Poem
Zhang Zao
Subway Harp
Let us stop in mid-journey, no light either sideThe cutlery ghosts of the dining car pinging wildly
Or let us walk out onto ground level
Living corpses dead on escalators
I remain your groom. Verging on thirty
My index fingers trying their best to put on weight
A drunken monkey peach in my pocket
Me: just one of the human race, more mysterious than flame
Ten years later, walking out onto ground level from faraway
Sidling up to a shaking desk to write you
A love letter. California's eight o’clock ladies-style jacket
Lightly sugared sunlight licking dark circles under your eyes
You walk out onto ground level, and when I shift aside the vase
Evolution’s shadow glues the heels of multi-coloured
Masks together. The evening bell tolls, lying itself down
In a glass of overturned milk: oh, harp
The milk harp tunes its strings tightly earthwards
Stretched to breaking point and, when I vacantly occupy the bedside
I seem to touch that locomotive speeding on its way to you
Strumming like some strange monster a separate reality
© Translation: 2003, Simon Patton
From: Unpublished
From: Unpublished
SUBWAY HARP
© 1998, Zhang Zao
From: Chun-qiu lai xin
Publisher: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, Beijing
From: Chun-qiu lai xin
Publisher: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, Beijing
Poems
Poems of Zhang Zao
Close
Subway Harp
Let us stop in mid-journey, no light either sideThe cutlery ghosts of the dining car pinging wildly
Or let us walk out onto ground level
Living corpses dead on escalators
I remain your groom. Verging on thirty
My index fingers trying their best to put on weight
A drunken monkey peach in my pocket
Me: just one of the human race, more mysterious than flame
Ten years later, walking out onto ground level from faraway
Sidling up to a shaking desk to write you
A love letter. California's eight o’clock ladies-style jacket
Lightly sugared sunlight licking dark circles under your eyes
You walk out onto ground level, and when I shift aside the vase
Evolution’s shadow glues the heels of multi-coloured
Masks together. The evening bell tolls, lying itself down
In a glass of overturned milk: oh, harp
The milk harp tunes its strings tightly earthwards
Stretched to breaking point and, when I vacantly occupy the bedside
I seem to touch that locomotive speeding on its way to you
Strumming like some strange monster a separate reality
© 2003, Simon Patton
From: Unpublished
From: Unpublished
Subway Harp
Let us stop in mid-journey, no light either sideThe cutlery ghosts of the dining car pinging wildly
Or let us walk out onto ground level
Living corpses dead on escalators
I remain your groom. Verging on thirty
My index fingers trying their best to put on weight
A drunken monkey peach in my pocket
Me: just one of the human race, more mysterious than flame
Ten years later, walking out onto ground level from faraway
Sidling up to a shaking desk to write you
A love letter. California's eight o’clock ladies-style jacket
Lightly sugared sunlight licking dark circles under your eyes
You walk out onto ground level, and when I shift aside the vase
Evolution’s shadow glues the heels of multi-coloured
Masks together. The evening bell tolls, lying itself down
In a glass of overturned milk: oh, harp
The milk harp tunes its strings tightly earthwards
Stretched to breaking point and, when I vacantly occupy the bedside
I seem to touch that locomotive speeding on its way to you
Strumming like some strange monster a separate reality
© 2003, Simon Patton
From: Unpublished
From: Unpublished
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère