Following Where Your Own Grain Runs

January 18, 2006 Simon Patton:
Chinese poetry has a history of several thousand years, and there are hundreds and thousands—if not millions—of people currently writing poetry in China. Does this kind of reality exert any pressures on you, psychologically or in terms of your creativity? As a "young poet", what can you do to confront/oppose this kind of reality?

Shuijing Zhulian:
There’s no pressure. Quite the opposite: every time you see a poet you like continuing to write, you have this feeling of solidarity. This is because in my environment, writing poetry is something really unusual. Those poets and their poetry make me feel less alone.

There’s nothing I particularly need to oppose. I think poetry is an extremely private affair: you follow where your own grain runs [genzhe ren benzhen de wenli zou]. And so I regard those poems that are different from mine or that I don’t like as part of the diversity of the species [wuzhong duoyang]. I wouldn’t go off opposing anything on account of such differences.

Simon Patton:
According to an article published on the K12 discussion site, you like to say that living for you has two states: breathing and writing. Could you talk about the kinds of sensations, feelings, insights and impressions that writing (particularly the writing of poetry) gives you?

Shuijing Zhulian:
I’m the kind of person whose thinking is pretty chaotic, so writing poetry is a way of making the focal points of my life stand out. There are things that I don’t have a clue about when they’re happening, but through poetry I am able to remember them, or come to understanding of their deep secrets. After I’ve finished writing a poem, I think my comprehension of other people becomes more rapid and more accurate. Poetry gives finer antennae with which to apprehend the world, and that includes an understanding of myself. I get a lot of happiness out of touching/recording certain feelings/moods by means of poetry.

Simon Patton:
These days, in a contemporary atmosphere that is absolutely opposed to traditional creativity, it is almost as if every poet has to discover her own principles and methods for writing poetry. In the course of this process, which poets have influenced your own discoveries? Apart from Chinese poets, do you read a lot of work by non-Chinese writers?

Shuijing Zhulian:
The poets that have influenced me are also good friends of mine. I’ve been influenced by all the poets associated with the trend known as xiabanshen [from the waist down]. It was they who taught me that poetry could be so free and open, something that happened to suit my temperament: I think I have a forthright, up front kind of personality. Of course, I think my parents have had the biggest influence on my discoveries. If there are parts of my body that belong to poetry, these were given to me by my parents.

I’ve read some foreign works; a collection of D. H. Lawrence’s verse was the earliest poetry I read. At the time, I thought it was great, better than his fiction. And I felt an affinity between us, like a blood tie. I also like the American poet Anne Sexton. I believe that poetry is translatable. However, I dislike poetry that is technically perfect. A beautiful, intelligent spirit cannot be obscured by language (this DOESN’T apply to rotten translations).

Simon Patton:
I heard that there’s a line on the front cover of your collection Just Gotta Be Gorgeous that goes: "She’s the kind of girl who’s like an angel when she’s among ordinary people, but more like a devil when she’s among angels." Aren’t you at all turned off by this advertisement-style language?

Shuijing Zhulian:
Yes, I am. This and the book’s title both turn me off. The kind of posturing this book gives off has nothing to do with me. This is all about the intentions of publishing-industry moguls.

Simon Patton:
The language used in your poetry is generally very colloquial, straight-forward and easy to understand. Have you ever thought of posing other demands on language: demands for something more elevated, more complex, surpassing everyday reality?

Shuijing Zhulian:
Basically, I’m quite satisfied with my own language. Of course, I’d like to become very professional, but the professionalism I want is not the linguistic kind. Rather, it’s an ability to handle something that I’m after. For me, language should look after itself, or as the saying goes: "Where water flows, a channel is formed". The question for me is not one of refinement or crudeness. I think the language-feel [yugan] of a good poem is determined by powers beyond the individual.

Simon Patton:
In your opinion, what kind of poetry do lovers of poetry need to read at the moment?

Shuijing Zhulian:
Poetry that helps them to slow down.

Simon Patton:
A poet’s environment is undoubtedly very important. In your poem 'Where the Disappearing Stops' there’s a line that goes "once more Beijing has brought me / unforeseen lightness and heartache". Although the relationship is a contradictory one, does your connection with Beijing make your creativity richer and more vital? Would it be possible to say that Beijing plays an indispensable role in your poetry?

Shuijing Zhulian:
For sure! I absolutely love Beijing, its bigness, its richness. I always like being in its crowds, and I like the feeling of being a stranger. In this respect, Beijing enjoys exceptional advantages.

Simon Patton:
This publication of your poetry in English is perhaps the first time you have made a move towards an international internet audience. Is there any thing you’d particularly like to say to these readers? Is there anything you want to say that might help them to get a better understanding of your work?

Shuijing Zhulian:
I hope the places in my poetry that move me will also move you. In my own view, I am by nature a little bit frivolous, a little bit impulsive, and there’s a good deal of "trivial cleverness" [xiao congming] in my poetry, and that’s not something I’m happy with. At the moment, I’m working hard to make myself more honest. Those poems of mine that have received a general acclaim were written when I was depressed; I don’t know if this counts as a defect or not. Pain can have its beautiful poems, but I wouldn’t want to be in pain all the time.