(1952– )
A Fujian native, Shu Ting, real name Gong Peiyu, was the leading woman poet in the 1980s. Like many of her generation during the Cultural Revolution, she was sent to the countryside to “receive reeducation by the peasants” in 1969, when she was still a high school student. In 1972, she returned to the city and worked at factories. The publication in 1979 of her poem “To an Oak,” which freely expresses romantic love, made her an instant celebrity in a nation still reeling from a decade-long cultural and spiritual devastation. Often associated with the Misty Poets, Shu Ting crafted a lyrical voice of a woman, weary of ideological weight and restraint, looking for beauty and truth in the apolitical and ordinary.
If I love you—
I won’t be like the trumpet creeper
Flaunting itself on your tall branches,
If I love you—
I won’t be like the lovesick bird,
Repeating to the green shade its monotonous song;
Nor like a brook,
Bringing cool solace the year round;
Nor like a perilous peak,
Adding to your height, complementing your grandeur;
Nor even sunlight,
Nor even spring rain.
No, these are not enough!
I must be a kapok tree by your side;
In the image of a tree standing by you,
Our roots clasped underground,
Our leaves touching in the clouds.
With every breeze
We salute each other,
But no one
Will understand our language.
You have your trunk of steel and iron branches,
Like knives, like swords,
And like spears.
I have my huge, red flowers,
Like heavy sighs,
And like valiant torches.
We share the burdens of cold, storms, lightning;
We share the joys of mists, vapors, rainbows.
We may seem forever severed,
But are lifelong companions.
This is the greatest of love;
This is constancy:
Love—
I love not just your robust form,
I also love the ground you hold, the earth you stand on.
—March 27, 1977
The phoenix tree suddenly tilts
The bicycle bell’s ring hangs in air
Earth swiftly reverses its rotation
Back to that night ten years ago
The phoenix tree gently sways again
The ringing bell sprinkles floral fragrance
along the trembling street
Darkness gathers, then seeps away
The dawning light of memory merges
with the light in your eyes
Maybe this didn’t happen
Just an illusion spawned by a familiar road
Even if this did happen
I’m used to not shedding any tears.
—March 1979
On the assembly line of time
Nights huddle together
We come down from the factory assembly lines
And join the assembly line going home
Overhead
An assembly line of stars trails across the sky
By our side
A young tree looks dazed on its assembly line
The stars must be tired
Thousands of years have passed
Their journey never changes
The young trees are ill
Dust and monotony deprive them
Of grain and color
I can feel it all
Because we beat to the same rhythm
But strangely
The only thing I do not feel
Is my own existence
As though the woods and stars
Maybe out of habit
Maybe out of sorrow
No longer have the strength to care
About a destiny they cannot alter
—January–February 1980
all roads lead to you
none of them reach you
your words are compiled into dictionaries
those who keep copies of your silence
have their own renditions in their hearts
you locked the door
then threw away the key
you never walk down that street, yet each time
you look up you see a window open
catcalls and applause
sedimentary rocks are soft
before they turn into amber
amid the lush foliage
that cicada of yours
shrills
—1986
(Translated by Eva Hung)