Haizi's But Water, Water

/f?kz=97014242 All

But the water, the water

Turning over the poems

My fingers are like knives

One at a time

Slashing myself

Kanek said this to him:

"The rain came down in torrents, and there is yet another to be had; for it is the Jaya rain. Jaya is not a native, but an Oriental."

(Elmiro Afreu Gomez)

The First Site (A Poetry Play in Three Acts)

The Second Fish-Born Man

The Third Old River Channel

The Fourth Three Lives of All Things

2 The First Site (A Poetry Play in Three Acts)

The First Site (A Poetry Play in Three Acts)

Act I

(In the background is the great river, completely dry, and the four old men are sitting like tree roots)

Poets

Sweat soaked my hands ...... my hands

Soaked their foreheads

Their thin, black faces, their arms

Their mud-stained clothes

< p>their once-breeding thighs

A waiting for them is a summer ...... without wind

My hand seems to hold them

as if it were holding wood after wood

The sound of the Qin Terracotta warriors

But I have long since arrived, and to the song of the miserable ship

p>Sailing, I arrived.

Poets

Their sweat overflowed down again more

The hot night singers were like clouds ...... puzzling

They took off their cloth shoes and dipped their feet into the imaginary river

They suffered the top of their heads, thinking

They had been sitting from morning till night Sitting like this

Their dark ribbed bones glowed in the dusk of the riverbank

They ruffled the imaginary river and scrubbed each other's bodies

The sound of the Qin warriors

But I had long since arrived. Among the moons

The same thing before and after. The same sounds before and after

Poetry People

are not the same. The sounds

are not the same

First the voice of the lonely shepherd

The sound of dry, cracked lips

Then the sound of wind and thunder on the Qinling Mountains

Then the sound of wind and snow on the Qilian Mountains

......The sound of the dull, dreary ship's cavity

...... The sound of rain on the shield streaming back

...... The sound of streaming fireflies crashing into the night picking up the sound

The sound of rain hitting mankind. The sound of guns in cornfields and briar fields

The sound of snowflakes and breasts. The sound of bugs. The sound of corn leaves

The sound of terracotta warriors

But I arrived long ago. Arid as the earth

Buried all the way up to the neck ...... all the way up to the top of the head

Poets

They're still sweating ...... the pain of life

It goes on. There is still a woman's moan in the kiln

The cry of a lone beast among the moons

That's the call of the sun

But there is no sound

The pain lies in the absence of sound ......No sound

The sound of the Qin Terracotta Warriors

I am the absence of Sound is buried ...... How many years have passed

The ewe still hasn't come.

Poets

Ewes?

The voice of the Qin figurines

It's the water. It is the eyes of those old men

Water is the only

Pain without sound is all the same

Just as there is only one breeze in August

Pain flows in every direction

Only to return to a place long ago inhabited. I arrived

Only only the head land underneath like water pouring into each other ...... not tears

Moreover not tears at the time of thawing

......Green again

The hand of the tree

I had to go under the LIXIL Mountain the more Buried deeper and deeper

Poet (still puzzled)

Ewes?

The voice of the terracotta warrior

Yes, the ewe. Never to come again

Death as pottery. Completely stored

The sky is part of my limbs and dreams

The sky wears the garments of the dead

Never again - ewe sheep

Buried the river's many strangers who come and go

Never again, ewe sheep

What a reassuring Reassuring burial, O all represented by the grass

Yellow flowers before and after like love

Fall into the fields

The honest sun catapults over the spines of many beasts

Our surnames fall into the fields like dust

Poets

But there are the stars. Stars and Mars. The Northern Void Star

With four directions, the feet have to make themselves

Step away O ......

With the woods around my flesh

The flesh has to shake O

And there's blood ...... Blood older than bones

The sound of terracotta warriors

Maybe you're right

But bones, white flowers. A delicate flower

Flowers pale and peaceful

What a reassuring burial!

A white animal sleeps in the earth, and perhaps that is

for all time

gloomily white, and that is because we lived

and loved each other, and wrote poems that glorified the plains and fell back on them

loverly mute

That is because it is then called Bones

No matter the day or the night

Heard The dead river like a bird flying away

overhead. Ewes, never to come again

Poets

But there will be grass

There will be bird droppings ......And a lover's breast ......And singing wood

- -fingers, thighs, lips

...... and beauty bright as a brilliant star, and the descending sun

there will be wild beasts and flowers, and poets...... there will be coffin boards and cradle cloths

there will be blind men and Prophets ...... there are women who look to the sea

And the first day

The second day and the third day

On the fourth day someone dreamed of my son ......The wife was indeed pregnant

...... And the well

As for the ewe, I'll pick a day

To lead it and look east

The two sides of the plateau parted ......

Act II

(The setting is deep and far away. South by a great river. Herb-picking groups of wizards appear and disappear on the surrounding dangerous peaks. It is noon when the song is heard.)

Leader: red fishing boats

Ringing at noon

Ringing at noon is the sun

Collaboration: the sun

Leader: white fish bodies

Hanging high above the night

Hanging high above the night is the moon

Collaboration: the moon

Leader: Quzi, O

Miluo Miluo's algae and grasses are tangled up in his body

Ya Qu Zi

Collaboration: a man.

Leader: He walked softly ashore

In a white dress

Collaboration: a man!

Leader: He gently buckled the gangway, and he appeared

On the water and under the water, and he appeared

Collaboration: a man, a man! (pause, then violent outburst)

A man!

Act III

(Lights go up. The poet stands like a waffle, sideways, soliloquizing. The old men look like stonemasons drilling a well, still as tree roots. The poet holds the ewe in his hand, and in the background there seems to be the sound of rain, intermittent)

I come back from the wilderness, from all the rough fingers, from the womb of a woman weeping, from my site

of accumulated ashes as from the heart, from the ewe in my hand, with my eyes closed like the leaves of a linden, I come back from the wilderness

. The pagoda proves, the pipes of the city prove, that I

I do not want to sing

I did not bring the seed, I did not bring the soil, the oxen or the plow, I did not bring the light or the fire of the first day. No text

was brought. I came back from the wilderness, and I

had only one thing on my mind: water, water ...... Water of the Third Day

I am a tall pool of water, standing here, standing here.

My clothes are raised like a snake, and people say: the lotus flower is blooming.

Yes, the lotus blooms. Of course the lotus had not yet blossomed when I was taken in the arms of the multitude ...... from the song

Back from the hands of those immovable stonemasons. I thought and thought:

All will be safe. I came back from the wilderness, and I only repeat the things of the East at night

Doing these simple things. The need for rain

Not more or less

The need for the moon and the body, the need for understanding, and the need for solitude

I think of my wife at night, and my sons and daughters who plow the earth in the bale fields

Think and think. In the East, being born, nourished and raised is the only thing that matters.

The stonemasons' palms are like lips.

The land

Poets

mumbled

The pumping snowflakes overflowed the riverbanks. The river reroutes and resumes.

How the wildflower floats away the lover

Rain and the poet send her back.

I, too, returned from the wilderness, bringing no seed, no sunlight

I thought and thought in the night

Expecting a downpour of rain, expecting a woman to give birth to a son

Born and not gone, I returned from the wilderness, blood outlasts bone

Though not blooming I outlive time

...... I have dragons in my body

Falling into the wilderness limbs grow fuller. I return from the year of rain, or

from the wilderness of drought

Only remember the song:

Masons have hands like lips.

(The poet staggers down. Old men leap like children into the setting light. From afar comes the cry of a baby. The sound of rain fills the final stage and curtain like divine music.

The faces of the audience are like wine glasses, slightly shaken.)

3 PART 2 FISH LIVING MAN *

PART 2 FISH LIVING MAN *

WATER ...... BEFORE AND AFTER THE FLOOD Totem or Man's Loneliness

1. Flooding 1. Burial of Fish Patterns in the Earth

Heavy rains dousing the sun

Exodus of Ships

If the mouths were barred

Two men silently guarding the fire

No wind blowing through their heads

Tilted back like yellow bells

No sound

A long log

Laid out across the bay

Three voices of relatives

Before they die

Distant agony calling for a bird's beak

Pecking at the sore skin

The loess sinks

People gather in the water and lie down

Looking at fish in the loess water

Raining is also three years and five years

Separated from the water

Lifetime of the head swinging the fish, swinging the fish

It doesn't ring

Coming from the news of the fleeing, far away

And lonesome fish as I am

As if the earth is away from I am gone

As if the earth were a lifetime away

Send me a lifetime

Fish ...... ...... fish

The call of man spits from the mouth of the fish

Heavy rains douse the sun

The crowd Scattered in all directions, probing into the water

Black is not dark

White is not chaste

Red does not burn

The woods

False flowed through

The man who ate all the muddy mud

Kept all

Out of his face

Sinking the sun, sinking the ashes

The silent The water flows for miles

Before turning back to our homeland

Something flows away

We're disappointed

Other flood nights

We seem to gain something

The woman and I

speak forlornly.

Seeds resting on the nightstand

......Water abruptly aborted

Dead people as first awakened

Sunlight full and still fresh

Joyful and painful

Sunlight all over the place weeping

Winging on the water

Calling:

The ground is as lonely as a man

Watery and lonely

Distressed bitter joe blossomed all over

Distressed bitter joe blossomed over

Depths of the earth

My bones are unbearably aching

The people of the ground then said:

Let the sunshine be all over the land and flow gold

2. Coffin

This is wood.

This is wood. This is the breast

This is the moon. This is the cave of the ancestors

Bloodstained

Arms broken like twigs

Arms

Arms

A sound

Mountains before they sailed

Deeper holes are deeper

This is the wood, the wood for which mothers

Buried sons

Father's burial

Fathers burying themselves. p>

The tears are shallow

This is the breast. This is the moon

Escaping the flood with the beast

Escaping the song

This is the cave arranged by my ancestors

I chased myself

into the cave into the song

without words

I escaped permanently into my children and grandchildren with my form and my wounds

An arm broken

The night released birds in the trees

The blood was crimson. The arm

crunched

Deeper in the hole the beast thought alone

The sunlight danced its own golden fur

around the hunter

The hole grew deeper and deeper.

Our first seeds

Rubbed in. In the flood

One leg reflected the moonlight outside the hole

Later in the snow

The one-legged man appeared

Clear and lonely tracks

Our first lovers

Receded with the flood

Nature's sun flowed all over

Our first eyes

Dying of thirst on the picture

Our first eyes. p>

A wolf surrounds the summer

sun. Shedding blood stains

Ships in flames

Like firewood brittle and bright

Burning out our first lives

Water ...... water

This is wood. This is breast

Sucking it is like sucking

Our own plasma Chestnut and tamarind

The halberd tree Northern elm ah

Bury me

Bury me in the ground at four o'clock this night

Don't wake up the multitude

Bury me, please

A bowl of wine. A handful of rice

Cuckoos will naturally bloom everywhere

O yellow earth and dry land

Quickly treasure me with your silent body

At about four o'clock in the night

Unbutton your buttons

Bury me on the spot

Bury me in your flesh

With your mothers

Treasure me

With your fathers

With men, bells and solitude

With kisses, women and ships

I am permitted to enter into the many eternal

flesh, the dark flesh of the

East

In your bodies

One

Massive

Thing

Spins around himself

Perhaps called Kunlun.

After the third age

he remained silent.

2. Man

My head

pokes through the sky

Only one bloody hole

one hole

placed Huayun

Bloody all the way

My head

rolls through the generations

Bloodied

Buried Beyond the heavens

Only I, Kunlun,

this headless body

standing alone

getting to see the sky and the ground

a piece of coffin nailing

sound

rolling in the east

the haze, like blood, rushes out

one star dead across the other

And plain

And hateful

Boundless knocking on the vault of the sky

...... mother

Mother's painfully convulsing abdomen

Finally cracked

Cracked:

The Yellow River ah tragic river

The East rolls on

The years are like beasts, the moon blood-shield

Leaps into my broken neck

And grows another sun

Naked, defiant, writhing

Bronze bronze bronze bronze

Row upon row of vivacious pungent

Maidens

Blood-cells split

Bringing forth my first life

The East Rolls on

Crying awake

The languid field of babies

Flesh and blood

Valley of flesh and blood

Comes a river that divides the heavens and cuts the earth

The Yellow River, ah the grievous river

Me

Kunlun

In the first warmth of my life

Circle round the fires and the accumulating dust

The navel of the East throbs

The Yellow River, O Miserable River

lives

I live

My breath: the earth and the swamps

With millions of hard cave bears leaping

My breath: countless dinosaurs

Dance wildly around my waist

Into layers of ropes

My breath Darkness like a wall

4 Part 2 Fish Born *

My breath rivers like intestines

Countless seeds and music

Waking up in the night crying by themselves

My eyes build temples

My hands rob fire

My ears hang bells

Live

I am on my own shoulders

Raising my head for the sun, bending my bones into a bow

The east rolls on

Drowning

This plateau in the light of blood

The Yellow River, O tragic river

The Yellow River, O tragic river