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Over the Pacific: A Chan Poem
Flying high enough means to
Traveling far enough
To a new realm, where
There is neither borderline
Between sea and sky
Between day and night
Nor distinction
Between yesterday and tomorrow
Where every shape is softly roundish
Every line is tenderly curvy
While all colors become fluffily white
Like dehydrated snow
You would find yourself sailing alone
To an outer Hyperborea
On a heavenly boat
With no more attachments to the earth
There and then, your entire selfhood
Shrinks into a tiny dot of light
One and the same with your soul, your spirit
Gliding, cruising
In perfect pacificity
Sightseeing at Harrison Lake
under a wishful willow
on the bench's bare back
are awkwardly carved
many names, initials, heartshapes
some densely isolated
others thinly connected
with plus or equal signs
making a whole new monument
a tortured totem of tourism
unoccupied, probably reserved
there's no sudden heat of hope
or quick burial of burned burins
yet like a huge fish fossilized
sitting still in open solitude
towards the hills drifting beyond
as if to wait at the waterfront
for the long lost syllables
stranded below the setting sun
Big Rock Mouth
Far from Zhangjiajie, the UNESCO-designated nature park
In China; farther from the Louise Lake in Banff
The tourist hotspot in Canada; yet close to the little town
Where I was born, and even closer to
The paradise on earth, your are actually an unknown corner
Falling off from Eden, rather than a natural reservoir
Hidden in a remote valley, where hills are more
Like green elephants, where the water is sweeter
Than Coke Cola, with each tree more outstanding
More graceful than a fashion model walking around the Eiffel Tower
With each rock more artistic than a masterpiece of
Beethoven or Picasso. Even though no tourist has ever passed by
You feel neither lonely nor upset: is it because you find yourself
Fully fulfilled among the words arrayed in his poetry?
On the Honghu Lake
Among dozens of colonies of lotus
The flowers grow in crowds of colors
White, pink, red, blue or purple
Except all leaves green, as stems arise
Straightly from blackish muddy lakebeds
As if to pave a path for a patrolling Buddha
The most versatile plant in my original country
Lotus is now seen in terms of seeds and roots only
Both sweet and crisp to its finicky eaters
While the much lauded purity of its big flowers
Has become a forgotten foreign cliché
Under a cluster of tall and broad leaves
The boatman in straw rain cape suddenly squatted
Not to hide from the summer shower
Chasing the giggling seedpod pickers
But to reveal a secret to me touring from Canada
Each of those standing tall above the lake
Has a groom lying flat on the water nearby
Visiting the Weisui Lake
The same kinds of pine trees
The bushes no less bushy or brilliant
The same lines of mountain ranges
As irregularly handsome
The waters also composed of h2o
Certainly just as clear and clean
With even more lively fishes swimming
In leisure, and in this unknown valley
How come it has not become a costly resort
Like the famous louise lake there
At the feet of rocky mountains, for instance?
At Badalin, the Great Wall
Among thousands of climbers
Like so many fallen autumn leaves
Drifting up and down along an embedding stream
Names carved with keys and coins
Weathered over days, years and centuries
So many lives have been lost
As witnessed by fewer and fewer worn bricks
Breathless, I spotted a foreign black woman breathing hard
With a pair of shiny crutches
Standing against the darkening sky
How could you manage to come all the way here
By yourself? I wonder
Metasequonia King
Neither the oldest
Nor the tallest
Not even the thickest
But the only survivor of a whole lost civilization
You have been standing for centuries in my home province
Against all storms and seasons
Among scattered cottages with straw-thatched roofs
Walled with corn-stems, deep in an unknown valley
You were discovered as a living fossil the other day
And ever since then, a park has been expanded
Into a national reserve, where worshippers keep
Coming to pay their homage, where your offspring
Begin their long march into every city
Of the new world, where you are growing
Strong and straight, shading the main streets and
Back lanes, as if to remind all foreigners of
Real dinosaurs and real ice ages
Not unlike me, or my fellow diasporas
Flying high enough means to
Traveling far enough
To a new realm, where
There is neither borderline
Between sea and sky
Between day and night
Nor distinction
Between yesterday and tomorrow
Where every shape is softly roundish
