Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Zang Di

COMPENDIUM ON A PUPPETEER

When looking at something, you must first turn your head
and that's her. If the gaze is direct
she will be jumpier than a dog in an earthquake.
There's no way to look at the world that's prettier than a single cat.

Sometimes she cannot suppress comparisons between people and dogs.
She treats cats in a much more serious way than she does dogs.
Once she convinced herself that she would love a person as much as cats.
Her conclusion was that loving something is more difficult than all math.

She will not have the suffering of her soul restrained,
among the objects that are her enemies are the university, subways, and TV.
The wild beasts in the TV can spring from the screen, lick her eyebrows and earrings.
This type of thing seems to have happened repeatedly, unceasingly.

So everything with which she comes into contact
finally becomes something to be overcome.
She has special sensitivity to her surroundings. She changes them constantly –
if she stays in a place too long, people become ruins.

So, with more frequency than anyone else, she sets forth from the ruins.
This seems to be her irresistible rule of self-discipline.
Sometimes she herself can acknowledge this to be true.
In new love there is already the blemish that nobody sees yet,

and she can't stand a blemish.  Or one could say that she can't stand
for anyone else to share the blemishes that are on her body.
It's not entirely a question of needing to soften the contradictions,
in memory, dimly viewed old loves seem a little bit nicer.

There's no point to brainwashing. When the crotch has been washed,
that means that the washing is thorough. She knows that in this world
there are those who think with their crotch. She'll aim a little higher next time,
and maybe from far afield, she'll be able to see the tail of this poem.

MARIONETTENSPELER, SERIE

Als je iets bekijkt, moet je je eerst omdraaien,
daar is ze dan. Als je haar direct aankijkt,
wordt ze zenuwachtiger dan een hond tijdens een aardbeving.
Hoe je de wereld ook bekijkt, nooit is ze zo’n lust voor het oog als een poes.

Soms kan ze een vergelijking tussen mensen en honden niet onderdrukken.
Ze is veel strenger tegen poezen dan tegen honden.
Ooit had ze zich ervan overtuigd dat ze net zoveel van iemand zou houden als van poezen.
Haar conclusie luidde dat liefde nog moeilijker was dan wiskunde.

Zij wil niet worden beperkt in het lijden van haar ziel,
onder de dingen die haar vijand zijn bevinden zich de universiteit, de metro en de televisie.
De wilde beesten in de tv zullen het beeldscherm uitrennen, haar wenkbrauwen en oorbellen likken.
Dit soort dingen lijken vaker dan zomaar een paar keer te zijn voorgekomen.

Dus wordt alles waarmee ze in aanraking moet komen
uiteindelijk iets wat ze moet overwinnen.
Ze heeft een speciale gevoeligheid voor haar omgeving. Die wisselt ze onophoudelijk –
als ze te lang op een plaats blijft, veranderen mensen in ruïnes.

Dus loopt ze vaker dan wie dan ook ruïnes uit.
Dat lijkt voor haar een elementaire gedragsregel.
Soms kan ze dat zelf ook erkennen.
In nieuwe liefde zitten al gebreken die niemand kan waarnemen,

zij kan niet tegen gebreken. Oftewel, ze kan er niet tegen
dat anderen ook de gebreken hebben die zij heeft.
Het is niet zozeer een kwestie van het moeten verzachten van tegenstrijdigheden,
in herinnering lijken oude vervagende liefdes een beetje beter.

Hersenspoelen dient nergens toe. Pas als je kruis is gespoeld,
is er gronding gespoeld. Zij weet dat er op deze wereld mensen
bestaan die denken met hun kruis. Met een kussentje eronder ligt ze wat hoger,
dan kan ze misschien vanaf de verste plek de staart van dit gedicht zien.

