This year, too many things left us

without even a farewell, snow drifted from the sky,

falling between us. In a dim office… 

MA YONGBO, born in 1964, Ph.D., representative of Chinese avant-garde poetry, and a leading scholar in Anglo-American poetry. He is the founder of polyphonic writing and objectified poetics. He is also the first translator to introduce British and American postmodern poetry into Chinese, making contributions that fill gaps, the various postmodern poetry schools in Chinese are mostly guided by his poetics and translation.

He has published over eighty original works and translations since 1986 included 9 poetry collections. He focused on translating and teaching Anglo-American poetry and prose including the work of Dickinson, Whitman, Stevens, Pound, Williams and Ashbery. He recently published a complete translation of Moby Dick, which has sold over 600,000 copies. He teaches at Nanjing University of Science and Technology. The Collected Poems of Ma Yongbo (four volumes, Eastern Publishing Centre, 2024) comprising 1178 poems, celebrate 40 years of writing poetry.

His work is widely published in international journals such as New American Writing Livemag, Cafe Review, International Times, Vox Populi, Ink Sweat and Tears, Orbis, Cambridge Poetry,  Polismagazino.gr, europeanpoetry.com, Verse-Virtual.org, Magique Publishing, Primelore.com, Verseum Literary, Area Felix Masticadoresusa Feed the Holy ONE, Sindhcourier Lingo Lexicon Worldinkers，Avantappalachia，Masticadorescanada，Madswirl，Collaborature，Allyourpoems，Homouniversalisgr，100subtextsmagazine，Pandemoniumjournal，Cultural Reverence Rochford Street Review Synchchaos Ezra Autumn Sky Poetry Daily Nuthatchmag Posit Yumpu Our Poetry Archive All Your Poems Subliminal. Surgery Atunis Insightmagazine Lothlorien Poetry Journal Acheron Gorkogazette A Too Powerful Word Chiron Review Gas Chewers Medusaskitchen Beatnikcowboy Dear O Deer! New Black Bart Poetry Society, Edge of Humanity Liveencounters Big Other etc.

Year of the Departed

— In memory of the late actress Liu Dan

This year, too many things left us

without even a farewell, snow drifted from the sky,

falling between us. In a dim office,

you pondered happiness, then answered hesitantly:

”Happiness… is when you meet someone

and all the suffering before ceases to matter.”

You trusted my strangeness with such earnestness,

time erased some details, sharpened others,

at a tavern near the Beijing Film Academy, we sat down,

you chirped brightly, ”I’m starving!”

the first words I heard from you—

it made me forget what we ate,

as for my questions, just an interview, let it go.

we met three times, maybe fewer,

in the Shangri-La lobby, we spoke much,

but now I see none of it meant anything,

we parted at the door, you walked toward the parking lot,

waving before vanishing into the dark, shouting:

”Next time, I’ll treat you to Japanese dishes!”

Early spring in Beijing, bitter scent of trees,

I turned toward the lights; you tugged down your black Versace,

I missed the omen. Later, we spoke a few more times by phone

then summer’s heat arrived, highways surged from the distance,

each faster than the last, scattering us.

You had not yet loved, your silver spacesuit remained crisp,

crumpled, you had not found happiness — we were both wrong,

now gray early spring again, on empty roads,

snow will drift down, smiling in the dark.

***

亡灵之年

——献给早逝的演员刘丹

这一年有太多的事物离开了我们

甚至没有告别，雪便从天空飘了下来

落在我们中间。在灰暗的办公室中

你思忖着幸福，迟疑地回答我

你说，幸福嘛，就是你遇见了一个人

你以前所受的苦就都不算什么了

你那么认真地信任我的陌生

时间忽略了一些细节，又突出了另一些

在北影附近的酒馆，我们坐下

你欢快地轻声说了一句，饿啦

那是我听到的你的第一句话

它让我忘记了我们都吃了什么

至于我的问题，那只是一次采访

不提也罢。我们见过三次

也许更少。在香格里拉的大厅

我们说了很多话，但现在想想

都没什么意义。我们在门前分手

你向停车场走去，在进入黑暗之前

向我挥手，喊着改天请我吃日本料理

早春的北京弥漫着树木苦涩的气息

我走向灯光，你拉下黑色的“范思哲”

我没有想到这其中的征兆，后来

我们还通过几次电话，然后就是炎热的夏天

高速公路从远处奔来，一条快似一条

把我们冲散。你还没有爱过

你银色的太空服还是那样干净，皱巴巴的

你还没有找到幸福。我们都错了

现在又是灰色的早春，在无人的路上

将飘下雪花，在黑暗中向我微笑

***

The Crowd of Clowns

At noon, I stroll along the seemingly endless red walls, 

hoping to draw some coolness from the clouds. 

Life seems as relentless as the heat, no gap 

to let me inhale the fragrance of green grass. 

Even nature remains silent, not bothering to ask 

about insects summering amidst feces. 

But suddenly, like rolling dark clouds 

bursting through the split sky, 

a crowd of clowns appears.

The patterns on their checkered coats 

hide a treasure map, yet stay indistinct— 

as if light flows within, shifting and changing. 

They trade glances and gestures: 

“Look at this foolish, solemn man, 

daring to make us, accustomed to tricks, 

believe his grand pretense 

with a lengthy, rehearsed speech. 

He even stretches his neck, mimicking us, 

trying to blend into the last procession of the dead. 

He deserves only the lowest circle of Judas’pit, 

that place without depth or height, 

forever frozen, crushed by its own weight—” 

Like Caesar suddenly spotting you in the crowd: 

“What, Marcus, are you with them too?” 

Seeing you grovel to greet them, 

calling their names (not long ago, they were my neighbors), 

I relinquish resistance, turn and walk away.

***

群丑

正当中午，我沿着似乎无止尽的红色围墙散步

希冀从云朵中吸取一些清凉

人生似乎像炎热一样没有缺口

让我吸一口青草的芬芳

自然也沉默不语，甚至不过问

粪便中度夏的虫子

可是突然，仿佛滚滚的乌云

出现在开裂的天空

一群小丑出现，他们花格外衣的图案

隐藏着一幅藏宝图，但怎么也看不清楚

仿佛光亮在里面流动，变幻

他们交换着眼色和手势：

“瞧这个愚蠢的严肃的人

他妄想使惯于使花招的我们

相信他那堂皇的借口，用一大段

背熟的台词。他居然还伸着脖子模仿我们

想混入最后一批死人的行列

他只配坠入最下一圈的犹大狱

那没有深度也没有高度的地方

永远冻结，被自己的重量压垮——”

像凯撒突然看见人群中的你

“怎么，你也和他们在一起？”

看见你卑劣地向他们表示友好

叫着他们的名字（不久前我们还是邻居）

我放弃了抵抗，转身离去

***

Ulysses

We are lost in a vast city

Yet we still talk passionately about poetry and life

I feel a little awkward. The bus is packed with people

They lean sideways like fish, listening to us

Their listening isolates us

Forming a small sweaty space around us

It is just early spring; shabby bird nests still hang from bare treetops

Noise piles on them like foam

You seem so distant, as if living on an island

O great Achilles, ten years ago

We had just left the windy plain, savoring the glory of battle

We are like peddlers who have just started their stalls

Swept to the edge of days by the flow of people

This is indeed spring, with huge concrete pipes

And green plastic fences. The conductor hums and mutters

As if already turned into a fat pig by Circe. Her golden hair

Forms the Charybdis whirlpool together with chalk

“We are in the pigsty too.”

The bus drives out of a non-existent book on University Road

Passing through downtown and a friend’s name along the way

Abandoning destinations one by one, until

It plunges into the geometric skirt of the development zone, emerging

From the low neckline of desire. Missing our stop makes us strangers

The provincial government towers high into the clouds.

“This is more like a journey to hell

I took you for Virgil, but you prefer to be Dante——”

As for who you are, whether we can arrive

It no longer matters. Without you

We would not have experienced this strange body

Some of its organs have rotted, together with footprints and tire tracks

Forming a huge clay sculpture, standing still on the horizon

***

尤利西斯

我们迷失在一座巨大的城市中

我们仍在热烈地讨论着诗歌和生活

我感到有点儿尴尬。公共汽车上挤满了人

他们鱼一样侧着身，倾听着我们

他们的倾听使我们孤立出来

在周围形成一小片出汗的空间

刚刚是初春，破旧的鸟巢还挂在光秃的树梢

喧嚣像泡沫堆在上面

你显得那么遥远，仿佛住在一座岛上

伟大的阿喀琉斯，十年前

我们才刚刚离开多风的平原，畅饮战斗的光荣

我们像刚刚开始练摊的小贩

被人流冲刷到日子的边缘

这确实是春天，还有巨大的水泥管子

和绿色的塑料围墙，乘务员哼哼唧唧

好像已经被喀耳刻变成了肥猪，她的金发

和白垩一起形成卡律布狄斯漩涡

“我们也在猪圈里。”

车子从学府路没有的一本书中驶出

沿途经过闹市区和一个朋友的名字

把目的地一个个抛弃，直到

扎入开发区的几何学裙子，从欲望的低领口

冒了出来。坐过了站使我们成了外乡人

省政府高距云端。“这更像是一次地狱之旅

我把你当维吉尔，你却愿意做但丁——”

至于你是谁，我们能否到达

已不重要。没有你

我们不会经历这一个陌生的肉体

它的部分器官已经腐烂，和脚印与轮胎一起

组成巨大的泥塑，静止在天边

_______________________ 

Read: The Combined Poetic Dialogue