Every line is tenderly curvy
While all colors become fluffily white
Like dehydrated snow
You would find yourself sailing alone
To an outer Hyperborea
On a heavenly boat
With no more attachments to the earth
There and then, your entire selfhood
Shrinks into a tiny dot of light
One and the same with your soul, your spirit
Gliding, cruising
In perfect pacificity
Sightseeing at Harrison Lake
under a wishful willow
on the bench's bare back
are awkwardly carved
many names, initials, heartshapes
some densely isolated
others thinly connected
with plus or equal signs
making a whole new monument
a tortured totem of tourism
unoccupied, probably reserved
there's no sudden heat of hope
or quick burial of burned burins
yet like a huge fish fossilized
sitting still in open solitude
towards the hills drifting beyond
as if to wait at the waterfront
for the long lost syllables
stranded below the setting sun
Big Rock Mouth
Far from Zhangjiajie, the UNESCO-designated nature park
In China; farther from the Louise Lake in Banff
The tourist hotspot in Canada; yet close to the little town
Where I was born, and even closer to
The paradise on earth, your are actually an unknown corner
Falling off from Eden, rather than a natural reservoir
Hidden in a remote valley, where hills are more
Like green elephants, where the water is sweeter
Than Coke Cola, with each tree more outstanding
More graceful than a fashion model walking around the Eiffel Tower
With each rock more artistic than a masterpiece of
Beethoven or Picasso. Even though no tourist has ever passed by
You feel neither lonely nor upset: is it because you find yourself
Fully fulfilled among the words arrayed in his poetry?
On the Honghu Lake
Among dozens of colonies of lotus
The flowers grow in crowds of colors
White, pink, red, blue or purple
Except all leaves green, as stems arise
Straightly from blackish muddy lakebeds
As if to pave a path for a patrolling Buddha
The most versatile plant in my original country
Lotus is now seen in terms of seeds and roots only
Both sweet and crisp to its finicky eaters
While the much lauded purity of its big flowers
Has become a forgotten foreign cliché
Under a cluster of tall and broad leaves
The boatman in straw rain cape suddenly squatted
Not to hide from the summer shower
Chasing the giggling seedpod pickers
But to reveal a secret to me touring from Canada
Each of those standing tall above the lake
Has a groom lying flat on the water nearby
Visiting the Weisui Lake
The same kinds of pine trees
The bushes no less bushy or brilliant
The same lines of mountain ranges
As irregularly handsome
The waters also composed of h2o
Certainly just as clear and clean
With even more lively fishes swimming
In leisure, and in this unknown valley
How come it has not become a costly resort
Like the famous louise lake there
At the feet of rocky mountains, for instance?
At Badalin, the Great Wall
Among thousands of climbers
Like so many fallen autumn leaves
Drifting up and down along an embedding stream
Names carved with keys and coins
Weathered over days, years and centuries
So many lives have been lost
As witnessed by fewer and fewer worn bricks
Breathless, I spotted a foreign black woman breathing hard
With a pair of shiny crutches
Standing against the darkening sky
How could you manage to come all the way here
By yourself? I wonder
Metasequonia King
Neither the oldest
Nor the tallest
Not even the thickest
But the only survivor of a whole lost civilization
You have been standing for centuries in my home province
Against all storms and seasons
Among scattered cottages with straw-thatched roofs
Walled with corn-stems, deep in an unknown valley
You were discovered as a living fossil the other day
And ever since then, a park has been expanded
Into a national reserve, where worshippers keep
Coming to pay their homage, where your offspring
Begin their long march into every city
Of the new world, where you are growing
Strong and straight, shading the main streets and
Back lanes, as if to remind all foreigners of
Real dinosaurs and real ice ages
Not unlike me, or my fellow diasporas
Yuan Changming published monographs on translation before leaving China. With a Canadian PhD in English, Yuan currently edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Yuan in Vancouver; credits include ten Pushcart nominations, the Naji Naaman's Literary Prize 2018, Best of the Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, Threepenny Review and 1,449 others worldwide.
yuan changming @ Poetry Pacific
https://poetrypacific.blogspot.ca
https://happyyangsheng.blogspot.ca
Lotus Image & License: Depositphotos_32738103_s-2015
