Gu Cheng
The Green Window
The old man sits in front
of his fireplace. His brow is hot.
He watches the colored smoke,
the wind making threads of it
to twist and break.
The fire, as it lightens,
needs no other language.
The old man sits there,
not moving
not recalling anything.
He leaves time behind him, and here
sees nothing through the cloudy air.
He does not cry,
does not open the green window
to where the boy is no longer
standing on the asphalt road,
his toes spread open—
waiting for a miracle.
(Translated from the Chinese by Ginny MacKenzie and Wei Guo)
Gu Cheng
Dream Garden
Right now. Let’s go into a dream—
away from the rain. The red umbrella
is paper, your smile a fresh awning.
You look at me. I look behind you,
at the poplar tree where birds
draw in their wings
from the very real lightning.
Last night’s dream also put me here,
but after the rain. I was alone,
with the shrinking, absent-minded
marshlands. Somewhere a river’s cool
blood shimmered, waiting
to refreshen my mouth.
(Translated from the Chinese by Ginny MacKenzie and Wei Guo)
Gu Cheng
After the Air-Raid
After the air-raid
we began to talk about poetry.
The floor was wet.
Broken china was everywhere.
Then you came by
carrying a heavy basket.
You had brought me food—
yellow honey and bread.
Two weeks after your death
I also died on the battlefield.
An unnamed grass covers my trench.
(Translated from the Chinese by Ginny MacKenzie and Wei Guo)
