Poem
Yu Jian
The Beer Bottle-top
unsure how to address it it was still sitting at the head of the table only a moment agothe custodian of a bottle of stout absolutely indispensable it has a sense of its own status
signifying conviviality as the sun goes down and the depth of froth in a glass
opened with a pop at the start of the evening meal the action strikingly similar to that of a bullfrog
the waiter even believes that it really is a frog
believes that something on this table covered with cooked food has unexpectedly been brought back to life
he is vexed by his misunderstanding and immediately shifts his attention to a toothpick
he is the last one after him the world gives it no further thought
with no other entries on it in the dictionary no original meanings extended meanings transferred meanings
but those dishes originally arranged in submission before it signify nothing less than the flavours of Sichuan cuisine
the napkin is touched by the hand of a general the roses in full bloom an allusion to privilege
in an eccentric arc it exited this gathering an arc not its own
the brewery never designed such a line for its product
it now lies on the floor with the cigarette butts footprints bones and other rubbish
an unrelated jumble an impromptu design of no use to anyone
but its plight is even more wretched a butt reminds the world of a slob
a bone brings to mind a dog or a cat and footprints of course allude to a human presence
it is waste its whiteness being nothing more than its whiteness and its shape nothing more than its shape
it falls beyond the reach of our adjectives
I wasn’t a drinker then it was I who opened the bottle of beer
and for this reason I noticed its strange leap its simple disappearance
I suddenly tried to imagine the pop it made jumping out into space but was unable to
mine was the body of an author of a collection of poetry and sixty kilograms of corporeal existence
all I did was bend down and pick up this alluring small white object
it was hard with a serrated rim which cut into my finger
and made me feel a sharpness so unlike that of knives
1991
THE BEER BOTTLE-TOP
© 2000, Yu Jian
From: Yu Jian de shi
Publisher: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, Beijing
From: Yu Jian de shi
Publisher: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, Beijing
Poems
Poems of Yu Jian
Close
The Beer Bottle-top
unsure how to address it it was still sitting at the head of the table only a moment agothe custodian of a bottle of stout absolutely indispensable it has a sense of its own status
signifying conviviality as the sun goes down and the depth of froth in a glass
opened with a pop at the start of the evening meal the action strikingly similar to that of a bullfrog
the waiter even believes that it really is a frog
believes that something on this table covered with cooked food has unexpectedly been brought back to life
he is vexed by his misunderstanding and immediately shifts his attention to a toothpick
he is the last one after him the world gives it no further thought
with no other entries on it in the dictionary no original meanings extended meanings transferred meanings
but those dishes originally arranged in submission before it signify nothing less than the flavours of Sichuan cuisine
the napkin is touched by the hand of a general the roses in full bloom an allusion to privilege
in an eccentric arc it exited this gathering an arc not its own
the brewery never designed such a line for its product
it now lies on the floor with the cigarette butts footprints bones and other rubbish
an unrelated jumble an impromptu design of no use to anyone
but its plight is even more wretched a butt reminds the world of a slob
a bone brings to mind a dog or a cat and footprints of course allude to a human presence
it is waste its whiteness being nothing more than its whiteness and its shape nothing more than its shape
it falls beyond the reach of our adjectives
I wasn’t a drinker then it was I who opened the bottle of beer
and for this reason I noticed its strange leap its simple disappearance
I suddenly tried to imagine the pop it made jumping out into space but was unable to
mine was the body of an author of a collection of poetry and sixty kilograms of corporeal existence
all I did was bend down and pick up this alluring small white object
it was hard with a serrated rim which cut into my finger
and made me feel a sharpness so unlike that of knives
1991
From: Yu Jian de shi
The Beer Bottle-top
unsure how to address it it was still sitting at the head of the table only a moment agothe custodian of a bottle of stout absolutely indispensable it has a sense of its own status
signifying conviviality as the sun goes down and the depth of froth in a glass
opened with a pop at the start of the evening meal the action strikingly similar to that of a bullfrog
the waiter even believes that it really is a frog
believes that something on this table covered with cooked food has unexpectedly been brought back to life
he is vexed by his misunderstanding and immediately shifts his attention to a toothpick
he is the last one after him the world gives it no further thought
with no other entries on it in the dictionary no original meanings extended meanings transferred meanings
but those dishes originally arranged in submission before it signify nothing less than the flavours of Sichuan cuisine
the napkin is touched by the hand of a general the roses in full bloom an allusion to privilege
in an eccentric arc it exited this gathering an arc not its own
the brewery never designed such a line for its product
it now lies on the floor with the cigarette butts footprints bones and other rubbish
an unrelated jumble an impromptu design of no use to anyone
but its plight is even more wretched a butt reminds the world of a slob
a bone brings to mind a dog or a cat and footprints of course allude to a human presence
it is waste its whiteness being nothing more than its whiteness and its shape nothing more than its shape
it falls beyond the reach of our adjectives
I wasn’t a drinker then it was I who opened the bottle of beer
and for this reason I noticed its strange leap its simple disappearance
I suddenly tried to imagine the pop it made jumping out into space but was unable to
mine was the body of an author of a collection of poetry and sixty kilograms of corporeal existence
all I did was bend down and pick up this alluring small white object
it was hard with a serrated rim which cut into my finger
and made me feel a sharpness so unlike that of knives
1991
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