topics: |  poetry | china | translation

Bei Dao is among the pioneers of the Misty school, a group of poets who came into prominence in the 1970s, through the poetry magazine Jiantian (Today), which he launched together with Mang Ke. His poem The Answer, written during the Tiananmen protest of 1976 (against the gang of four led by Mao's widow Jiang Qing), became the anthem of subsequent student protests, particularly during the protests leading to the Tiananmen square massacre of June 4, 1989.

   Let me tell you, world,
   I-—do-—not-—believe!
   If a thousand challengers lie beneath your feet,
   Count me as number thousand and one.
 
   I don't believe the sky is blue;
   I don't believe in thunder's echoes;
   I don't believe that dreams are false;
   I don't believe that death has no revenge.
  		(tr. Bonnie S McDougall)

In 1985, Bei Dao was issued a passport and permitted to attend poetry readings in Europe and America. In 1989, while he was in Berlin, mounting protests in China culminated in the deadly Tiananmen Square protests (June 4), after which it became clear that should he return his poetry would be silenced. Along with other Misty poets such as Duo Duo and Yang Lian, he chose to continue living in the West. For many years, his wife (painter Shao Fei), and their daughter, Tiantian were not permitted to join him. The poetry in this volume was written during this period, as is made clear from the chapter headings of Berlin, Oslo and Stockholm.

As the political weather changed in China, he was able to return to China in 2001, but unlike Duo Duo, he preferred to continue living in the west and currently teaches Creative Writing at Notre Dame University in Indiana.

I felt that the poetry in this volume does not seem to have the strength
of some of his earlier poems.  The craftsmanship is there, the Dali-esque
juxtapositions along with images of protest:

	a drop of blood marks the final point
	on the map spread over death
	conscious stones underneath my feet
	forgotten by me (Along the way, p.17)

	          a tank along the road
	truth is choosing its enemies (Prague, p.21)

	a horse on the ancient roof
	is suddenly reined in (I cannot see, p.13)

Perhaps it is the disorientation of the exile, but in the end many of the
poems don't seem to work as powerfully as those from August Sleepwalker,
the earlier volume translated by Bonnie S McDougall, based on his poems
from 1970 to 1986, written in China.

Links and reviews:
  Dian Li: http://www.concentric-literature.url.tw/issues/32_1/08_li.pdf
  poetry: Drunken Boat (Special issue: modern Chinese poetry)
  critique: compilation by Adan Griego

Also    http://prelectur-stage.stanford.edu/lecturers/dao/dao_on_today.html
read Bei Dao on how they started the magazine Jiantian (Today),
printing copies surreptitiously on a mimeograph machine stashed away in a
forgotten Beijing suburb, posting them on the walls of prominent buildings,
and mingling with the crowds later to gauge the response:

Bei Dao (1949– ).  The name is lit. “North Island”; real name: Zhao
Zhenkai.

The cover is a painting by Shao Fei.

Excerpts

The Bell

The bell tolls deep in autumn's hinterland
skirts scatter and fall on the trees
attempting to please the heavens

I watch the process of apples spoiling

children with a tendency to violence
ascend like black smoke
the roof tiles are damp

the three-mile-storm has tireless masters

time's curtain
opened by the silent bellringer
disintegrates, adrift in the sky

the days strike, one endlessly after the other

boats land
sliding on the heavy snow
a sheep stares into the distance

its hollow gaze resembles peace

all things are being renamed
the ears of this mortal world
maintain a dangerous balance

 - It rings a death knell

[Note: "three-mile-storm" = student parades along Peking's main street,
Changan Avenue.]

Restructuring the galaxy

		Berlin / p.7

A bird preserves
its original streamlined mobility
inside the glass cover
it is the spectators who suffer
between two opposite
open doors

the wind lifts up a corner of the night
under the old-fashioned desk lamp
I consider the possibility of restructuring the galaxy

Requiem p.11

	(for the victims of June fourth)

Not the living but the dead
under the doomsday-purple sky
go in groups
suffering leads into suffering
at the end of hatred is hatred
the spring has run dry, the conflagration
    stretches unbroken
the road back is even further away

Not god but the children
amid the clashing of helmets
say their prayers
mothers breed light
darkness breeds mothers
the stone rolls, the clock runs backwards
the eclipse of the sun had already appeared

Not your bodies but your souls
shall share a common birthday every year
you are all the same age
love has founded for the dead
an ever-lasting alliance
you embrace each other closely
in the massive register of deaths
	see Bei Dao interview with Steven Ratiner in agni 54

