Four Poems by Zhang Zhihao

Translated from the Chinese by Yuemin He

Koi Fish

When a koi fish swims
pond water remains unfazed
When two koi fish swim closely one after the other
the yin and yang of the pond appear—
With a pond full of koi fish
thronging and swimming
from one end of the pond to the other
then back again to the beginning
against a dizzying backdrop of colorful life
fish kiss tenderly
fish kiss in despair
The higher the place where the waves splash
the denser the sadness

锦鲤

一条锦鲤游动的时候
池水波澜不兴
两条锦鲤咬着尾巴游
水池呈现出阴阳两极
现在是一池的锦鲤
拥挤着
从此岸涌向彼岸
又从彼岸游了回来
花花绿绿的生活令人眩目
鱼吻轻柔
鱼吻绝望
水花溅得越高的地方
悲伤越集中

So That’s How It’s Got to Be

I saw a hedgehog in the bamboo forest
crawling effortlessly on soft bamboo leaves
I saw myself holding a bamboo stick
galloping towards it
The hedgehog balled up on the spot
I squatted down
at a loss as to what to do
Birds chirped on bamboo shoots
The shadow of the sun dappled the forest
I saw myself change from being interesting to boring
like a hedgehog among its own kind

原来是这样

我见过竹林里的刺猬
在松软的竹叶上轻巧地爬行
我见我手持一根竹棍
飞奔过去
刺猬就地缩成一团
我就地蹲下
无计可施
竹梢上的鸟鸣
竹林里斑驳的日影
我见我从有趣变得无趣
像刺猬一样藏在刺猬中

In the Style of The Pillow Book

Birds chirp the best in spring, especially
after the second rain
In the morning, when most are still in deep sleep
and you in darkness as well
it is very interesting to identify the birds by their chirping
Painted-snipe, pied harrier, Japanese thrush, yellow-rumped willow warbler…
The dawn redwood outgrows the roof
but above the tree there is yet something else
If viewed from the air
even though seen unclearly, those swaying
tender branches are still intriguing
and those leaves about to fall
like pleading lives
are very fascinating

仿《枕草子》

鸟鸣是春天的好听，尤其是
第二场春雨后
清晨，大多数人还在熟睡
你也在黑暗中
凭声音去猜测鸟的身份很有意思
彩鹬，鹊鹞，乌灰鸫，黄腰柳莺…...
水杉高过了屋顶
水杉之上还有其他事物
若是从空中往下看
即便看不清，那些摇摆着的
嫩枝也一定有趣
那些还没有来得及掉落的叶子
哀求着的生命
是很有意味的

An Ant Ventured Out

An ant ventured out
In the morning I saw it at the gate of the small garden
At dusk I came across it near one end of the bridge
The ant was lucky
I wish tomorrow, as today, it can also
crawl over corpse after corpse
and even bring extra
corpses home

一只蚂蚁出门了

一只蚂蚁出门了
早上我在小花园门口看见它
晚上我在石拱桥头看见它
一只蚂蚁有好运气
我祝它明天也像今天
能够翻过一具具尸体
还能背着多余的
尸体回家

The translations sampled here are part of a book of Zhang Zhihao’s poetry I am working on. They reflect the usual subject matter and style of the poet, who grew up in the rural area of Jingmen, an ancient city a few hours of train ride away from Wuhan, China. As the poet firmly believes in the poetics of the quotidian, these poems are deeply rooted in the observation of his childhood environment, and then redirected to convey his current views of the Chinese social and human landscape. Covering a variety of small creatures that he became familiar with while running around in bamboo groves, the family vegetable garden, pine forests, water ponds, and the signature river running through his village fields, the poet contemplates the difficulty of achieving a voice to describe this world, feeling a sense of helplessness even as he moves out of these difficulties with the aid of natural beauty and human resilience. Like American poet Ted Kooser, whose imagery (for example, a bird “hauling the heavy / bucket of the dawn/ up from the darkness” or a galaxy that “dies like a snowflake falling on water”) does not parade the poet’s own intellect, Zhang is equally well read, but writes in an accessible and conversational voice that delineates a faraway culture and space. Just as the poet who works hard “sending stone after stone across / the ever-widening river,” I hope my work as translator will allow readers in English to enjoy Zhang’s marvelous sense of imagery, rhythm, and tone embedded in these poems, and that they too feel transported across space, culture, and language.

Translator’s Note

Zhang Zhihao [张执浩] is one of the most accomplished contemporary Chinese poets. Author of twelve poetry collections as well as several books of fiction and essays, Zhang has won almost all the prestigious poetry awards in China, including the Luxun Literary Prize for poetry. Currently, he is editor-in-chief of Chinese Poetry, a quarterly poetry magazine in Wuhan, China. 

Yuemin He has published on East Asian literature and visual art, Asian American literature, Buddhist American literature, and composition pedagogy. Her poetry translations appear in more than twenty literary magazines, journals, and anthologies, including The Cincinnati Review, Oxford Anthology of Modern and Contemporary American Poetry (2nd ed.), and Delos. Currently, she is an English professor at Northern Virginia Community College.

Published April 15 2024