SZ @ China Institute
R Train in Rector Street, New York City
Of course a story about New York has to have something to do with the subway.
Recently I am reading a book “ Goodbye to All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York” (not that I’m thinking of leaving New York, or am I?), and almost every single one of the 28 writers talks about New York subway ----how old, cramped, smelly, and unbearably frustrating it is----and yet, it has became so quintessentially New York, even a story on a day about poetry can’t avoid it.
It was October 22, Saturday. I went to China Institute for the first seminar of a series: Expanding the Boundaries of Chinese Poetry, given by Yibing Huang, known by his pen name Mai Mang (麦芒) , who established himself as a poet in China in the 1980s and came to U.S. in the 90s.
……
告诫我的不是一个人，而是
两个人、三个人……
先微笑，然后是沉默和迷惘
在数着星星的过程中
也许会忘记了自己眉毛底下
两颗最有人性的眸子
它们离我一样遥不可即
而我多么疲惫，多么恍惚
就像白昼一个未结疤的
伤口，有着腐败的肉和新鲜
的血，无人用嘴吮吸
手指，手指在跳动，仿佛
弹着一根并不存在的琴弦
我的诗啊，请埋进浓重的黑暗
不要为谁而唱，也不要为我
你只需叹息，像一场梦
你只需存在，哪怕被毁灭
这一切已经足够幸福了
就不要再追求什么不朽
—— 麦芒，1990年4月1日，《今夜的火花今夜就会熄灭》
English Translation by Mai Mang
…
Not just one person warned me
But two, three…
First smiling, then silent and lost
In the process of counting stars
Perhaps will forget beneath one’s own eyebrows
Two most human pupils
They are as far and unapproachable as the stars
And how fatigued, how unfocused am I
Just like an unhealed wound
Of the day, having rotten flesh and fresh
Blood, no one would suck it by mouth
Fingers, fingers are jumping
As if plucking a non-existent string
Oh my poetry, please bury yourself into the thick darkness
Don’t sing for anyone, not even for me
You only need to sigh, like a dream
You only need to exist, even if perish
All this would already be enough to be happy
Then please pursue no more so-called immortality
(Tonight's Sparks Will Die Out Tonight, by Mai Mang, April 1, 1990)
A faculty at the Connecticut College now, Mai Mang, a middle-aged man with long hair in a style surprisingly similar to mine, had to drive to a station in Connecticut to catch a Metro-North train, and switch to a New York subway to get to China Institute in order to give this lecture to a dozen participants (and who knows how they got there on a Saturday afternoon!).
My story of getting to China Institute was a typical New York subway story, that is, a frustrating one. I was planning to take the #7 train from Queens into Manhattan after having lunch with a friend. The lunch was pleasant, which made me stay longer than I probably should. Only after swiping into the station, I found out the Manhattan direction platform was blocked (obviously no train went to Manhattan from that station). I could either take #7 to the next station OPPOSITE direction of Manhattan and switch back, or…… there were really no other options without alternative subway lines around. Instead, I stood around the corner of Sunny Side and Bliss Street for 20 minutes waiting for an Uber, which somehow didn’t show up and yet charged me $5 cancellation fee, and finally got myself into a green cab to 59th and Lexington Ave., only to get stuck in the traffic on Queens Borough Bridge. After getting off, I submerged to #4 train, the express line (and hence the most time-saving to get to China Institute on a NORMAL day), which, didn’t fail to disappoint me this time by only running to 42nd Street. It was only the beginning of a chain of switching trains underground from #4 to #6 (a local line taking twice as much time to get downtown) then to R, which finally went to Rector Street, a station closest to my office. Like most (if not all) New Yorkers, I particularly hate the walk from #6 to R at Canal Street. The connecting tunnels are as filthy as others and exceptionally long. Among all the semi-relaxing locals going out on weekends and confusing tourists who typically move slowly even when trains are running smoothly, I knew I appeared to be uncharacteristically impatient for a Saturday. Well, who cares?
I lost track of time. The mission of the day seemed not about the poetry seminar anymore, but to overcome all the barriers in the subway system between Queens and downtown Manhattan.
And of course, it was a rainy and windy Saturday. After an oddly warm and beautiful week, New York finally felt like late fall on this VERY Saturday, with falling yellow leaves, dreary rains, and almost everyone in black, depressing.
Thirty-minutes before the two-hour poetry seminar ended, I finally walked into China Institute. I dropped my two bags (did I mention that I was carrying two big bags all this time?) in my office, changed my flats to high heels, and stepped quietly into the library with beautiful traditional yet sleek Chinese design and walls of books (some from over 100 years ago) surrounding Mai Mang and the audience.
啊，亲爱的，让我们
再看看外面的世界吧
看看傍晚时分的烟酒店
雨水打湿的街道，车辆和情人
再看看起风的时候，城市多么荒凉
没有果实的树，又多么孤单
你就会感到： 我们应当在一起
我和你在一起的时间
就是家庭的时间
你就会停止在玻璃窗上写字
再不沉默，再不犹豫
也再不看我，就扑回我的怀中……
—— 多多，1973 - 1980, 《感情的时间》
Translation by Gregory Lee:
Oh my love, let's
look once again at the world outside the window
look at the wine and tobacco shop as night draws in
the street wet with rain, the traffic and lovers
look once again as the wind gets up, the town is so
desolate
fruitless trees, and how alone
you can just feel: we are meant to be together
our time together
is a homely time
you can stop and write (or "stop writing"? - by Shenzhan) words on the window pane
never again silent, never again hesitant
and never again looking at me, just throwing your arms
around me (or "throwing into my arms"? -- Shenzhan)...
Duoduo, born in 1951 and considered to be one of the most important contemporary poets in China's poets' circle, was the topic of the seminar. When I walked in, Mai Mang was reading this poem in Chinese (and it was an amazing performance). An audience followed to read its translation in English. Was Duoduo talking about ONLY Beijing? The corner deli for cigarettes and drinks; the streets in the rain with cars and lovers (are they walking down the street holding hands? with an umbrella? Or riding a second-hand bike in yellow rain ponchos? ); the trees with leaves falling in October and soon to become bare branches……all were so charmingly familiar to me not only because of my 7-year life in Beijing prior to New York, but its surprising resonance to the life in New York, even a hectic one I just had.
Did Duoduo ever live in New York? If yes, there must have been at least one day like mine he would have gone through. How would it appear in his poem? What would be included? The eyes and faces of confusing passengers packed on the platform? The headlight of the R train finally inching into the Canal Street Station after a long wait? The mumbles from the radio in the train announcing yet another route change “due to planned construction”? The filthy tunnel filled with bright white light that hurts eyes and gives headache?
There is really a poem in everything. My favorite Chinese writer, Wang Xiaobo, referring to Nietzsche, once wrote,
“一个人只有今生今世是不够的，他还应当有诗意的世界。” (It’s not enough for one to just have this life and this world. One shall own a poetic world.” - translated by Shenzhan)
你已经迟了
久等的地铁缓缓驶进站台
好像在嘲讽
——你忍气吞声
迫不及待地
扑进张开的门
—— 廖申展，10/2016, 《诗与纽约地铁》
BTW: next seminar by Mai Mang will be about Wang Xiaobo.
(Thanks to Mai Mang to provide poems and translations on Duo Duo and Mai Mang.)
10/23/16
60 Beans, Astoria, New York