A Distant Center

by Ha Jin

  the onslaught of duties and hardships.

  You dare not take these as your rights:

  the warm sunlight, clean water, fresh air,

  a happy mood for an ordinary day.

  As long as you live, you want to grieve

  for the fairy tale of patriotism.

  You dare not take a country as a watchdog —

  a good dog wags its tail to please its master,

  becomes fierce in deterring burglars;

  a bad dog ignores invaders

  and only bites and barks at its master.

  You dare not clasp the dog’s ear,

  telling it, “You won’t have food

  if you continue to misbehave like this.”

  Actually, you are merely a grain of rice

  that fell through China’s teeth,

  but you treat it as your god,

  your universe, and the source

  of your suffering and happiness.

  THE OLDER GENERATION

  I saw how they lived with restrictions.

  Hardly past thirty they began to decline.

  Like fish trapped in an invisible net,

  they swam in all directions

  but couldn’t get anywhere.

  They had to surrender to the country

  and let it consume them at will.

  They were like trees dependent

  on the strength of the forest, but none

  could stand tall and straight alone.

  Their dreams were banished into caves

  and withered away, never able to sprout.

  While alive, they tried hard

  to garner praise from everyone

  so as to become model ghosts afterward.

  THE LAST WISH

  He used to be a lyric poet

  and was well known all over the country

  when he was not yet thirty.

  Then he was selected by the state

  to serve as a cultural official.

  Everything was in order:

  he didn’t have to go to work on weekdays,

  when he went out he used a chauffeur,

  his job was handled by a secretary

  except for the endless meetings he had to attend.

  He lived in safety and privilege.

  But for nearly half a century

  he hasn’t written a poem to his satisfaction,

  though he is still called “China’s Rilke.”

  Now he is dying.

  His superiors are at his bedside,

  offering him solicitous words

  and asking whether he has some unfulfilled wish.

  Suddenly he bursts into tears,

  wailing, “I want to write poetry.

  I want to leave you some immortal lines!”

  A CABINET

  There’s a cabinet you’d better avoid.

  Whoever has seen its contents

  will get in trouble

  and might risk prison.

  The cabinet has never been locked.

  It contains nothing but trifles:

  drug prescriptions, conflicting orders,

  banquet menus, assorted receipts,

  notes of meetings, lists of familiar names.

  These things are simply piled together.

  Seeing them shouldn’t be a crime,

  but at any moment the cabinet door

  might display such words:

  NATIONAL SECRETS!

  CONCRETENESS AND CLARITY

  You pointed at my face and said, “How

  could you let one person’s memory

  embody a billion people’s experience?

  This is like letting a dot represent

  a vast surface — a distorted reality!”

  A billion is a huge number.

  Even Einstein

  might be wary of it.

  What do a billion faces look like?

  How do a billion voices sound?

  Not able to hear or see clearly,

  you would have a head stuffed with clouds —

  there’d be the same story for everyone.

  Give me solidity and clarity.

  Let me see one face, then another;

  let me hear one voice, then another.

  Big numbers can produce

  only confusion and fraudulence.

  INCOMPATIBLE

  You often tell children:

  “The world is what it is.

  If you cannot change it,

  you’d better get used to it.”

  What kind of logic is that?

  To live, one must accept diminishment —

  if sunlight is blocked out,

  your eyes must adapt to the gloom;

  if smog is too thick to disperse,

  your lungs should breathe partially;

  if fake foods are everywhere,

  your stomach must grow stronger.

  In any event, people all live the same way.

  If the world continued like that,

  humans would diminish by the generation,

  regressing to animals, eventually

  to plants and stones.

  All progress starts with incompatibility —

  people try to change their surroundings

  to make conditions fit themselves.

  Drop your adaptability

  and let children learn

  to become incompatible.

  HANDS

  When you’re back in Beijing,

  tell him I understand his situation

  and won’t contact him directly.

  There are hands around him

  that are always busy searching through

  websites and emails and blogs.

  They open letters and parcels

  and record one name after another.

  Sometimes they tap out hints

  that startle sleepers and make them brood

  about dangers until daybreak.

  Tell him to be careful,

  not to contact me unless necessary.

  Those hands have eyes all over them,

  able to monitor

  countless people at once.

  At any moment they can reach out

  to seize you and dump you into

  a canyon, or dungeon, or cavern.

  Your cries for help

  will elicit no response —

  the ears on those hands can play deaf.

  A CENSOR’S TALK

  When you are in that country

  you must spread the good news about us

  and praise our marvelous land:

  here children all enjoy free education,

  the old are cared for, the sick treated,

  people live and work happily,

  united in social harmony.

  You can say our life is sweeter than honey

  (although there’re a few lost ones

  who squander public money for debauchery).

  Moreover, our economy grows by the day.

  Now it’s so easy to travel and communicate.

  This country is rich and vast,

  a garden of bliss in every way.

  When you return from that country

  you must bring back their bad news:

  people there all live miserable lives,

  most families are deep in debt,

  men drink excessively and carry arms,

  women are loose and shameless,

  citizens burn their national flag in the open

  and even curse their president on television,

  children cannot see the purpose of life,

  abuse drugs and indulge in sex,

  many young girls get pregnant and some give birth,

  common people have no chance to excel,

  their economy has kept declining

  and will soon collapse.

  Don’t smirk like that.

  I know what’s on your mind.

  You’ve been thinking how to emigrate

  so you can live in that
country for good.

  If so, you’d better shut up.

  And don’t come back.

  DO NOT START

  You’d have to commit new violence to salvage

  the wreckage left by the previous violence.

  In this way you would produce new hatred until

  hatred is everywhere, as thick as smog.

  You’d have to tell a bigger lie

  to cover up the previous lie.

