THE LAST WISH

He used to be a lyric poet

and was well known all over the country

when he was not yet thirty.

Then he was selected by the state

to serve as a cultural official.

Everything was in order:

he didn’t have to go to work on weekdays,

when he went out he used a chauffeur,

his job was handled by a secretary

except for the endless meetings he had to attend.

He lived in safety and privilege.

But for nearly half a century

he hasn’t written a poem to his satisfaction,

though he is still called “China’s Rilke.”

Now he is dying.

His superiors are at his bedside,

offering him solicitous words

and asking whether he has some unfulfilled wish.

Suddenly he bursts into tears,

wailing, “I want to write poetry.

I want to leave you some immortal lines!”