Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Zhang Zao

The Infinite

Top floor, language lab.
        Autumn arrives with a bang,
its radiance puts the universe’s new glass in all four walls;
everyone’s wearing headphones, expressions of jade solidarity.

The pregnant teacher also listens in. The treasured relics of
        slurred sound:
“evening paper, evening paper”, the magnetic tape whizzing in around the globe.
Anxious words, unwilling to pass away, like streetscapes
and fountains, like visitors from outer space entrenched on some border
fondling sunset glow before abruptly releasing a bolt of brocade beauty:
the void is no more than a flower!

She looks at the surrounding
new situation—a loom in everyone’s mouth,
now murmuring exactly the same
fine story.
Everyone’s immersed in their listening,
everyone’s organs exposed, working

completely unawares.

THE INFINITE

Close

The Infinite

Top floor, language lab.
        Autumn arrives with a bang,
its radiance puts the universe’s new glass in all four walls;
everyone’s wearing headphones, expressions of jade solidarity.

The pregnant teacher also listens in. The treasured relics of
        slurred sound:
“evening paper, evening paper”, the magnetic tape whizzing in around the globe.
Anxious words, unwilling to pass away, like streetscapes
and fountains, like visitors from outer space entrenched on some border
fondling sunset glow before abruptly releasing a bolt of brocade beauty:
the void is no more than a flower!

She looks at the surrounding
new situation—a loom in everyone’s mouth,
now murmuring exactly the same
fine story.
Everyone’s immersed in their listening,
everyone’s organs exposed, working

completely unawares.

The Infinite

Top floor, language lab.
        Autumn arrives with a bang,
its radiance puts the universe’s new glass in all four walls;
everyone’s wearing headphones, expressions of jade solidarity.

The pregnant teacher also listens in. The treasured relics of
        slurred sound:
“evening paper, evening paper”, the magnetic tape whizzing in around the globe.
Anxious words, unwilling to pass away, like streetscapes
and fountains, like visitors from outer space entrenched on some border
fondling sunset glow before abruptly releasing a bolt of brocade beauty:
the void is no more than a flower!

She looks at the surrounding
new situation—a loom in everyone’s mouth,
now murmuring exactly the same
fine story.
Everyone’s immersed in their listening,
everyone’s organs exposed, working

completely unawares.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère