Ye Hui
trans. by Dong Li
Five POEMS
The Laughter
You know, those who are made into statues today
Could have been mummified in a faraway age
You know, there are not only bullfinches and partridges
In the wind, but also the smell of blood, even dust flies
At night, a cat examines again and again
The doubtful world, then disappears into the depth of pillars
The wise no longer laugh, whose auras are now turning
Into sparks of thoughts splashing before the blast
Shanghai at Night
As if tethered
By a cable, buses, elevators
And wooden buildings are shaking
A concierge dozes off in a chair
Downstairs, above the open pictorial
The light bulb dim, perhaps nobody will return
By the Suzhou River
Rows of small boats have fallen asleep
Only ghosts appear by the warehouses, the smell
Of opium stronger than imported kerosene oil, cigars
Emit a scent of cold creams, a sneeze echoes
In the deep alley, doors open, windows close
The frequency modulation
Still sounds intensely obscure, in the attic
The night is yet brand-new, as if a trumpet
Freshly polished, points forever to the deep of the ceiling
The dull cheeks are brightening
The coffee ripples in the cup
The table quivers, so does the bed, shoes
And a shiny coin on the floor
The voices never die, they are kept somewhere
Like the vinyl, the silent voices
Will vanish, one merchant from Shaanxi
With a heavy leather trunk
Walks on a steamy street
The war is approaching, Shanghai withdraws
Like a foreign cruise ship moored at the harbor
During the day, an escape before the disaster
Drops further and further into undying
Songs and the purple lightning on the sea
In the Dark
The trees stand all night in the dews
The grasses moist, presumably exchanging their seeds
And like a spell, the light breaks and abolishes
The secret dealings underground
At the visible edge
A frog squats, secreting its mucus
A human face appears behind the glass
The body sinks into the dark, that unknown
Beyond the horizon, half of the world rolls into the ocean
They are finally rid of us, only a ship
Still sails in a straight line, propelled by the motor
In the dark, why does everything that drives us always surface
From the underground, dark chambers, and heavy black velvets
As if a long dress of a witch in the Middle Ages, whose linings
Likely bright like morning light, in ancient Greece or England
On the cobble street comes a Chinese, or perhaps
That person likes like one, and in case you feel joy
Flares in your body a flash of lightning
Elsewhere
Only glass, clouds
Some fine rain, only memories
Hold me back, the air contains
A sense of judgment, strange faces
Resemble images, criminals walk
Into incarceration by themselves
An opposite city, a train goes forever
Backward, and ever faster
A long negotiation is taking place
Not knowing for what
Or just for the weather
The minute negligence, the prolonged dreams
I am in all types of jetlag
All are alive, death turns
Into a certain temperament, needing treatment
Sometimes, a real gust of wind blows
Inside, a pinch of pollen
The whole land on quarantine
Because of insomnia, a rat becomes a thinker
There is no night here
The only reward: a ticket expired for years
Or a flight simulator
That quietly lifts off the ground
The Dog-Eared Book
One day, I find
The world
Dog-eared
Like a collar or
A book, like a burnt letter
Words turn into ashes
The color of lead
Drifts to eternity
Perhaps the letter writer had his
Back to us by the window
The coal stove smokes
Someone is
Not yet home
The sound of the river outside
Rumbles all night, as if a lady
Now washes her sheets
How much humiliation or filth
The river clear
Running in the night, like ink
Ye Hui is an acclaimed Chinese poet and probably the only metaphysical poet in contemporary China. His latest collection《遗址》[The Ruins], selected from an oeuvre of thirty years, was published by Elegant People Books/Changjiang Literature & Art Publishing House in 2020. His poems in English translation have appeared or are forthcoming in 128 Lit, The Arkansas International, Bennington Review, Guernica, and Lana Turner.
Dong Li is a poet and translates from Chinese, English, French, and German. His English translations from the Chinese include Song Lin’s The Gleaner Song (Giramondo & Deep Vellum, 2021) and Zhu Zhu’s The Wild Great Wall (Deep Vellum, 2018). His debut poetry collection The Orange Tree (Chicago, 2023) is the inaugural winner of the Phoenix Emerging Poet Book Prize.