我拾起地上的绿扣子，吹了吹。开始忙我的事儿。 静的时候，窗下经过的邮差以为我是我的肖像； [End Page 68] 有时我趴在桌面昏昏欲睡，双手伸进空间，像伸进一付镣铐，
世界。 因而我信赖那看不见的一切。夜已深，我坐在封闭的机场，往你没有的杯中倾倒烈酒。 没有的燕子的脸。正因为你戴着别人的戒指，我们才得以如此亲近。 [End Page 70]
a letter opens and someone saysit's getting coldanother letter opensit is empty, emptyyet heavier than the worlda letter openssomeone says he is singing from a mountain heightsomeone says no, even if the potato was deadthe inertia alive in itwould still grow tiny handsanother letter opensyou sleep like a tangerinebut after peeling off your nudity someone sayshe has touched another youanother letter opensthey are all laughingeverything around explodes into laughtera letter opensclouds and water run wild outsidea letter opensI am chewing a certain darknessanother letter openshigh moon in the skyanother letter opens and shoutsdeath is something real(1992) [End Page 67]
Letters In Four Seasons
The obverse of this instant is indeed my home.It raises a white flag in another city.Before the crack of dawn, floodgates of sleeplet out some trucks. Like dinosaurs, at a turnthey claw for something which is nothing.I wake up. A green button tumbles off my body.
Our green button, the tiny residue of eternity.
Clouds, bricking Shanghai. A blueprint in my heartawaits more brick and tile. I shift toward light.There, a crane flashes for a second. Your lettersstand in a column of light at the center of the room, preening-yes, no need for amnesty. Perception must be soughtinside bok choy, from pea shoots and winter melons.
Come, switch off obesity and machines- I'm deeplydrawn by contradictions on your body. Move over to the window.Such a clear April, like light reflected off hard liquor.Series of profound proportions shudder in street scenes.Yes, my screams can't wake reality up. Yet your voicecatches the limits of my sight, I-
am you! I'm also drifting in this instant.The construction site is going to explode. I'm right herestriking the gong to raise the alarm. Swim over here!Catch this gong, it's everything you've missed.
I pick up a green button, and blow at it.Start to busy myself with life. In the stillness,a postman passing by the window thinks I'm my portrait- [End Page 69] sometimes I sluggishly sprawl across the table,both hands reaching into emptiness, like reaching into a pair of handcuffs.
Where, where is our precision? ...Green button.
Yet another world emerges in this world.A world just like this oneworld-no, no, not another butthe same one. One and two
worlds. This is why I trust all that stays invisible.Late at night, I sat at the closed airport,pouring hard liquor intoyour empty glass. No sparrow's face.Because you were wearing someone else'sring,we became so intimate. [End Page 71]
Zhang Zao 张枣 (1962-2010) was a key figure of the "third generation" of Chinese contemporary poets and rose to national fame as one of the "Five Sichuan Masters." He was also a literary critic, translator, and scholar of German literature and philosophy. In 1986, he moved to Germany, where he married, and earned a doctorate in literature from Tübingen University. For several years, he served as poetry editor of Jintian. He returned briefly to China in 2005 to teach world literature at various universities. At the age of forty-eight, he died in Tübingen. Fewer than ninety of his poems survive.
Fiona Sze-Lorrain (1980-) was born in Singapore and educated at Columbia University, New York University, and Paris IV-Sorbonne, where she received a doctorate in French. She writes and translates in English, French, and Chinese. Her first collection of poetry, Water the Moon, was published in 2010. She is an editor at Cerise Press and Vif Éditions. Also a zheng concertist, she lives in Paris, France.