Epitaph

Epitaph

Lu Xun, 6/17/1925

Tr. Huiwen Zhang, 2011

I dream of myself standing opposite a gravestone, reading the engraving. The gravestone appears to be made of sand and gravel, many layers flaking, overgrown with patches of moss, retaining only line fragments—

“…in the heated frenzy of a grandiose choir, froze; in heaven saw the abyss.  In all eyes saw nothingness; in hopelessness found salvation…

“…There was a wandering spirit that turned into a serpent with poisonous fangs.  Instead of biting into others, it bit into its own body until it finally fell dead…

“... Leave! ...”

I circle around to the back of the gravestone, and then I see an orphan tomb, with no greenery over it, and already decrepit.  Through a large opening I suddenly glimpse a corpse, chest and gut cut open, heart and liver gone.  But the face bearing no sign of joy or grief, was merely as hazy as smoke. 

I have hardly turned away in fear and apprehension, when I catch sight of maimed lines on the stone's far side—

“… dug out my heart to eat, yearning to know its true taste.  The torment so ruthlessly intense, how else to know the true taste? ...

“… once the torment dulled, ate my heart tranquilly.  Yet already stale, how else then to know the true taste? …

“… Answer me.  Otherwise, leave!...”

I am about to leave.  Yet the corpse in the grave has already sat up, mouth and lips still, yet saying–

“Wait until I turn to dust, and then you shall see my smile!”

I hurry away, not daring to glance back, terrified of seeing him follow.

Wild Grass / Dedication

Wild Grass · Dedication

Lu Xun, April 26, 1927

Tr. by Huiwen Zhang, 2011

When I am silent, I feel whole; once I open my mouth, I feel empty.

The past life has already died.  From this death I attain Nirvana, because through this I know it once existed.  The dead life has already decayed.  From this decay I attain Nirvana, because through this I know it is not yet empty.

The mud of life abandoned on the earth no longer grows lofty trees, but only wild grass.  This is my fault.

Wild grass, of roots not deep, of flowers and leaves not beautiful, nonetheless draws in the dew, draws in the water, draws in the flesh and blood of the long dead, gaining from each its existence.  Yet in existence, it will all the same suffer trampling, suffer mowing, until death and decay.

Yet I am peaceful, cheerful.  I will laugh aloud, I will sing a tune.

I love my wild grass, yet I loathe the wild grass decorated earth.

The earth fire beneath the earth spreads, surges; once lava gushes out, it will burn up all the wild grass, as well as the lofty trees, hence nothing is left even to decay.

Yet I am peaceful, cheerful.  I will laugh aloud, I will sing a tune.

Heaven and earth are so solemn, I cannot laugh aloud or sing a tune.  Were heaven and earth not so solemn, I perhaps even then could not.  I, with this single handful of wild grass between light and dark, life and death, past and future, dedicated to friend and foe, man and beast, loved and unloved, testify.

For myself, for friend and foe, man and beast, loved and unloved, I wish this wild grass’s rapid death and decay.  Else, I would never have existed, and this would indeed be more tragic than death and decay.

Go then, wild grass, with my dedication!

Meditation on the Road. New Series. 3

Sonnet 1

Feng Zhi, 1941

tr. Huiwen Zhang, 2011 

We prepare to receive deeply

Those unimaginable miracles.

In all the endless years suddenly

Emerges a comet, wild winds stir:

Our being in this split second

As if in the first ever embrace

All past joy and grief before our eyes suddenly

Take definite shape.

We sing the praise of those tiny insects

That, after mating once

Or resisting danger once,

End their precious lives.

Our whole being enfolds

The stirring of wild winds, the emergence of a comet.