Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Fang Xianhai

Jottings made at 84 Longgu Road, Wuzhou

a scorching August
I watch whiteness
dazed at a window
the dust is swimming
telephone lines convey stockpiled secrets

I watch an André Breton love
float on Sunday\'s river
laid-off trousers dry on a line
water flying high into the sky

Sunday
lackadaisical streets
red light green light and the policeman’s yellow light

sit down for a while
lie back for a while
go out for a while
sing for a while
singing as lacking in mystery as poverty

a scorching August
each person comes alive in your heart only to die
the dying away and the coming to life trace a beautiful line on an ECG
because your life is limited

because in a city
in a house of a few square metres
there are hearts everywhere beating without rest

headed for failure

JOTTINGS MADE AT 84 LONGGU ROAD, WUZHOU

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Jottings made at 84 Longgu Road, Wuzhou

a scorching August
I watch whiteness
dazed at a window
the dust is swimming
telephone lines convey stockpiled secrets

I watch an André Breton love
float on Sunday\'s river
laid-off trousers dry on a line
water flying high into the sky

Sunday
lackadaisical streets
red light green light and the policeman’s yellow light

sit down for a while
lie back for a while
go out for a while
sing for a while
singing as lacking in mystery as poverty

a scorching August
each person comes alive in your heart only to die
the dying away and the coming to life trace a beautiful line on an ECG
because your life is limited

because in a city
in a house of a few square metres
there are hearts everywhere beating without rest

headed for failure

Jottings made at 84 Longgu Road, Wuzhou

a scorching August
I watch whiteness
dazed at a window
the dust is swimming
telephone lines convey stockpiled secrets

I watch an André Breton love
float on Sunday\'s river
laid-off trousers dry on a line
water flying high into the sky

Sunday
lackadaisical streets
red light green light and the policeman’s yellow light

sit down for a while
lie back for a while
go out for a while
sing for a while
singing as lacking in mystery as poverty

a scorching August
each person comes alive in your heart only to die
the dying away and the coming to life trace a beautiful line on an ECG
because your life is limited

because in a city
in a house of a few square metres
there are hearts everywhere beating without rest

headed for failure
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
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