Hands and Feet

(Dedicated to the Chinese artist, Shanqing Zeng, who was banished by his government and now resides in the U.S.)

Artist		Zeng Shanqing
Title		EATING
Medium		Ink on Paper
Size		35 x 38.4 in. / 89 x 97.6 cm.

These Tibetan hands and feet
walk into the canvas
of a New York gallery
in silence
like pilgrims
in search of
a bowl of freedom
after a long exile
to unknown directions.

We never know
how they captured the eyes
of the artist,
or the soul of the audience.
They talk with
swollen knuckles,
wounded joints,
fists of skins
that hold a bowl of water
like tender lovers

reunited after turmoil
of burnt temples,
charred limbs,
and severe weather,
that tempered another
purpose -
to walk on the roads
for a bowl of water
seated on a half lotus
made of exhausted toes

painted by the tired fingers
of an artist
from the land of the oppressor
and the oppressed
where artists
must follow
other hands and feet
to enjoy the freedom of exile:
on a canvas
in the West
lingering in our mind,
or to drink
time in history.


1990 New York

Lotus Pond

(For the Chinese artist, Yan-Ping Yang, who loves to paint lotus ponds, but never painted a summer pond since the Tiananmen Square incident in the summer of 89)

She carried nothing
from her China
except rice papers
painted with leaves of lotus
overlooking a pond.

The weight
of memory
stands on the tips
of stems bent
in the wind.

She wakes one morning
to look at the withering
colors in her paintings
gray, brown and bleak:
"where are the colors of my flowers?"

She remembers the lotus pond
in autumn,
the freeze in winter.
Even flowers in summer were battered
by storms or guns.

Not a single bud had the freedom
to blossom...
Not until the roots
were transplanted
to a pond outside a foreign window

which framed the lotus with blood
that flooded
Tiananmen Square
and now the wandering heart
of the one who could only call herself

an internationalist.



1990 New York

Fingers of A Loving Hand

In the downpour,
you shamelessly open
Lips to wait
for lips

I come,
with an umbrella, open
No, with a face, close
to your leaves, battered
in the storm.

Stem bent,
face buried in the mud,
lips open
continuously filled with rain
of no concept

Of gentleness,
my lips touch your lips
My pink lady's slipper,
Solitary for no one.

I am yours,
fingers of a loving hand,
hold your with a twig
waiting for no one.


1990, New York

Farewell to weeping

It might just be for one night
A split second
That’s alright
The closed door is blown
opened by the wind
sneaked inside the room
crystal clear and clean
is the smell in the dream
of the ran away flower
just returned home
now drunk

With drunken eyes, look at
the Night Blooming Cereus blossoms
from mid night to dawn.
We escaped death by crossing over
corpses of flowers that died
in peace and in melancholy.
We walked on the corpses of flowers and leaves
dropped onto every poem
forsaken
with nothing
except hearts naked
entangled with bodies and
poems swallowed by
Silence.
The ankles and toes
are searching for wounds
in deep dark corners
again and again
we caress each other.

At the funeral of flowers coming and going
We embrace
And say farewell
To the flower withered
And now picked up by me.
Please pick me up if I wither one day
like this flower
which could have been you
one day when you return home to your roots
like this flower returning to it's roots
I will buried you
deep inside
in sunrise and in moonset.

Tonight, this flower blossoms
and it is not quite the morning yet
We walk hand in hand
To send you off,
To send you off on a ferry
and wait
by walking more
to wait for another ferry,
and another ferry
We wait
from the last ferry
to the first ferry
we wait
from darkness to dawn.
Farewell, farewell
Farewell to weeping
As the wind blows
with fingers of a loving hand.


2006/8/19 Hong Kong
(translated from original Chinese version into English 2006/8/21)

Photo: Night Blooming Cereus on Stephanie's garden

送別哭泣

那怕只有一夜
只有一剎那
溫柔的風也會把
深鎖的重門叩開
在清涼無汗的門扉內透入
如夢相似的氣味
是遺世獨立的花
還魂買醉 !

醉眼看花 !
守候一現的曇花
從今夜綻放至黎明
我們跨過一朶又一朶
安息或不冥目的花魂
死裡逃生
踏着殘花斷葉的詩篇
孓然一身
一無所有
只有赤裸的心
捲入
風眼的旋渦
無言的詩篇吞噬有言的話語
暮生朝死,
送別不朽的英魂 。

在花開花落的葬禮中
我們相擁
又彼此相送
如果有一天我凋謝
就像黎明前凋謝的這朶花
請你檢拾我
猶如我檢拾這朶花;
如果有一天你歸根
就像歸根的這朶花
我會把你埋在深心
從暮暮到朝朝。

在天尚未明花尚未落的今夜
我們結伴同行
送你, 送你
送你遠一點趁渡輪
等船，等船,
從末班等到首班
從黑暗等到光明
送別, 送別,
送別哭泣
全為了温柔的風!

2006/8/19 Hong Kong

圖片: Stephanie 手種的曇花

Waiting For No One

She blossoms madly
head to toes
shaken me with shivers of a heart
open in a flower cupped
in the fingers of a loving hand.
Snow white petals entangled with
Leaves and stems
Pierce the deep dark hole
in the sky with nothing
to hold back.

I must have forgotten, forgotten totally
This flower waiting for no one
Must have been waiting for ten years, and
another ten years
As I wasted my life, she waited
ten years, and
another ten years
without a word.
I thought I loved her
and passed her down from one hand
To another hand, in departure
I called this love.

I must have forgotten, forgotten totally
She has no mouth and can't utter a word
Except to accept
fate like an abandoned child
left by the corner of a window
Waited ten years, and
Another ten years
I thought she could have blossomed
for my father
on my behalf
Yet, she never did.

I was wrong, totally wrong
My father said,
“This is a Night Blooming Cereus without flower.”
She dropped her leaves, half wilted.
Waited ten years, and
Another ten years
Shivered
and waited for my mother
to proclaim,
"We need to cut the flower before dawn whenever she blossoms
and keep it in the refrigerator as remedy for asthma.”
Who could she blossom for
Except shivers.

I tried to plant my flower under the bamboos
Waiting for the birds,
Or grow my flower by the curb
Looking forward to the glance of every passerby,
Or, give her the ultimatum:
“You will be crushed and turned into manure if there is no more flower.”
She remains unmoved
by seduction, harassment, and loneliness
needing no reason
she blossoms for no one
always stands alone
wordless.

Abandoning the past
of glamour under spot lights, interviews
awards, fame, and extravagance
these were things unworthy
to look back. Departure
is not just departure
Passing down from one hand to another hand
love in transfer
Waited ten years, and
Another ten years
We missed each other in a transferred account
Melancholy turned
into dirt.

If love is tainted
with fear there are reasons.
Tonight, we find each other
And let me apologize with body and soul.
Tonight, let’s turn every night into
ten years with
ten times more tenderness.
Every time when she blossoms
Let her blossom madly to the one
She waited.
Don’t let fear
Occupies our life.
In paleness and helpless
we wait.
How many more ten years
Can we afford ?


2006/8/10, Hong Kong
(translated from original Chinese version into English 2006-08-22)
Photo: Night Blooming Cereus blossoms at Stephanie's garden)

不為誰開

這一夜徹底的綻放
我確然悸動
雪白的花瓣交錯着枝葉
毫無保留
伸向漆黑的夜空
花蕊在温柔的指掌中
顫抖。

我忘記了, 我確然忘記了
這不為誰開的花
默默地等待了一個十年又另一個
十年, 每當我虛度年華
她只能默默地等待
一個十年又另一個
十年, 我以為我情深款款
每次遠行, 總是不捨地把她
從一雙手托付給另一雙手。

我忘記了, 我確然忘記了
她沒有嘴吧, 不會說話,
只能接受擺弄
猶如一個棄兒綣縮在窗邊
等待着一個十年又另一個
十年, 以為她可以化身為我
為父親開花
畢竟她不為誰開!

我錯了, 我確然錯了
父親說這是一顆不會開的曇花,
垂着半枯的葉
獃了一個十年又另一個
十年, 不停顫抖
聆聽母親的宣判
“如果開花就要在天亮前摘下
存入冰箱用作治哮喘病的良方。”除了顫抖
她可以為誰而開 ?

我也曾經把她栽在竹林之下
盼望惜花的鳥;
又或者種在路邊
企圖牽引每一顆路過的心;
或者乾脆老實地向她宣佈不開花的命運
“給剪草機絞碎後堆肥。”
畢竟她不為所動
不為誘惑、恐嚇、寂寞而開
全然不為什麼
不為誰開
無言兀立

捨棄前生
一連串鎂光燈與訪問
獎項、名聲、與浮華
都變得不堪回首。
離開畢竟不只是離開
從一雙手托付給另一雙手
轉讓的愛
盼望了一個十年又另一個
十年, 過户的相思
憔悴損
化作泥塵。

如果愛有恐懼
皆由此起
重逢的今夜, 讓我由衷謝罪。
今夜, 讓每一個今夜
都化作十年的漫漫長夜
十倍珍重。
今夜, 讓每一朶重逢的花
當為誰開都由她痛快地開
十倍相惜。
我們, 我們
不要被恐懼佔領一生
我們, 我們
相濡以沫
我們, 我們
能有幾個十年 ?


2006/8/10, Hong Kong

圖片: Stephanie 家裡的曇花

Downpour

As the downpour washes the mountains
into a painting
We follow the rhythm of rain
into millennia of paths
that bring us together.
Tonight, Maria sits by the window
to rub her eyes and make sure
it is just the rain
that blurs her vision.

Back at home, she never cries,
We are just carried away by the rain:
Different time or colors
now look similar.
The mountains, the rivers, the memories,
and many interpretations
of a painting, are rising
from far to near.

We listen to different versions of rain:
It looks like the vineyard in Sicily
where hundreds of folks came to a reading
by an American author. They may not understand
English, but the rain......
He sinks behind the screen of rain, and she rises:
It's like the rain of bullets on the walls
in North East China during the Japanese war
which filled pages of...........
The rain beats the windows harder:
Like the tears of the Russian Jew,
after hundreds of years, still
exile with rain..................

What seems strange in other countries
now becomes familiar.
The rain has no brain to discriminate
the boundaries of nationalities
but fall into everyone's eyes
without announcing
the arrival or departure
of feelings.

From the roots transplanted
it may or may not grow:
in different climate
being neglected,
over or under fertilized,
drought or flood.
All because of the lack of planning
of rain.

We don't plan to read tonight.
Just our hearts are pouring out
with the float of
neither tears nor rain.
It must be something more
than the beginning of
downpour.


1992 New York

Pick ups

This is just a desk we found
on the curb, abandoned
for one reason or another:
We scrape the paint - finish,
re-finish with pine oil
and touch of hands.

That is a rug left by the last tenant
because he wanted a new one:
We wash it, smooth it, and turn it
into a companion of the desk
next to the lamp from the garbage.

Those stiff joints and muscles from
forgotten season are picked up by
a glance:
We rub them with eucalyptus
and menthol at night,
bath them with lavender
in warm water in the morning.

These are pick ups
of things nobody wants,
now become our pleasures:
a poem written on the desk,
a massage of withering bodies on the rug,
a transfiguration of abandonment into
the love of hands.

1992 New York