Old Snow

When the snow receives an ancient language
maps of national territories change shape
on this continent
snow shows deep concern
for a foreigner's small room

Before my door
lies a three metre long steel rail

Factories go bankrupt, governments fall
outdated newspapers converge
into a decomposed ocean
old snow comes constantly, new snow comes not at all
the art of creation is lost
windows retreat
....five magpies fly past

Unexpected sunlight is an event

Green frogs start their hibernation
the postmen's strike drags on
no news of any kind

A Local Accent

I speak Chinese to the mirror
a park has its own winter
I put on music
winter is free of flies
I make coffee unhurriedly
flies don't understand what's meant by native land
I add a little sugar
a native land is a kind of local accent
I hear my fright
on the other end of phone line

A Picture (for Tiantian’s fifth birthday)

Morning arrives in a sleeveless dress
apples tumble all over the earth
my daughter is drawing a picture
how vast is a five-year-old sky
your name has two windows

one opens towards a sun with no clock-hands
the other opens towards your father
who has become a hedgehog in exile
taking with him a few unintelligible characters
and a bright red apple
he has left your painting
how vast is a five-year-old sky

	[Note: The name "TianTian" is written as two characters that look
	like windows. - NYT review ]

The Double-Side Mirror

We've seen in the mirror
things from a distant past:
a forest of steles, the surviving legs
of desks that were set on fire
and undried ink marks in the sky
The noise comes from the other side of the mirror
The upward path of the future
is a gigantic slippery slide
after knowing delirious joy
from the sage's position
we are born from the mirror
And stay here forever watching
the things from a distant past

The Letter

where are you
where is the straight of roses
where is the path through the fire
where is the peak that forgets its oath
where is the pear
whose body shuts like a clam
where is the pre-doomsday carnival
where is the flag's victorious star
where is the dense fog's centre
where are you
where are we

Composition

starts in the stream and stops at the source

diamond rain
is ruthlessly dissecting
the glass world

it opens the sluice, opens
a woman's lips
pricked on a man's arm

opens the book
the words have decomposed, the ruins
have imperial integrity

Contents

Part 1: Berlin
   The Bell                                     3
   An Evening Scene                             5
   Restructuring the Galaxy                     7
   'more unfamiliar than an accident...'        7
   Frostfall                                    9
   Requiem                                      11
   'I cannot see...'                            13
   Along the Way                                15

Part II: Oslo
   Prague                                       21
   Celebrating the Festival                     23
   'He opens wide a third eye...'               25
   The Morning's Story                          27
   In Tune                                      29
   Old Snow                                     31
   For Only a Second                            33
   Terminal Illness                             37
   The Collection                               39
   The East's Imagination                       41

Part III: Stockholm
   The Occupation                               45
   Whetting                                     47
   At This Moment                               49
   Anniversary                                  51
   A Local Accent                               51
   Black Box                                    53
   A Bach Concert                               55
   Notes on Reading                             57
   A Picture (for Tiantian’s fifth birthday)   59
   The Exhibition                               61
   Gains                                        63
   The Double-Sided Mirror                      65
   Coming Home at Night                         67
   The Letter                                   69
   To Memory                                    71
   My Country                                   73
   Composition                                  75
   April                                        77
   Rebel                                        79
   Discovery                                    81

---blurb
The three sections of Bei Dao's affecting new book of poems, Old Snow—
"Berlin," "Oslo/' "Stockholm"—are poignant reminders of the restless and
rootless life of the exile. All the poems in the present bilingual volume
were written post-Tiananmen Square (June 4, 1989), and the poet refers back
to this watershed both overtly ["Not your bodies but your souls/ shall share
a common birthday") and in dense images of loss and betrayal ("old snow comes
constantly, new snow comes not at all/ the art of creation is lost"). As
renowned China scholar Jonathan Spence commented on
Bei Dao's earlier book, The August Sleepwalker: "The poet was obliged to
create a new poetic idiom that was simultaneously a protective camouflage and
an appropriate vehicle for 'un¬reality.' " Bonnie S. McDougall, whose
translations of Bei Dao have been called "a major achievement in themselves,"
is Professor of Chinese at the University of Edinburgh. Working with Chinese
writer in exile Chen Maiping (now residing in Oslo), she once again renders
Bei Dao's poems into fluid and musical English.