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Shu Ting: Selected Poems

Translated by Eva Hung

with an Introduction by Tao Tao Liu

At first reading the poetry of Shu Ting gives the impression of insipidity. Her vocabulary is generally bland, using the most ordinary everyday words. The emotions expressed are the simplest and most universal. Her tone is quiet and unaggressive, distinctly feminine. These traits may seem remarkably unremarkable to us, but to the spiritually and emotionally hungry young people of China in the 1970s, when as a young worker in a Fujian factory Shu ring was beginning to make her poetry known, she brought an emotional awareness and expressiveness that was like a breath of fresh air. This was during the last years of extreme left rule in China, when Party control was at its most totalitarian,. te"or and humilation were its main weapons, supplemented by threats of physical hardship and separation from family. Publishing was strictly supervised and poetry was reduced to lyrics capable of being sung as hymns to the "Revolution " and the

Party, and the tone was either obsequious or strident. The poetry of Shu nng articulated the gentleness that had so long been left unexpressed.

In her poems she asked for acceptance of the emotional needs of the people and expressed this in a quiet manner that stood out amidst the stridency and mindlessness of the so-called poetry of the day. Her poetry was totally apolitical. To be apolitical in a land where literature's only raison d'etre was to be political, was actually a political act in itself, and was to attract people to her work. She never made any direct reference to politics or even to society: her statements were all made through poetic imagery without direct commentary or instruction to the reader, a mode of literary expression that caused difficulty for those of the Cultural Revolution era who were quite unused to it. Such poetry when it appeared in the seventies was christened menglong ~~ (misty, vague), even though Shu Ting's can hardly be more concrete in its imagery.

In a brief preface to her poems published in Shikan in October 19801 she wrote:

1 At the conclusion of the "Youth Seminar on Poetry" organized by the Shikan editorial board, the poems

of young poets like Shu Ting, Jiang He iIi"I, Gu Cheng ~~ and Xu Jingya ~~S2 were published.

253

254 RENDITIONS 1987

Oh, People, please understand me. I never thought that I was a poet. I know that I shall never become a thinker (however much

I should like to be). I know in my deepest consciousness that people today are in dire need of respect, trust and warmth. I want to do my utmost to express my concern for

"people". Obstructions must be removed, masks must be taken off. I believe that people can under-

stand each other, because it is always possible to find a road to the heart and soul.

In the West we are used to poetry which is assertive and enjoy lines that arrest our attention. The other misty poets of Shu Ting's generation, publishing during the "Peking Spring" of 1979, employ striking opening lines such as,

Baseness is the password of the base, Honour is the epitaph of the honourable. ..

Bei Dao: "The Answer"

Shu Ting by contrast seems almost feeble, but she works by stealth,

A small boat For whatever reason Lay marooned on its side on A desolate stony bank The paint had not quite gone But the mast was already broken There were no green trees to give shade Or grass willing to grow

"A Boat"

Undramatically but powerfully the poem goes on to describe the isolation and desolation of the boat, and its separation from the sea, and expresses a sense of intense longing for union, for love, for friendship and for nonnality, all conveyed by the image of a battered boat beached on the sand. On occasion, however, her opening lines can be arresting too, like the ones in "Walls";

I have no way of resisting walls Only the wish to resist them. ..

but what she describes proclaims passive resistance; a rock-like interior allied with a pliant ex- terior. This ability to hold on to an inner strength has been the last refuge of many Chinese in times of difficulty.

Her poetry records emblems of her time, such as the beached boat, the unspoken feelings, the claustrophobic walls, dead leaves falling from a tree. Generally her method is to choose an everyday object, not particularly invested with meaning or emotion, and to work round it or upon it. Symbols play an important part in what she tries to say. The speech is modest in what might be tenned a "womanly" manner. This is an important characteristic of her poetry.

