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Questions of Cranes

Questions of Cranes CHEN XIANFA Deep in the mountains, I’ve seen cra nes in the form of pillars. Or even of liquid, o f gas, or spring mud curled up at the roots of solemn aza leas, their wings withdra wn. I’ve seen the birds, the fictitious k ind, their pure white color full of rejectio ns, but growing into a more suitable form on doomsday. For dying people, to raise cranes is a ga me, like a minority religion. Writing po etry is something else: the “cra ne” in this line can be totally replace d. But never ask what creatures cry for the cra nes. e Th y cry to the east, which is to the west as w ell. e Th y cry for backroom politics, and for street revolutions. Like tonight, in the roaring sound of the fan in my ba throom I sit for a long tim e as if I will never take a step from h ere. I am a common man, having never raised a crane or kille d one. I know my suffering is ending, along with my dut ies. I put on a pure white bathrobe, striding to th e place of a bystander, although in a former t ime I was the one who made comments. Translation by Ming Di http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Manoa University of Hawai'I Press

Questions of Cranes

Manoa , Volume 31 (1) – May 10, 2019

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 University of Hawai'i Press.
ISSN
1527-943x

Abstract

CHEN XIANFA Deep in the mountains, I’ve seen cra nes in the form of pillars. Or even of liquid, o f gas, or spring mud curled up at the roots of solemn aza leas, their wings withdra wn. I’ve seen the birds, the fictitious k ind, their pure white color full of rejectio ns, but growing into a more suitable form on doomsday. For dying people, to raise cranes is a ga me, like a minority religion. Writing po etry is something else: the “cra ne” in this line can be totally replace d. But never ask what creatures cry for the cra nes. e Th y cry to the east, which is to the west as w ell. e Th y cry for backroom politics, and for street revolutions. Like tonight, in the roaring sound of the fan in my ba throom I sit for a long tim e as if I will never take a step from h ere. I am a common man, having never raised a crane or kille d one. I know my suffering is ending, along with my dut ies. I put on a pure white bathrobe, striding to th e place of a bystander, although in a former t ime I was the one who made comments. Translation by Ming Di

Journal

ManoaUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: May 10, 2019

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