Translated by Ouyang Yu

I am Belgium's Zhang Ping. So are you
swaying from side to side, we play saxophones together
two tunes coming out of one brass wind
strolling outside the window, like this snowy night
as you said 'the heart won't melt in the water like the snow — '

The snow and the wind do not have the needle and the thread, and
you said that there was no need to sew and mend
On this wintry night, you left without shaking my hand
leaving me, like slowly going into this mirror before my eyes
except this puffy hair that's curled up
this cheek with a burnt mark, I found a goatee

You and I are one and the same, you and I are two
my familiarity with you, more unfamiliar than others
here, of all the places, simultaneously renting two bodies
You and I have launched one man's war
not able to exit but preferring to shoot each other

On the snowy night, I am recounting helplessness with the saxophone
the sadness you don't like. You said you hated pretensions
but did not sympathize with people in trouble, totally ignoring me
leaving me like an old shoe under the bed, a lost soul by itself
a big snow and wind outside the window, you left in a hurry

You minded them very much, my faults
although they should have been forgotten, you kept nagging
just like an apology that I suddenly happen to think of tonight
because of this friend's death, it's too late
you have moved out, leaving me sulking, with myself

I also tried to make myself look more decent
doing things with resolution, treating people with passion, not too selfishly
the result is that I can't change the facts when I wake up
I still carefully keep the money, on guard against people
haggling over every cent in the market, with burning ears and a red face

I'm Belgium's Zhang Ping. So are you
like this poem, revised from another one
like walking on the snow, with snow falling behind
covering the road, erasing the footsteps
making it difficult to tell who is I, who is you

Zhang Ping, a poet originally from China, is now based in Belgium.

Translated by Ouyang Yu

at five in the morning, i can hear pigs shrieking
from across the river
i can imagine how a sharp knife
thrusts into the throat of a pig
and how the hot blood shining with a cold light
spurts out into the world relentlessly …

a new day, the things around me
— the trees, the birds as well as that small river
it is in this hair-and-bone terror that they wake up

Zhang Minhua is a judge and poet who works in Jiashan Court, Zhejiang Province, China.

Translated by Ouyang Yu

in the elevator, four or five people
greeted each other mechanically
i was embarrassed
they were all in their forties or fifties
— even i, the youngest, was thirty-odd years of age
my vicious eyes were staring at a mouth
magnifying it
i found it extremely ugly
— how many lives it had consumed all its life!

Translated by Ouyang Yu

one horse, two horses
three four five six seven horses
one horse

the net-shaped horse
the transparent horse
from one empty door
to another empty door

the skin of the grass
rubbing against the belly
the horses on the slope
their belly shiny and smooth

the horses on the slope
with sunken backs
the blue sky light, the desires heavy
the horses on the slope
their eyes open with wild flowers

Based in Nanjing, China, Yu Kuichao's poetry has appeared in Otherland (No. 1, 1996).