Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Liu Waitong

WOMAN BURNING CLOTHES

Burn me. The bright opera stage empties
here by Tung Chung Bay, where tomorrow there will be rainstorms like lanterns for the dead.
Last night flowers hid in her dimples beneath the make-up, just out of sight, but he craned his
neck to see;
the airport is just across the water, but I am unable to send away
these thousands of forms in one body.
Grass burns at night, white imperial armor breaking camp to flee
as white birds sing in the depths of the valley . . .
The actor bears the phoenix crown, picking and smelling apple blossoms in the rain;
my thin clothes are drenched, my sleeves cold beneath the moon. Looking at
a sea of swaying lights ahead, the world belongs to this small fishing village,
some tear the fans, some lift the curtains, some see the sunshine behind the gloom,  
all stage sets will be burned together tomorrow.
She lifts her head, looking out from the stage. From her bosom she takes out a small mirror,
‘look, look,’ and a scene later, the lyrics meld with the rumble of thunder
the man replaces his red clothes with green, but his old make-up remains.
Wait for me to bring the rocks and flint, we will erect on the sea a stage of clouds,
planes taking off and landing, your perfect world is still here.
This naked body remains intact, and the realm of sorrow stays.

VROUWEN VERBRANDEN KLEDING

Verbrand me maar. Het verlichte operapodium loopt leeg
hier in Tung Chung Baai,
waar morgen wind en regen zullen razen als lantaarns voor de doden.
Bloemen schuilden gisteravond in de kuiltjes van haar wangen, onzichtbaar door haar make-up,
     toch strekte hij zich om te kijken,
het nieuwe vliegveld ligt aan de overkant van het zeewater, maar ik kan
het lichaam in duizenden vormen niet wegsturen.
Nachtvuur verbrandt het gras, terwijl de witte schilden het kamp opbreken om ver weg te gaan . . .
witte vogels kwetteren diep in de vallei . . .
De acteur heeft zijn fenikskroon nog niet afgedaan, hij plukt appelbloesems in de regen en ruikt
     eraan
mijn dunne kleding is doorweekt, met koude mouwen onder de maan kijk ik
naar een zee van flikkerende lichtjes, hemel en aarde is van dit kleine vissersdorpje,
sommigen verscheuren hun waaier, anderen trekken het gordijn open, weer anderen zien
     zonneschijn na regen
het is allemaal goede setting voor de fakkel van morgen.
Maar zij kijkt op vanuit de setting. Ze haalt een spiegeltje uit haar boezem,
‘kijk, kijk,’ in de volgende scene wordt de donder afgewisseld door gezang
de man in rood verkleedt zich in groene kleren, de make-up blijft hetzelfde.
Wanneer ik de stenen breng, de lucifers, zetten we een altaar op zeewater,
vliegtuigen stijgen op en landen, de mooie wereld van jou bestaat nog.
Het naakte pure lichaam en de treurige wereld blijven bestaan.

女燒衣

燒我罷。這琳琅戲臺散
於東涌灣畔方寸,
明天便風吹雨打如附薦燈。
昨夜笑靨藏花,難窺妝,他卻探頭望,
隔海是新機場,我無法寄走
一身千萬相。
夜火燒草,白甲王槍拔連營終走遠……
白鳥啼處河谷深……
那戲子頭上鳳冠未除,雨中拾得蘋花聞,
我單衣濕透,月下寒袖
看一海的燈火搖盪,天地歸於一個小漁村,
有人撕扇,有人掀簾,有人畫柳暗花明,
統統都是明天付諸一炬的好佈景。
她卻探頭望,從景中。懷中取出一小鏡,
「你看,你看,」一幕後,轟隆隆封相又唱
紅衫郎換了青衫,還是舊時妝。
待我搬石頭來、拿火鐮來,海水上搭一靈台,
飛機起落、你的好世界還在。
這赤條條乾淨身、悲傷世界還在。
Close

WOMAN BURNING CLOTHES

Burn me. The bright opera stage empties
here by Tung Chung Bay, where tomorrow there will be rainstorms like lanterns for the dead.
Last night flowers hid in her dimples beneath the make-up, just out of sight, but he craned his
neck to see;
the airport is just across the water, but I am unable to send away
these thousands of forms in one body.
Grass burns at night, white imperial armor breaking camp to flee
as white birds sing in the depths of the valley . . .
The actor bears the phoenix crown, picking and smelling apple blossoms in the rain;
my thin clothes are drenched, my sleeves cold beneath the moon. Looking at
a sea of swaying lights ahead, the world belongs to this small fishing village,
some tear the fans, some lift the curtains, some see the sunshine behind the gloom,  
all stage sets will be burned together tomorrow.
She lifts her head, looking out from the stage. From her bosom she takes out a small mirror,
‘look, look,’ and a scene later, the lyrics meld with the rumble of thunder
the man replaces his red clothes with green, but his old make-up remains.
Wait for me to bring the rocks and flint, we will erect on the sea a stage of clouds,
planes taking off and landing, your perfect world is still here.
This naked body remains intact, and the realm of sorrow stays.

WOMAN BURNING CLOTHES

Burn me. The bright opera stage empties
here by Tung Chung Bay, where tomorrow there will be rainstorms like lanterns for the dead.
Last night flowers hid in her dimples beneath the make-up, just out of sight, but he craned his
neck to see;
the airport is just across the water, but I am unable to send away
these thousands of forms in one body.
Grass burns at night, white imperial armor breaking camp to flee
as white birds sing in the depths of the valley . . .
The actor bears the phoenix crown, picking and smelling apple blossoms in the rain;
my thin clothes are drenched, my sleeves cold beneath the moon. Looking at
a sea of swaying lights ahead, the world belongs to this small fishing village,
some tear the fans, some lift the curtains, some see the sunshine behind the gloom,  
all stage sets will be burned together tomorrow.
She lifts her head, looking out from the stage. From her bosom she takes out a small mirror,
‘look, look,’ and a scene later, the lyrics meld with the rumble of thunder
the man replaces his red clothes with green, but his old make-up remains.
Wait for me to bring the rocks and flint, we will erect on the sea a stage of clouds,
planes taking off and landing, your perfect world is still here.
This naked body remains intact, and the realm of sorrow stays.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère