Poem

Yan Jun

Side by side

July 19, Me

. . . only mosquitoes and a piano remain
a July night   seeming as though it was empty

But I know nothing of it
I pass through   forget    take out the key

I know emptiness is also impossible
I sweat    looking at myself

Unsure whether I really know
or    maybe I really don’t know

About the beasts of July  I’ve said too much
the insect-repellent incense has turned to ash   the piano is patient

I’ve spoken too much of myself
In the elevator    I am empty no one

19 JULI, IK

. . . de mug en de piano blijven over
Een avond in juli is als een leegte

Ik weet hier niets van
Ik passeer     vergeet en pak mijn sleutel

Ik weet dat leegte niet mogelijk is
Ik transpireer     kijk naar mezelf

Ik vraag me af of ik het echt weet
of     dat ik het waarschijnlijk echt niet weet

Wat het roofdier van juli betreft ik heb al teveel gezegd
Wierook verandert in as     de piano houdt zich in

Ik heb te vaak ‘ik’ gezegd
In de lift     was ik leeg

© Vertaling: 2010, Audrey Heijns
From: Wanneer hij dit schrijven van een heel leven heeft voltooid. Vijf hedendaagse Chinese dichters Ye Janbin, Wang Jiaxin, Yan Jun, Shu Cai en Lan Lan
Publisher: 2010, Poëziecentrum, Gent

Yan Jun

(China, 1973)

In recent years, the poet and musician Yan Jun has been writing mainly diary poems and explications of aspects of contemporary China, along with allusions to classical subject matter. One feature of Yan Jun’s poetry is its vitality and rapid turnover of images, one following on rhythmically from the other. In ‘Charter Sonnet’, for instance, each line begins urgently with the repeated phras...

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Poems of Yan Jun

July 19, Me

. . . only mosquitoes and a piano remain
a July night   seeming as though it was empty

But I know nothing of it
I pass through   forget    take out the key

I know emptiness is also impossible
I sweat    looking at myself

Unsure whether I really know
or    maybe I really don’t know

About the beasts of July  I’ve said too much
the insect-repellent incense has turned to ash   the piano is patient

I’ve spoken too much of myself
In the elevator    I am empty no one

July 19, Me

. . . only mosquitoes and a piano remain
a July night   seeming as though it was empty

But I know nothing of it
I pass through   forget    take out the key

I know emptiness is also impossible
I sweat    looking at myself

Unsure whether I really know
or    maybe I really don’t know

About the beasts of July  I’ve said too much
the insect-repellent incense has turned to ash   the piano is patient

I’ve spoken too much of myself
In the elevator    I am empty no one