titles for New York Review Books. His translation of Bei Dao’s Sidetracks will be published by New Direction in spring 2024.