Poem
Xi Chuan
Bats in the Twilight
In Goya’s paintings they brought nightmaresFor artists. They flutter up and down
Left and right. They whisper stealthily
But never wake the artists up
Indescribable joy appears on
Their all but human features. These birdlike
Creatures which are not birds, with their pitch-black bodies
At one with darkness, are like seeds that never flower
Like spirits with no hope of deliverance
Blind and vicious, led by their will
They sometimes hang upside-down from branches
Like so many withered leaves, arousing pity
And in other stories
They rest in damp caves
When the sun sets behind the mountains they emerge
To search for food, or to mate, then vanish without trace
They can drag a sleepwalker off to join their gang
Snatch the torch from his hand and put it out
They can drive an invading wolf away
Send it tumbling speechless into a ravine
At night, if a child refuses to go to bed
It’s because a bat has evaded
The nightwatchman’s smarting eyes
And draws near to tell his fortune
One, two, three bats
Have no property, no home, how can they
Bring happiness? The waxing and waning of the moon
Has stripped them of feathers, they are ugly and anonymous
Their stony-heartedness had never moved me
Until one summer’s day at dusk
Walking past my old home I saw a crowd of children playing
And even more bats fluttering over their heads
The twilight cast shadows in the lane
And coated the bats with a layer of gold
They fluttered outside the doors with their peeling paint
But as to fortune-telling they were completely silent
Among ancient things a bat conveys
A kind of nostalgia. Their leisurely manner
Held me there, and for a long time I lingered
In that inner-city district, in the lane where I grew up
© Translation: 2006, Tao Naikan and Tony Prince
From: Eight Contemporary Chinese Poets
Publisher: Wild Peony, Sydney, 2006
Bats are supposed to symbolise happiness because one of the Chinese characters for the animal has the same sound (fu) and is similar in appearance to the character meaning ‘happiness’ or ‘prosperity’.
From: Eight Contemporary Chinese Poets
Publisher: Wild Peony, Sydney, 2006
BATS IN THE TWILIGHT
Poems
Poems of Xi Chuan
Close
Bats in the Twilight
In Goya’s paintings they brought nightmaresFor artists. They flutter up and down
Left and right. They whisper stealthily
But never wake the artists up
Indescribable joy appears on
Their all but human features. These birdlike
Creatures which are not birds, with their pitch-black bodies
At one with darkness, are like seeds that never flower
Like spirits with no hope of deliverance
Blind and vicious, led by their will
They sometimes hang upside-down from branches
Like so many withered leaves, arousing pity
And in other stories
They rest in damp caves
When the sun sets behind the mountains they emerge
To search for food, or to mate, then vanish without trace
They can drag a sleepwalker off to join their gang
Snatch the torch from his hand and put it out
They can drive an invading wolf away
Send it tumbling speechless into a ravine
At night, if a child refuses to go to bed
It’s because a bat has evaded
The nightwatchman’s smarting eyes
And draws near to tell his fortune
One, two, three bats
Have no property, no home, how can they
Bring happiness? The waxing and waning of the moon
Has stripped them of feathers, they are ugly and anonymous
Their stony-heartedness had never moved me
Until one summer’s day at dusk
Walking past my old home I saw a crowd of children playing
And even more bats fluttering over their heads
The twilight cast shadows in the lane
And coated the bats with a layer of gold
They fluttered outside the doors with their peeling paint
But as to fortune-telling they were completely silent
Among ancient things a bat conveys
A kind of nostalgia. Their leisurely manner
Held me there, and for a long time I lingered
In that inner-city district, in the lane where I grew up
© 2006, Tao Naikan and Tony Prince
From: Eight Contemporary Chinese Poets
Publisher: 2006, Wild Peony, Sydney
From: Eight Contemporary Chinese Poets
Publisher: 2006, Wild Peony, Sydney
Bats in the Twilight
In Goya’s paintings they brought nightmaresFor artists. They flutter up and down
Left and right. They whisper stealthily
But never wake the artists up
Indescribable joy appears on
Their all but human features. These birdlike
Creatures which are not birds, with their pitch-black bodies
At one with darkness, are like seeds that never flower
Like spirits with no hope of deliverance
Blind and vicious, led by their will
They sometimes hang upside-down from branches
Like so many withered leaves, arousing pity
And in other stories
They rest in damp caves
When the sun sets behind the mountains they emerge
To search for food, or to mate, then vanish without trace
They can drag a sleepwalker off to join their gang
Snatch the torch from his hand and put it out
They can drive an invading wolf away
Send it tumbling speechless into a ravine
At night, if a child refuses to go to bed
It’s because a bat has evaded
The nightwatchman’s smarting eyes
And draws near to tell his fortune
One, two, three bats
Have no property, no home, how can they
Bring happiness? The waxing and waning of the moon
Has stripped them of feathers, they are ugly and anonymous
Their stony-heartedness had never moved me
Until one summer’s day at dusk
Walking past my old home I saw a crowd of children playing
And even more bats fluttering over their heads
The twilight cast shadows in the lane
And coated the bats with a layer of gold
They fluttered outside the doors with their peeling paint
But as to fortune-telling they were completely silent
Among ancient things a bat conveys
A kind of nostalgia. Their leisurely manner
Held me there, and for a long time I lingered
In that inner-city district, in the lane where I grew up
© 2006, Tao Naikan and Tony Prince
From: Eight Contemporary Chinese Poets
Publisher: 2006, Wild Peony, Sydney
From: Eight Contemporary Chinese Poets
Publisher: 2006, Wild Peony, Sydney
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