Poems from Pine River, Up Sea Guest-edited with an introduction by Cui Yuwei

(Photograph by Hu Nan)

I really enjoy the pleasure brought by Ouyang Yu, who asked me to guest-edit this special issue of Otherland and select the poems of his postgraduate students who are learning creative writing from him at Shanghai University of International Business and Economics in Songjiang, Shanghai, China. A familiar feeling struck me, as I read through their works and hear their intuitive, fearless, aspiring, sentimental, wise, self-deprecating, or sometimes angry voices through their fascinating paraphrasing of their own individual lives, which, occasionally interspersed with tiny flaws in the English language, takes me back to the days when I sat in Ouyang Yu’s class and wrote down the zigzagging lines. As Ouyang's former student, I'm greatly indebted to his earnest instructions in poetry, without which there would not have been a ghost of chance for me to grow into a poet. Ouyang Yu is a postmodern writer who has always been innovative and experimental in both English and Chinese. The "Chineseness" he carries with him constantly wrestles with the western tradition confronting him later in another hemisphere, which helps shape his unique cultural observations. Apart from Ouyang's cultural state of mind, his vigorous, exploratory and seemingly playful language style is enticing and inspirational to his young apprentices who aspire to be poets.

Despite the saying that goes, “youth is poetry”, only a small number of the youngsters can turn youth into poetry. Let’s suppose: it’s not inconceivable to become a poet. All that requires is to truthfully record every perception we have of life, especially at such a poetically young age. The poems I recommend for inclusion in this issue are not all so self-conscious but spontaneous beyond doubt, coming from life’s longing for itself. This younger generation of writers, mostly born in the 90s, displays in their poems a kind of “sameness”, endowed by the times in which they live and thrive. Yet the most significant fact is that they yearn to show individuality through honest words, which Ouyang Yu constantly stresses in his teaching, rather than a flowery or even made-up language. This individuality encourages them to break off from a collective mind, speak for themselves, and go back to “me” rather than “us”. I give my approval to it, because this uniqueness belongs to the one person only, not to be shared. A poem composed this way is creative, not a “seeming” but a real one.

My general impression is that variegated themes are covered in these works: young love, family relations, sketches of people around them, the minutiae of their quotidian existence, environment, successes and failures. Strictly speaking, these poems haven't reached their maturity, but I still rejoice over a strong intuition reflected in them, as I'm convinced that poetry is an art based on intuition and gift. Some of them are such intuitive ones, telling of direct sensations or feelings of the writers. In Li Lu’s “Untitled”, for example, she writes, “I was staring at the screen/ With no ideas in my mind…”, seemingly unconscious of what she is doing until she ends up with a conclusion, “Then I realized that/ I was writing a poem”. I see a strong self-consciousness flowing out of it. The list poem "Human", written by Shannon Zhang, not only shows an authentic self-observation but is highly confessional: "I'm anxious/… I'm choosy/ ..../ I'm jaded…/ I'm managing…/ I'm rapturous…/ I’m xenophobic… ". It’s much like an interior monologue of the writer, with a fragmented quality. In my reading I can't help imagining a self-contradictory but assertive youth in my mind. I would also like to cite Zhang Hang’s poem, entitled, “What I have”: “I am a lad/ I have no money/ No status / No power/ No talent, either / If I had them, after long years’ hard work/ How should I keep being a young lad/ Who had nothing but a beating heart?” There is pathos, evoking a disillusion with the harsh reality, while “a beating heart” in the end suggests an unbendable spirit. Eric Wu, in his “Success in the Modern Age”, poses a question in the beginning: What is success in the modern age? The criteria he offers, like “savoring delicacies from land and sea”, “a big fortune”, “an enviable family”, “successful children”, or “dying remembered”, do not account at all because “you are successful only if you’re better than the Joneses.” A sense of humor here is employed to serve as a satirical critique of a materialized world. It may not have occurred to these young writers that intuition is vital. A good poem is not necessarily an outcome of tactical manipulation or repeated deliberation. Sometimes a powerful feeling is already there to be poeticized. All we need is to capture it and write spontaneously.

Lyricism is an essential quality of poetry. Young writers are inclined to indulge their passion for a sentimental language, which, as I see, is extremely affected. Good lyric poems are not always the ones with a rich vein of sentimentality, which leads a great number of contemporary writers astray. Wordy rhetoric, complicated as it seems, is so easily pleasing and persuasive as to render the lines powerless and dull. The students’ works I choose share a quality in common: the expression of emotion that depends on a faithful account of events rather than a pretentiously weepy tone, the former obviously superior. These young writers explore details of their quotidian experience; some of them focus on themselves or people closely related. For instance, Zeng Dawei addresses the crowd with his poem “Life”, his angry voice of the oppression from reality landing on whoever reads it like a hit on the back, whereas for Zhang Chunlian, she embraces life and people she cherishes with a more favorable view. Her reminiscence of Mom’s love starts from a very concrete concept, eating fish: “She just eats a little/ so little that I once asked her/ Why don’t you eat the fish?/ She said: I don’t like fish, just eat it yourself/ ...Until now, I still don’t know what her favorite food is/ ”. Such a sincere narrative is really impressive. Some others present strong imagery of everyday life in their works. Li Qingqing’s “Cigarette” has a visual effect, like a series of shots that takes one through in a movie. The image of an island in Zhang Hang’s “If I were an Island” also takes a shape with elements like sea, rock, birds, ship and fruit trees. Other poems like Fan Huawei’s “To Spring” and Gao Lili’s “Smothered 2016, China” show a deep concern about the natural and human worlds.

I had a great time reading through these works. As I have stated above, there is still room for them to reflect on and make further improvements, including a good command of exact English. It’s not easy to perceive the complexity and richness of life at an early stage of life, without career or family. They need time to sharpen their pens, more experiences to temper, or even wear themselves out until they see life at its core, stripped of any ornament or explanation. I believe they will finally arrive at the destination they desire to, as long as they keep writing. I hope you, the readers, are sure to get the same enjoyment as I have.

Cui Yuwei

(Photograph by Zhang Xiaoqing)

The Pigeon By Zhang Xiaoqing The lost pigeon. I desire for a pair of wings, To fly to the south. The south. Although I will never see unnamed mountains, The pigeon in the distance, Is flying home. Tomorrow is too far, Today is too short. The pigeon, You will never need a pair of wings. I wear no shoes in the snow, either. No one knows, Who is singing slightly when you come in this spring, To sing a song about this winter?

(Photpgraph by Lu Aiping)

Go Ahead  By Lu Aiping I want to jump into the sea  You say, “go ahead” I want to run along the highway  You say, “go ahead” God, you don't care   I want to travel on a boat You say, “go ahead” I want to sneak into the jungle  You say, “go ahead” God, you don't care    I want to buy you drink  You say, “go ahead” I want to bring you flowers  You say, “go ahead” God, you don't care    And then I want to love you right  I want to hold you tight  I want to make you fight You say this time  You say this time “Never go ahead”

(Photograph by Hu Nan)

Murder By Hu Nan He was big My roommates were going to kill him And they made it His body was still fresh They took his entrails out Gave some to me as a present For Children’s Day They asked me to eat Red and bloody I bit without hesitation Licked my mouth Full of moisture I could taste passion and trill After participating in this murder Especially in such a hot summer Especially Water-melon Common Way By Hu Nan Stop to kiss Forget to loudly tease Remember every date Mean: sweetheart Stop kissing Forget whispering Remember to ask her to go to the kitchen Mean: marriage Stop shouting due to salty soup Forget the Cold War in their sleep Remember his pills for “heart attack” Mean: old married couple Love is a gap The one trapped in it Is the one who has dug

(Photograph by Li Lu)

Untitled By Li Lu I was staring at the screen With no ideas in my mind But I was still typing With my fingers dancing I was thinking about How to start my first poem Then I realized that I was writing a poem

Spring in Songjiang By Li Lu fresh leaves were sprouting from willows along the river banks with the dreariness and loneliness of winter fading naughty catkins were fluttering in the wind while playing with people by chasing them around catkins seemed to enjoy themselves by lingering on people’s lips but people had to spit anxiously towards the air the campus was full of vitality in spring six date palms, wrapped with many ropes in winter had taken off their heavy “coats” smoothing their measly “hair” at the top of the head as if they were paying court to shy cherry blossoms and students were helping these palms take photos with cherry blossoms Wenhui Road remained lively in spring a delivery man was riding his motorcycle while calling “hey, your takeout is going” his sound was not as exhausting and muffled as that in winter he had thrown off his mask, ear muffs and woolen cap but took on a hoodie stamped with a cartoon image he looked more handsome in spring than ever before

(Photograph by Li Qingqing)

Cigarette By Li Qingqing He wanders near the wave, a cigarette on hand. She steps on the footprint, smiles on hand. He stops, gazing at the looming setting sun. She grasps the burning cigarette, and drags on it.

The Clarion Call By Li Qingqing Breeze blows up all letters, Unconscious, Dewy eyes hide near the curtain, As if hearing the clarion call, Giggles frolic along with the wind, Unidentified, Coarse hands hold the door frame, As if waiting for the approaching footsteps, Threescore years eating away, The strip of water keeps them apart, The red rain, The red eyes.

