Bai Ling (Pai Ling, “white spirit”) is the pen name of Zhuang Zuhuang, who was born in Taipei. He graduated from Taipei Institute of Technology and received an M.S. in chemical engineering from Stevens College of Science and Engineering, New Jersey. Currently he is an associate professor at Taipei Institute of Technology.
Bai Ling joined the Grape Orchard Poetry Society, founded in 1962, and later the Grass Roots Poetry Society in the 1970s. In 1985 he cofounded the Poetry’s Sound and Light Workshop with fellow poets Luo Qing and Du Shisan and experimented with multimedia presentations of poetry. He is also a co-founder of the Taiwan Poetics Quarterly. To date he has published four books of poetry, in addition to prose and literary criticism.
CHILDHOOD YEARS, PART 1: THE 1940S
With shells exploding in the background, the skies are dotted
With one after another stalk of cotton candy
A tank askew on its side, and planted in the paddies: an airplane
How much fun these toys would be if only we could move them!
My mother foraged for food everywhere with me on her back
In a clump of reeds, she came upon a human arm
My mother shrieked out, picked me up in her arms, and ran about wildly—
Even though I turned back several times to look, I couldn’t tell
If it wasn’t my sister’s smashed-up doll
On the road, my childhood companions were all howling
Their gaping mouths each an open pit
And the artillery kept offering us—popcorn.
(1983)
(translated by Eugene Eoyang)
SPRING’S BRIEF VISIT TO TAIPEIM
When spring paid Taipei a brief visit
She ambled over, sneaking through the city gates
At that time Taipei had no window grates
So spring would often beckon at the windows of each home
Would help the young roadside grass to straighten up
Tell each flower to open its mouth only after brushing its teeth
And never let itself convey the least bit of filth
Those days, Taipei didn’t have too many tall buildings
So spring didn’t have to climb too high
Those days, Taipei didn’t have too many water faucets
So spring often went to the Tamkang River to wash her hands
Those days, early morning was a time for gymnastics in Taipei
So when spring sauntered out, she had no need of a face mask
Those days, Taipei didn’t have many motor engines
So spring wasn’t startled by a sudden noise
Those days, zebra-striped crosswalks were enough to stop traffic
So spring was not afraid to be turned topsy-turvy by the wind
Those days, spring wouldn’t miss traffic signs, even if she had to wear glasses
You didn’t need to drive a car to be honked off by a horn
Nor worry about dumping garbage and being fined by the
EPA
Those days, yawping spring would often wear miniskirts
For everyone to see, and people would start whistling
Those days …
Those days, you wouldn’t find spring sleeping in the public park
Nor parking on the road dividers
Nor squatting on flower pots, to “fertilize” them
Nor going up and down in an all-glass elevator
Those days, spring wouldn’t climb over the walls
No need to see one’s own name upside down on the shutter
No need to beckon children through a keyhole
No need to put on a TV show for every household
Spring—ah!—Spring came to Taipei for only a brief visit
And then she left
She’s an old hag now, walking all this time on bound feet
She said, if she walks any slower, she might be crushed by a mountain of garbage
Spring: the old antique, she hasn’t changed much for the better.
(1986)
(translated by Eugene Eoyang)
We’re in the room, reading …
A fog moves in even the window loses its way
On the windowpane, I trace out
Several little trails where the water condenses
And then I ask you, with your freshly made-up mouth
To plant, at the start of each trail,
A kiss, the imprint of your lips.
By the time we brew tea the fog has lifted
At the top of the landscape
Stops a
Yawning sun.
(1991)
(translated by Eugene Eoyang)
Getting up in the world, how high can a fragile hope hover in the sky?
The length of one’s life, surely it’s full of these coups de théâtre?
The gossamer line, as if the sky and I were at a tug of war
Higher and higher, almost out of sight
Along the riverbank, I begin to pull the sky down, running fast.
(1993)
(translated by Eugene Eoyang)