In Chinese society , although there are models of strident socialist females much admired for having played key roles in the Chinese revolution, these images are far from everyday troth. The traditional model of the quiet-spoken and reassuring woman who takes a back seat is still preferred. People are very conscious of differences in behaviour and speech between men and women. The clearly feminine qualities of Shu Ting's voice may appeal to such a preference for a quiet and apparently vulnerable womanhood.

The impression of insipidity may arise from the low profile she adopts. The simple vocabulary she employs is part of the image that she projects. In addition, an occasional note of

Shu ring Poems 255

something akin to impersonality can be attributed to the collective society that she has been brought up in, even more collectively organized than traditional Chinese society, which was hostile enough to expressions of individuality. Her individuality is expressed indirectly, through poetic images and through her vision of life.

Since those early productive days in the 1970s her poetic output has been more sporadic. There have been comments that she has sold out to the establishment, which seems an irrelevance when applied to her poetry since she never attacked the establishment directly. Some of her more recent poems, such as the one written in 1985 on the subject of the stuffed birds on the walls of a German restaurant, present as agonized a vision of life as anything she might have written ten years earlier: 2

For many years Flapping their wings

These birds Never managed to fly out of These walls

Firelight from the open fire Activates all kinds of wings

It seems unfair now to castigate her poetry for having remained consistent. Her poems made new departures in the harsh political climate of Marxist China, yet she

shares the belief of Marxist literary theorists that literature is mainly social in intent. Her poems express her belief that poetry can teach people something about themselves and about the human condition. Theyare more expressive of her vision of external reality than her individuality. This trait is very much a part of the Chinese literary tradition, and as such finds sympathy with Chinese people. The Marxist-Leninist view of literature excludes individualism; writers and artists are required to suppress their individuality and write only about society. The likes of Shu Ting do not suppress their individuality, but make it a vehicle for writing about society.

2Renmin wenxue, 1986, 1, p. 98.

RENDITIONS 1987256

Homeward Bound

The wind tonight Seems full of echoes Wind in the pine, fireflies, lamplight from a hydro-electric

station All reminding me of a distant dream My memory is like a small overloaded wooden bridge Spanning the banks of time Does moonlight still scamper merrily down the steps on the

other side? My heart trembles, fearful of starting the journey

Don't think back, don't think back My wandering feet are tired I rest my head on the shoulder of the mountains I seem to have walked a long, long way Yet I'm back where I started Innocent eyes rise again like the stars Shining on me, just as ten years ago Maybe if I hold out my hands A golden apple will fall A waterfall of blood Brightens my soul as though it's in flames

This can't be true, can't be true Youth has turned its back and walks through a dense forest of

cries Toward oblivion

Shu Ting Poems 257

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RENDITIONS 1987258

When You Walk Past My Window

When you walk past my window Bless me Because the light is still on

The light is on- In the heavy , gloomy night, Like a fisherman's light drifting. You can think of my tiny house As a tiny boat tossed by a storm But I have not sunk Because the light is still on.

The light is on -

The curtains may reflect a shadow, Showing me an old and feeble man, With no expansive gestures any more, My back more hunched than before, But what has aged is not my heart, Because the light is still on.

The light is bn -

It answers with fervent love Regards sent from all around ; The light is on- It looks with commanding pride Down on seen and hidden oppression. Oh, when did the light assume such strong character? When you began to understand me.

Because the light is still on, Bless me, When you walk past my window

April 1976

259Shu Ting Poems

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260 RENDITIONS 1987

To an Oak

If I love YOU- I won't be like the trumpet creeper Flaunting itself on your tall branches, If I love you- I won't be like the love-sick bird, Repeating to the green shade its monotonous song; Nor like a brook, Bringing cool solace the year round; Nor like a perilous peak, Adding to your height, complementing your grandeur; Nor even sunlight, Nor even spring rain. No, these are not enough! I must be a kapok tree by your side; In the image of a tree standing by you, Our roots clasped underground, Our leaves touching in the clouds. With every breeze We salute each other, But no one Will understand our language. You have your trunk of steel and iron branches, Like knives, like swords, And like spears. I have my huge, red flowers, Like heavy sighs, And like valiant torches. We share the burdens of cold, storms, lightning; We share the joys of mists, vapours, rainbows. We may seem forever severed, But are life-long companions. This is the greatest of love; This is constancy: Love- I love not just your robust form, I also love the ground you hold, the earth you stand on

27 March 1977

Shu Ting Poems 261

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262 RENDITIONS 1987

A Roadside Encounter

The phoenix tree suddenly tilts The bicycle bell's ring hangs in air Earth swiftly reverses its rotation Back to that night ten years ago

The phoenix tree gently sways again The ringing bell sprinkles floral fragrance along the

trembling street Darkness gathers, then seeps away The dawning light of memory merges with the light in your eyes

Maybe this didn't happen Just an illusion spawned by a familiar road Even if this did happen I'm used to not shedding any tears

March 1979

Shu Ting Poems 263

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As the wind sighs through the trees

by Zhou Sicong

Material not available due to copyright restrictions.

264 RENDITIONS 1987

Assembly Line

On the assembly line of Time Nights huddle together We come down from the factory assembly lines -And join the assembly line going home Overhead An assembly line of stars trails across the sky By our side A young tree looks dazed on its assembly line

The stars must be tired Thousands of years have passed Their journey never changes The young trees are ill Dust and monotony deprive them Of grain and colour I can feel it all Because we beat to the same rhythm

But strangely The only thing I do not feel Is my own existence As though the woods and stars Maybe out of habit Maybe out of sorrow No longer have the strength to care About a destiny they cannot alter

Jan.-Feb. 1980

265Shu Ting Poems

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266 RENDITIONS 1987

A Love Song for this Land

love this land, like love my taciturn father

Oh this land warmed by tides of hot blood Oh this land greased by fermenting sweat Palpitating under the weight of plows and bare feet Driven by the immense heat at its heart

rising and sinking Shouldering statues, monuments, museums Yet writing its last judgement on fault planes Mine Oh frozen, muddy, parched land Mine Oh wrathful, magnanimous, relentless land Land that gives me my complexion and my tongue Land that gives me my wisdom and my strength

I love this land, like

I love my gentle solicitous mother

Oh plentiful land covered with the sun's kisses Oh generous land wasting her flow of milk Taking in layer upon layer of fallen leaves Sprouting crop after crop of green shoots Discarded over and over But never unfaithful

Creating sounds, colours, patterns Though everyone calls you dirt and mud Mine Oh pitch black, blood drenched, glimmering white land Mine Oh luxuriant, lonely, frustrated land Land that gives me my love and my hatred Land that gives me my pain and my joy

My father endowed me with a boundless dream My mother a heart sensitive and true My poems are

the ever yearning necklace trees Pouring out day and night

my ever constant love for this land

October 1980

Shu Ting Poems 267

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268 RENDITIONS 1987

Brother, I'm Here

The night is cool like the evening tide Rising up each uneven step of the stairs Invading your heart You sit on the threshold The small, dark house, mouth gaping Squats behind you The scholartree shakes, leaves flutter down like birds in flight On waves pale as moonlight Tiny gold coins float

You pertain to the sun To prairies, embankments, eyes of black jade You pertain to snowstorms To roads, torches, hands extended to help You are a warrior Your life resounds Like a bell Shattering the shadows in man's heart

The wind absconds in unfamiliar footsteps Won't believe You 're still grieving

But, brother I'm here Coming to you from your thoughts A newstand, a bench, apple seeds Resurrected in the warmth of your memory Leaving behind smiles and lights Leaving behind a light-hearted rhythm

Leaving

Along the squares of a piece of manuscript paper

As long as there is wind at night Wind changes the direction of our thoughts As long as your trumpet suddenly falls silent

Seeking harmony I will be back By your side calmly saying Brother, I'm here

May 1981

Shu Ting Poems 269

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