Poem
Wang Xiaoni
3. Your Softness Saved You
I come directly from that summer.That summer I wasn’t there
you threw yourself onto the road
crawling on sharp gravel.
Asphalt and blood
at once became slippery-soft and warm.
With everything so adapted to the hands
what did you take as the door to your home?
Had you been a jade pendant
you would have smashed to pieces.
In a ward where the wind knows no tact
your eyesight
came close to absence
thanks to a momentary darkness.
You want nothing more than deep sleep.
God
protects you with illness.
A permanent sleeping
covers the summer’s sacred, pure white tender-leaves.
From a summer 20 degrees below zero
I step inside.
My hands clutch
the sweat of many long years.
In the back of my mind I know
that it is more difficult
to snuff out a woman
than it is to destroy the barnyard grass.
© Translation: 2004, Simon Patton
YOUR SOFTNESS SAVED YOU
© 1992, Wang Xiaoni
From: My Paper Wraps My Fire
Publisher: Chunfeng wenyi chubanshe, Shenyang
From: My Paper Wraps My Fire
Publisher: Chunfeng wenyi chubanshe, Shenyang
Poems
Poems of Wang Xiaoni
Close
3. Your Softness Saved You
I come directly from that summer.That summer I wasn’t there
you threw yourself onto the road
crawling on sharp gravel.
Asphalt and blood
at once became slippery-soft and warm.
With everything so adapted to the hands
what did you take as the door to your home?
Had you been a jade pendant
you would have smashed to pieces.
In a ward where the wind knows no tact
your eyesight
came close to absence
thanks to a momentary darkness.
You want nothing more than deep sleep.
God
protects you with illness.
A permanent sleeping
covers the summer’s sacred, pure white tender-leaves.
From a summer 20 degrees below zero
I step inside.
My hands clutch
the sweat of many long years.
In the back of my mind I know
that it is more difficult
to snuff out a woman
than it is to destroy the barnyard grass.
© 2004, Simon Patton
From: My Paper Wraps My Fire
From: My Paper Wraps My Fire
3. Your Softness Saved You
I come directly from that summer.That summer I wasn’t there
you threw yourself onto the road
crawling on sharp gravel.
Asphalt and blood
at once became slippery-soft and warm.
With everything so adapted to the hands
what did you take as the door to your home?
Had you been a jade pendant
you would have smashed to pieces.
In a ward where the wind knows no tact
your eyesight
came close to absence
thanks to a momentary darkness.
You want nothing more than deep sleep.
God
protects you with illness.
A permanent sleeping
covers the summer’s sacred, pure white tender-leaves.
From a summer 20 degrees below zero
I step inside.
My hands clutch
the sweat of many long years.
In the back of my mind I know
that it is more difficult
to snuff out a woman
than it is to destroy the barnyard grass.
© 2004, Simon Patton
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