牵线人丛书

看什么,都必须要先转过脸去,
这就是她。假如是直接面对,
她会比地震中的一条狗还要紧张。
怎么看世界,都不如一只猫那样顺眼。

她有时会控制不住在人狗之间有一种比较。
她对待猫比对待狗更严肃。
她曾说服自己要像爱猫一样爱上一个人。
她的结论是,爱怎么比数学还难。

她苦于灵魂不愿被束缚,
与她为敌的事物里,有大学,地铁和电视。
电视里的野兽会从屏幕里跑出来,舔她的眉毛和耳环。
这样的事,好像不止发生过好几回。

于是,每一样需要接触的东西
最终都变成了一种需要克服的事情。
她对环境有特殊的敏感。她不断地换环境——
在一个地方待太久了,人就会变成废墟。

于是,她比任何人都更频繁地从废墟中走出来。
这似乎是她不可抗拒的规律。
她自己偶尔也能认识到这一点。
新欢中已有无人能意识到的瑕疵,

她受不了瑕疵。或者说,她受不了
别人也会有她身上的那些瑕疵。
不完全是需要缓和矛盾的问题,
记忆里,旧爱在缥缈中似乎稍好一点。

洗脑算什么。腰被洗了,
才是被洗彻底了。她知道这个世界上
存在着用腰思考的人。下面垫得再高点,
她也许会在最遥远的地方看见这首诗的尾巴。
Close

COMPENDIUM ON A PUPPETEER

When looking at something, you must first turn your head
and that's her. If the gaze is direct
she will be jumpier than a dog in an earthquake.
There's no way to look at the world that's prettier than a single cat.

Sometimes she cannot suppress comparisons between people and dogs.
She treats cats in a much more serious way than she does dogs.
Once she convinced herself that she would love a person as much as cats.
Her conclusion was that loving something is more difficult than all math.

She will not have the suffering of her soul restrained,
among the objects that are her enemies are the university, subways, and TV.
The wild beasts in the TV can spring from the screen, lick her eyebrows and earrings.
This type of thing seems to have happened repeatedly, unceasingly.

So everything with which she comes into contact
finally becomes something to be overcome.
She has special sensitivity to her surroundings. She changes them constantly –
if she stays in a place too long, people become ruins.

So, with more frequency than anyone else, she sets forth from the ruins.
This seems to be her irresistible rule of self-discipline.
Sometimes she herself can acknowledge this to be true.
In new love there is already the blemish that nobody sees yet,

and she can't stand a blemish.  Or one could say that she can't stand
for anyone else to share the blemishes that are on her body.
It's not entirely a question of needing to soften the contradictions,
in memory, dimly viewed old loves seem a little bit nicer.

There's no point to brainwashing. When the crotch has been washed,
that means that the washing is thorough. She knows that in this world
there are those who think with their crotch. She'll aim a little higher next time,
and maybe from far afield, she'll be able to see the tail of this poem.

COMPENDIUM ON A PUPPETEER

When looking at something, you must first turn your head
and that's her. If the gaze is direct
she will be jumpier than a dog in an earthquake.
There's no way to look at the world that's prettier than a single cat.

Sometimes she cannot suppress comparisons between people and dogs.
She treats cats in a much more serious way than she does dogs.
Once she convinced herself that she would love a person as much as cats.
Her conclusion was that loving something is more difficult than all math.

She will not have the suffering of her soul restrained,
among the objects that are her enemies are the university, subways, and TV.
The wild beasts in the TV can spring from the screen, lick her eyebrows and earrings.
This type of thing seems to have happened repeatedly, unceasingly.

So everything with which she comes into contact
finally becomes something to be overcome.
She has special sensitivity to her surroundings. She changes them constantly –
if she stays in a place too long, people become ruins.

So, with more frequency than anyone else, she sets forth from the ruins.
This seems to be her irresistible rule of self-discipline.
Sometimes she herself can acknowledge this to be true.
In new love there is already the blemish that nobody sees yet,

and she can't stand a blemish.  Or one could say that she can't stand
for anyone else to share the blemishes that are on her body.
It's not entirely a question of needing to soften the contradictions,
in memory, dimly viewed old loves seem a little bit nicer.

There's no point to brainwashing. When the crotch has been washed,
that means that the washing is thorough. She knows that in this world
there are those who think with their crotch. She'll aim a little higher next time,
and maybe from far afield, she'll be able to see the tail of this poem.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère