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ZHENG CHOUYU

(1933–)

Zheng Chouyu (Cheng Ch’ou-yü), pen name of Zheng Wentao, was born into a military family in He’nan Province and as a child traveled all over China with his father. He grew up in Xinzhu in northwestern Taiwan and graduated from National Zhongxing University with a B.A. in foreign languages and literatures. He received an M.F.A. from University of Iowa and for many years has been teaching Chinese at Yale University.

Zheng started writing poetry in the early 1950s. The lyricism of his work from the ’50s and early ’60s has made him one of the most widely read Chinese poets in Taiwan and China. Many of his poems from that period have been made into songs. After a hiatus of ten years, he resumed writing in 1975; to date he has published a dozen books of poetry.

LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS

Ever since I came to the mountains, my dear friend,

My days have turned around—

Going always from dusk to dawn.

Every night, I brush past the shoulders of dark boulders

To stand on the howling peak

And sing. Here alone but undaunted I can be high-sounding.

Displayed above is the poet’s family tree.

Oh, the blood relation of wisdom needs extension.

So I carve transparent names deeply in the whole sky

And sing. Here alone and undaunted I can be high-sounding.

(1952)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

MISTAKE

I passed through the South of Yangzi

The face waiting at the turn of seasons, like a lotus flower,

blooms and wilts

Without the east wind, the willow catkins in March do not flutter

Your heart is like the lonesome little town

Like its streets of cobblestones near nightfall

When footfalls are silent and the bed curtains of March not unveiled

Your heart is a little window tightly shut

My clattering hooves are beautiful mistakes

I am not a homecoming man but a passing traveler….

(1954)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

IN DREAMLAND

The forest is at my feet and my cottage is still up there.

The fence having come in sight is hidden again at the turn of the path.

Someone should be waiting by the door,

Waiting for the new books I bring and the zither repaired.

But I bring only a jug of wine,

For the one waiting has already left.

Clouds on my path and on my clothes,

I’m in someone’s vague thought.

Up here I find neither birds’ song nor flowers’ smiling faces.

I’m in a cold dreamland….

The forest is at my feet, but my cottage is still up there.

The fence having come in sight is hidden again at the turn of the path.

(1954)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

WATERY LANE

Too high are the surrounding hills, making the clear sky

Look like a window painted blue …

We draw a curtain of clouds

To make shade and a fringe of rain

I used to love the chimes of bells

But now for your sake I worry about rain or shine in the little yard

Forget it

Who cares if our union in this life is rooted in eons of wisdom

Now that you and I have been destined to meet

Like two little fish in this watery lane

(1955)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

BUDDHIST CHANT

After three thousand years of wandering

He has at last taken off his wanderer’s shoes on the westernmost peak

And the gate is closed Intermittent knocking is heard on the animal-head ring

Who has returned standing on the front steps?

Who has returned, having trailed every star and holding his bowl?

Then an ancient hoary male voice is heard

Sounding from the jingle of the inverted bell

Now that he is back at the mountain gate he takes his time entering

He recalls the ferrying the drinking and the pecking

And turns around to look once more

At the world of six times seven

(Oh bells and drums the wondrous forty-two syllables of the magic tara)

The evening prayer of the first day begins in holding the incense

Letting the wooden fish swim forth from the lotus under the tongue

My soul

Is neither far nor near

(1957)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

SKYLIGHT

Every night, the stars come to my tiled roof and draw water

I lie on my back at the bottom of the well. What a deep well!

Ever since there’s the skylight

I feel as if I could tear off the ice and snow covering my body

—I am the spring in the northern land that cannot be denied

All stars are pretty, taking up by turn the week’s seven nights

And what about the little blue star of the south?

The water from the fountain spring is already swaying within the four walls

And the jingling earthen jar is not yet drooping.

Oh, all stars are pretty

But there’s only one name that sounds in my dreams

A name as free and easy as running water …

(1957)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

STOPPING AT A MINOR STATION—A DEDICATION

Two trains meet at a minor station four hours past midnight

Many of the two rows of windows along the two trains face each other

By chance, someone draws the blinds, failing to see what place it is

This is a minor station….

Could there be two people sitting by windows facing each other

Ah, old mates from childhood long apart

Meet on the road both going toward dawn but in opposite directions

But this is a deep cold night at year’s end, blocked by wind and rain

Besides, like a traveler’s dreams, these are days of no surprises

(1957)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

STILL LIFE

Leaning askew is a row of languid books

In straggling heights a ladder for soul-searching

Sweetness flows down and gets contained in the last cup

Enticing the bee’s legs is the pale-yellow fake honey

Rainwater begins to erode the mural a scroll of

An overcast sky in worn-out glaze A stultifying

Empty bed is a spread of soft gray snuggling up to me

And I am merely a human exhibit

An exhibit for sale and not for sale

I am also a still life in the company of wood and wind

On dismal days I am an open book

With the title page already turned last night

(1957)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

MORNING

The song of birds has knocked on my window, sounding like glazed inverted bells

All through the night raindrops have moistened the blue monk’s habit in my dream

Now hanging from the tall banana tree outside

Early morning, like a little girl on tiptoe, has come

To peep at the tonsure of my youth with a kind of regret

A touch cool to the skin, saying, “Oh, to go home now!”

(1957)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

AFTERNOON

The woodpecker pecks incessantly, like the footsteps of someone crossing a bridge

The whole afternoon the woodpecker pecks

While the hillock has already shifted its shadow to the other shore of the rivulet

We too have sat through the afternoon and walked

With sounds like footsteps across the bridge, traveling far

As far as the home of the setting sun—Oh, yes

We shall stay the night on the other side of the sky, where there are no stars

(1957)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

PURE CLARITY

Drunken, I let the silent night flow in my body

And, plugging my ears, I let mystery echo in my body

The scent of flowers oozes from my skin

At this most beautiful moment I let myself be worshipped

And accept a sacrifice of flying streamers from a thousand families

The stars hang down in strings, making the wine overflow between my lips

The fog is still and cold like praying eyes

Numerous eyes casting their gaze across my hair

I wish to return, brushing the vegetation off my body

I have returned to being a range of green hills lying supine

(1959)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

BORDER INN

The autumn territory is divided under the setting sun

At the border, yellow chrysanthemums stand in silence

And he has come from afar, drinking soberly

Outside the window is a foreign country

He longs to step out and in one stride attain homesickness

That beautiful longing, within the reach of a stretching arm

Perhaps it’d do no harm to get drunk

(He is an enthusiastic taxpayer)

Perhaps he should sing aloud

And do more than the chrysanthemums

Merely standing by the border.

(1965)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

THE TEMPLE BELL

I heard the temple bell again

And took it for the Galway left on the gramophone overnight

Dewdrops glided down the pine window

And split the spectrum of the morning sun into seven different whites

The last of which I’m drinking

The milk in the glass

But the nun who brought the milk left before dawn

And shut the door

(1984)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)

GUESTS OF SNOW

The red leaves become sparse … autumn rain comes seven days out of ten

But overnight the north wind brought

An invitation from snow

So I get busy with clothes against the chill, while my wife, afraid of winter, and

Our winter-loving children get their gear ready

For frolic in the snow. I fill the tank … and we set out northeast

To become guests

To be received by snow all over the sky, and all the way

To return greetings of welcoming smiles

Sparse woods and farmhouses stand in fresh postures, as if waiting

And not quite. Distant hills too

Have turned heaven and earth’s lasting marriage into a new affair

But I hesitate, when we arrive at the snowy plain that looks like my native place

There’s no path … nor do I have the heart to tread on the soft tender skin of new snow

How could I say “virgin beauty,” newfangled words, to describe age-old “love fright”?

Ah, children!

(1984)

(translated by Shiu-Pang Almberg)