As more plants grow around us, they will
Show what we cannot show ourselves
A blade of grass that has been trodden many
Times still continues to hold a dew at dawn
A Huyang tree manages to stand long after it dies
And never gets rotten even longer after its fall
A Beijing willow is always ready to bend in grace
To hold winds with its arms, despite its naked scars
A rotten snag with a new twig
Growing against all the broken rings
Tender Was Once the Night
How fondly you often miss, recollecting
The shredded darkness of a primitive night
Like your native village (or first love)
So pure-hearted, full of natural charm
Without being disturbed by wood fire
Candle light, let alone electric shine
When fireflies had fun above
The thick bushes, where primroses
Bloomed towards a meditating owl
O for an unpolluted night! And let trees
And flowers have a sound sleep
Once Picking up a Powerful Country
This Little Poem of Mine Goes Right
Only recently did I become alert to how
I resemble uncle Sam. They – it? – don’t
Like China. I don’t like China either
(Though not for the same reasons.) They try
To reap cash in all prospering economies; I
Try to gather every penny from the corner
Wherever I can see and lay my humble hands
They hold high their banners of democracy
And human rights; I like my rights and detest
Dictatorship (though perhaps for different
Purposes.) In particular, they enjoy bullying
The weak, dodging the strong, disturbing
Waters to fish and using dirty tricks to keep
All others down; I am ready to say foul words
To do whatever possible to rise above myself
In this harshest human condition, although I
Was not born to be a villain. The only difference
Lies in the degree to which I am selfish, villainous
Hypercritic, and they--it? -- are way more so
Getting Ready: for Liu Yu
Lastly, remember to burn this box with me, Son
It contains all my most precious pictures, letters
Certificates, awards, notebooks, manuscripts
Which do not sell anyway. As for my clothing
And furniture, I have donated them all shortly after
Your dad was gone. Help me to mop the floor and
The dusty versions of my pasts, sunbathe my quilts
As well as the one extra set of clothes which have
Covered my inner and outer being for the last ten
Years. Now I finally have everyone to think of
In light of light that illuminates the darkest composite of
My consciousness. The departure is due soon, and I am
Fully prepared to set off on this final trip. As you know
I really hated it when we threw all your father’s
Belongings, soft or hard, away as garbage the other day
Drowning
It’s like a snag in the Yangtse River
Being pushed towards me
By an indifferent wave
While struggling in the water
I flapped my arms high
Only to see it drifting around
About a yard away
Sitting on the snag is a wounded crow
With eyes widely open
As if to appreciate my last dance
Like a thought, sinking slowly
To the bottom of my being
Changming Yuan, nine-time Pushcart and one-time Best of the Net nominee, started to learn English at age 19 and published monographs on translation before moving out of China. Currently, Changming edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Yuan in Vancouver, and has poetry appearing in Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, Threepenny Review and 1249 others worldwide. See more at:
poetrypacific.blogspot.ca
http://poetrypacificpress.blogspot.ca/
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