(Photograph by Eric Wu)

Success in the Modern Age By Eric Wu What is success in the modern age? Is success savoring delicacies from land and sea, Wearing tailor-made clothes and ornaments, Living in villas with enormous rooms, And riding limousines around? What is success in the modern age? Is success having a big fortune, Keeping in good shape, And seizing formidable power? What is success in the modern age? Is success organizing an enviable family, Bringing up successful children, And dying remembered? No. Its not enough. You are successful only if you’re better than the Joneses.

(Photograph by Fan Huawei)

To Spring By Fan Huawei All leaves on the tree turned green Yet my friends are not here to stay Spring comes and goes again and again The glory of March shall fade away Memory refreshed in days gone by Night is longer than the stone path Where we nodded to say goodbye And the moon took a deep breath If it were not for the wind I would not wake up so late Now I look through the window A goose is swimming in the lake

(Photograph by Zhang Hang)

What I Have By Zhang Hang I am a lad, I have no money, No status, No power, No talent, either. If I had them, after long years’ hard work, How should I keep being a young lad, Who had nothing but a beating heart. If I Were an Island By Zhang Hang If I were an island, Standing alone in the sea. I would have birds resting on my rock, Castaways feeding on my fruit trees, Ships anchoring in my arms, Winds blowing over my greenswards, And if I were an island, I would be one, with an intent to become a continent.

(Photograph by Zhang Chunlian)

Love By Zhang Chunlian Since I was a little girl, my mom has always kept the best things for me. I like eating fish, Whenever there is fish, She just eats a little, so little that I once asked her: “Why don’t you eat the fish?” She said: “I don’t like fish, just eat it yourself.” But when after I finished my meal, She began to eat the rest of the fish. Until now, I still don’t know what her favorite food is.

(Photograph by Shannon Zhang)

Human By Shannon Zhang I’m anxious. I’m busy. I’m choosy. I’m dull. I’m energetic. I’m famished. I’m gloomy. I’m happy. I’m idle. I’m jaded. I’m keen. I’m lazy. I’m managing. I’m naughty. I’m obedient. I’m painful. I’m quiet. I’m rapturous. I’m sleepy. I’m tired. I’m useless. I’m venturesome. I’m wild. I’m xenophobic. I’m yeomanly. I’m zealous.

(Photograph by Zeng Dawei)

Life By Zeng Dawei Clusters of white chrysanthemums Vying to break through the rank weeds So many motherfuckers Trying to irritate me by their appearance But I don’t know who they are Neither do I give a fuck My linger love for that girl Still hurt me in in the whole Despite my eagerness and kindness She treat me as a spare tire One of my best friend betrayed me for 5000 yuan Such a narrow sighted moron Gradual change covering all homie While I am still Davy If walking down a slope Others already made it smooth for me If trying to climb a mountain Those on the top will throw stones at you I can see my inner fear I can see my ill deeds Now I am not shying away I will go ahead embracing this fucking life

(Photograph by Chen Lu)

The Stranger By Chen Lu The lamp lit accompanied him commanding the city.   In the dim light glistened the tears. The night was pitch dark and his loneliness was frosty. He could no longer penetrate the expression in her eyes. Why unswerving love was reduced to be remorse? She was calculated to leave him. How was it that she still had been lusting for his body? Did it mean the fate of love was to be lacerated? Farewell to Spring By Chen Lu Apprehending the harsh sentiment of farewell, the spring breeze refrained from urging the willow to turn green; nevertheless, it finally trimmed like a pair of scissors the tips of the tender willows that consequently put forth fresh bubs all over its twigs. The frame of my mind all the same like the breeze trimmed slim my soul possessed by you. A volume of the poems of the Tang dynasty and the verses of the Song dynasty still find it hard to swept the faint memory of you.

(Photograph by Alice Lyu)

Spring By Alice Lyu Flowers are blooming. Women are singing and dancing. No need to see men smoking. Ignore them in spring.

(Photograph by Gao Lili)

Smothered 2016, China By Gao Lili The economy is progressing The air is unbreathable The pay is increasing The housing is unaffordable The medicine is prize winning The vaccines are poisoned The schools are expanding The education is rigid The network is growing The voice is strangled

(Photograph by Luo Qinfang)

Forgiveness By Luo Qinfang I forgive you, For flirting on the bus; I forgive you, For sending me messages; I forgive you, For asking me out; I forgive you, For taking me to the hotel; I forgive you, For stealing my virgin; And I forgive you, For making me the Man.

Design: by Li Lu Music: Lemond Tree, by Fool's Garden