  In this way lies expand and multiply,

  becoming huge like

  a mountain or a country.

  There are things that, once you start,

  can drain your humanity.

  IF EATING IS A CULTURE

  We eat mice.

  Mice have nice glossy fur

  and can give you a head of thick hair.

  Even if you’re bald

  they can restore your hair.

  We eat cats.

  Cats, quick by nature,

  can make you smarter,

  or at least livelier.

  We eat frogs.

  Frogs can swim and crow loudly.

  They can make your voice resonant.

  Even in the rainy season

  you won’t develop rheumatism.

  We eat foxes.

  Foxes are cunning and swift

  and can increase your agility

  in dodging traps laid for you.

  We eat tigers.

  Tigers, powerful and fierce,

  can strengthen your body

  and enhance your potency.

  They can help you conquer

  and dominate anywhere.

  We eat phoenixes and dragons

  but cannot catch them throughout

  heaven and earth and ocean.

  So we eat snakes for dragons

  and chickens for phoenixes

  so that we can eat them up as well.

  WEASELS

  In those days weasels often hexed villagers,

  bewitching young girls

  and women of frail health.

  Such a victim would rave in a weasel’s voice,

  trembling and brandishing her arms.

  Her family would rush out,

  shouting and beating a basin

  to scare away the weasel casting the spell.

  Some carried brooms

  to thrash the creature if they found it.

  Once the rascal fled

  the crazed person would return to calm.

  Nowadays no one believes

  that animals can hex humans.

  Instead we send the possessed

  to a shrink or hospital.

  Sorcery is nothing but superstition.

  Yet if a voice cries,

  “Go chase the weasel away!”

  I might hurry out to search through

  haystacks, bushes, firewood

  in hopes of finding a weasel

  shrieking and rocking in spasms.

  O WIND

  O wind, tear up this heaven of clouds,

  toss them out of the sky,

  empty the space so the smog around us

  might lift and disappear.

  O wind, this city is expecting you

  to send over a torrential rain

  that can cleanse the dusty roofs,

  can wash the streets shiny again,

  can restore green to treetops,

  can stop feverish vehicles from

  honking and rushing around.

  O wind, let seawater surge over the beach.

  Let it take away piles of trash,

  returning blue to the bay,

  allowing fish scales to glitter again

  on the crests of waves.

  MY CHINA DREAM

  I dream of becoming a scar on China’s face,

  because when it was moaning and bleeding

  I, too, trembled in spasms.

  When it was weeping, I was

  also drenched in tears.

  Its pain throbs in my soul

  and through me, reaches numerous people.

  I dream of becoming a scar on China’s face.

  When banners and praises are everywhere

  I see intrigues in splendid disguise

  and hear sighs and cries far away.

  I am a mass of records

  solidified by crimes and sufferings,

  also by the denuded land.

  However brightly China smiles,

  I won’t share its honor

  or embellish its beauty,

  though I often think how

  I might fade away eventually.

  A Quiet Center

  DOORS

  So many doors close once you pass them.

  Don’t turn around to trace back

  the way you came, because

  no matter how you shout or weep,

  those doors won’t budge a bit.

  So many doors bang shut

  the moment you cross them.

  They propel you into dark corridors.

  You have to move ahead, assuming

  there might be a patch of light somewhere.

  So many doors disappear

  as soon as you leave them behind,

  although voices keep reminding you:

  Don’t forget where you are from —

  those doors lead to your roots.

  You have gone through so many doors

  and learned to lock them with ease.

  If necessary, you will throw away

  the keys you are supposed to keep.

  You are used to finding your way.

  ACCEPTANCE

  In many people’s eyes

  absence is a fault or crime.

  However hard you try to make amends,

  they will still condemn you.

  You can’t go home anymore

  and will drift on the wind of chance —

  wherever you land

  you will be an outsider.

  Then, accept the role of wanderer.

  At least you can stand alone

  and become one of those

  who live and die on their own.

  You must learn to be content

  to inhabit your own space —

  news from far away

  can no longer disturb you.

  If necessary, turn your back on the past

  and let all slander and praise

  vanish from your mind.

  ALONE

  You don’t know how fond I am of being alone.

  The soul loves ancient guests from far away,

  but they arrive only when you are alone.

  Don’t say it’s hard to stand loneliness.

  Wherever you are, in a village or on an island,

  you won’t lack divine friends

  as long as you don’t step out your door.

  You don’t know how I hate networking.

  Banquets of a dozen courses

  and endless parties cannot shrink

  the distances between people.

  The noise keeps you from hearing the voices of old,

  and you make “siblings” randomly.

  You don’t know how happy I am when alone.

  A CENTER

  You must hold your quiet center,

  where you do what only you can do.

  If others call you a maniac or a fool,

  just let them wag their tongues.

  If some praise your perseverance,

  don’t feel too happy about it —

  only solitude is a lasting friend.

  You must hold your distant center.

  Don’t move even if earth and heaven quake.

  If others think you are insignificant,

  that’s because you haven’t held on long enough.

  As long as you stay put year after year,

  eventually you will find a world

  beginning to revolve around you.

  MISUNDERSTANDING

  So let misunderstanding spread.

&
nbsp; It only shows how different

  you are from others.

  Many things cannot bear

  explaining; you’d better

  let silence and labor speak

  in your defense.

  You don’t need many friends

  or to be enamored with beautiful women

  or share the wine of happy gatherings,

  because you have solitude enough,

  content to leave this world without a sound.

  Distant thunder can give you pure joy.

  Birds in the sky can teach you

  another kind of wisdom.

  As your soul is growing new wings

  such words will disappear from your dictionary:

  boundary, complaint, cowardice, collapse . . .

  AT LEAST

  You don’t need to appear everywhere,

  attending parties and conferences randomly.

  That would show you are still