to visit China
I would go
to the Great
Wal-Mart store—
my first thought
Renaud translates:
“Only the good
man makes it
all the way”
I stop climbing
after 1000 steps
make it back
all the way
Along the Wall
you ask one
question, then another,
but my ignorance
is as great
as this winding
wall is long
my driver offered
me my first
cigarette in years
I left my
ashes in Beijing
At our welcome dinner
with the senior editor
of the Guangming Daily
I struggle with my
chopsticks until he notices
& requests two forks
I watch three willows bow
To a stiff March breeze
Trying very hard to be spiritual,
I am distracted by a man
who observes that the Aroma Pavilion
is next to the men’s toilet
Geese on the pond
—always now
no tomorrow
“Mind the Hilly Road”
Yes—
Mind: the hilly road
A man writes poems
on the stone walk
with mop and water
Unlike Li Po
I, wandering
T’ai Mountain,
watch geese
disappear but
cannot write
one word
A magpie cries, takes
flight, becoming a speck,
then less than that,
leaving only magpie cry
I count my yuan,
but it has flown,
& this small poem
A man takes my photograph,
rubs his chin to indicate
my beard and smiles, nods
thanks, smiles again, nods again
Now, two girls want their
photo taken with me—Renaud
says I look to them
like a movie star . . . I
make plans to move here
Terror lurks still
in the Eight
Banners’ armor
The air in Heaven
is wretched,
but the blessed are
not deterred . . .
Eternity is sing-alongs,
pipas, dominoes
6000 warriors still guard
Q’in Shihuang . . . a few
have lost their heads
years of unfurloughed duty
such loyalty in this
clay graveyard, battle formation
of giant toy soldiers
like heaven’s basement or
the attic of hell
More loyal than you
more real than I
Ah, today Norm
is the sick
man of Asia
Two birds
peck at
seeds spilt
beneath a stall—
some
have sprouted . . .
the seeds
I mean
Quail eggs and weak tea
Car horns and temple bells
Smell of smoke, incense, cabbage
night, today
I leave
two footprints
at old
master Lao
Tzu’s tomb
I give a young monk some incense sticks
he gives me a bite of his lunch
around another corner, an old monk says hello
as last year’s leaves scatter . . . it is enough
From the eighth-floor window
of my five-star hotel
I look down on one
of the city’s smaller dumps—
everywhere there is a poem
awaiting its two poets
Even Norm
has arisen
So many people
in dire need
& sidewalks spotless
Not gone so very long
yet each day I think
more often than the last
of your arms, the mouth
that wishes to kiss mine
I did not
find the Way
although I did
with regret find
the way out
Two more women
want their picture
taken with me
Renaud laughs, asks
for my autograph
Norm says
the jellyfish
tastes like
peanut butter
Kent, Ohio:
money talks
From the riffled leaves
of Renaud’s book
on Ming Dynasty furniture
fall the orchid
petals left on last
night’s cool sheets
No one in Ren Xiong’s
Thatched House Beside Fanhu Lake
just an empty home, planted
fields, a road, one heron
Rivers, mountains
Mencius & Moutai
before & after
Finally tired of tramping
the street of Shanghai
I return to where
I have never been
I read the poems
of Mao Zedong
“by lakeside grievous
water flows along
with the crowd”
with Phil Ochs
I ask, was
this the enemy?
“I sigh to see
Deep water under
Deep blue sky”
A Chén Hóngshòu landscape
retouched by city planners
Sign
beside the exit
reads
“to be continued”
The sparrows
to whom
a crumb
don’t care
that they
are Chinese
Wildflowers find
roothold, read
the carp
Nothing people do
that doesn’t happen
on these streets—
the body breaks
before the soul
On the way
to the airport
my driver plays
the Hank Williams
I gave him
and we both
try singing along