From Legend
- From Legend
— dedicated to the people of China, who have worked so hard for epics
The Elders
The day sets into the Western Sea
—Li Bai
Dusk, the sound of a bamboo flute trickled from the valley In the Elder’s sleeve Seeking a patch of shore
Farewell to you
We are the remnants left behind Are chosen from daytime As evidence that night exists And gathering [End Page 221]
Heaps of white flowers and pine needles on arms, one after another Drink another mouthful of water Underfoot purple wild grasses grow At our neck’s opening tamely grow A mountain range slides past our foreheads A range of antiquated knolls Too deep to fathom Legend has it that at one time we were rumored to promptly return Yet toes clench in the red mud Heads butt against the grove For what lets man remember in autumn and winter For the daughter’s secret delight For the lonely and anguished dawn How many nights have been channeled into our hearts
I do not need a dark green tooth I am not moonlight I am not out on the grassland gathering packs of wolves The Elder’s shout Spreads over the open field
The time of living I am growing a head of veiled hair Tobacco leaves are rain-starved Moonlight is water Taking turns to pass the boundless long nights O village, brook of my meetings and partings Now I shall sleep, sleep Give me your graves and knees That the paste mud feeds me Flowers blossomed in my face
Once again farewell to you Who find so many specks that spread across open fields The congongrass and gales on Qinling mountain Lie prone on the Elder’s back In the end I could not clarify The body is an enigma
Farewell to you Not a single bird foot rides the grave village’s wave Not in a single place can dance bring enlightenment The sun never willing to pardon us [End Page 222] The day never willing to pardon us The wall rushes on to explain all before the resurrection China’s burdened ox Remembered exactly like this Farewell to you Arrive at a lee-side place Go converse with the silent one Please stretch your hand into my eyes Feel out the bronze and wheat The ancient code spoken by terracotta soldiers
Remorseful fingers will gradually cease After the passing of the Elders Before the children’s happiness All that remains is my one head’s crown, laboring and shedding tears Sustaining But sunlit rain slanting down seems a garment dried on pastures Worn by countless people There’s just me as before
Farewell to you I am in sand Seeking words for myself and the coming insects Seeking another kind of sustenance able to fly Yet yellow earth, yellow earth wholeheartedly buried you; in the long river the sun sets Extend your hands to me Afterwards the mouth parted Stuffed by your black seeds A barn standing on a pasture No need to raise one’s head The hand outstretched forms a leaf There is no need even to say farewell No need to bury
O Elders, you still alive Who want to live on A flower that was always going to drop Pricks downward Its two branches to extend for roots [End Page 223]
Haizi is the pen name of Zha Haisheng (1964–89), who was a key figure in the development of Chinese modernism and especially the “underground poetry movement” of the 1980s. Gerald Maa teaches Asian American studies, English, and creative writing at the University of Maryland. His translations of Haizi have appeared or are forthcoming in Circumference, Calque, Poetry Northwest, and Chinese Writers on Writing.
