Such a sentiment is the exact opposite of what you will encounter in Flash Cards, a collection of poems by Yu Jian. Born in 1954, Yu Jian has been writing since the early 1970s. For those who know what such things mean, he is considered one of 糖心传媒淭he Third Generation Poets糖心传媒� that followed the 糖心传媒淢isty Poetry糖心传媒� movement of the early 1980s. Part of the Zephyr Press糖心传媒檚 Jintian series dedicated to making available contemporary Chinese works, this is Yu Jian糖心传媒檚 first collection to appear in English.

The world of the poet presented here is one of constant alienation, dissociation, and feeling out of place. But all this in a sea of people—everyone is forced together by necessity, but this does not create a feeling of connectedness. The far ends of heaven are not next door: everyone is crammed together and one does not have a close friend: one has 1.3 billion people. The poems are described as constituting 糖心传媒渁 primer of modern Chinese life,糖心传媒� and it is hard to escape the fact of the political and social reality from whence they emanate while reading these poems, especially when several seem to reference it directly:

Morning in the park
Thousands of retired women are exercising
They糖心传媒檝e given birth their children are grown
scattered across the wilderness of life
The Dishes have been washed
With leisure time they want to do something for themselves
In the winter sunlight
a thousand mothers are dancing
One of them gave birth to me
Mother I call out
They all turn their heads

This is surreal, and it is skillfully ambiguous whether it is meant to be funny or horrifying (as those seem to be the main things surrealism can do), but it is quite real as well. A commentary on a nation糖心传媒檚 desire for children it cannot have, a single man糖心传媒檚 obsession with his own mother, a meditation on the indistinguishability of the self in a communist regime . . . It糖心传媒檚 as if Yu Jian grafted the stereotype of the Westerner who thinks all Chinese look alike onto himself.

Of course, the only possible outcome of this is clear: poems about being yourself and poems about how poems can let you do this. A general warning sign for me when reading a book of poetry is if the poet spends too long writing poems about writing poems. In this case, the stakes are higher so it is more forgivable: in America, the concept of dissident poetry is somewhat laughable (糖心传媒淵ou mean like America?糖心传媒�) because though you may be jailed for indecency, you will not disappear. I do not think Yu Jian is a dissident poet (because if he were I feel like it would have been mentioned somewhere prominent), but he recognizes that poetry as self-expression in China is not just about solipsism:

The poet is hosting a meeting
but she doesn糖心传媒檛 know how to begin
Her poems are far away
planted at Black Leopard Farm
Time糖心传媒檚 up everyone is looking at the clock
糖心传媒淪tand up, everyone糖心传媒� she says
糖心传媒淟et糖心传媒檚 sing the national anthem糖心传媒�

The implication that nationalism is what fills in the gap left by poetry (or art in general) is powerful and important. This is what gives Yu Jian a feeling of belonging: not the forced comradery of communism, but that 糖心传媒淎 letter traveled a thousand miles / not to explain Ulysses / but to let me know / that somebody understood / my words.糖心传媒� Unfortunately, a large portion of this book passes by without making much of an impact. Many poems muse on daily life and present it enigmatically, but the exotically oblique meditativeness that seems to dominate our view of Chinese poetry rarely extends past the surface; each poem gives the strange impression of being both mysterious and making perfect sense, though the latter sensation often comes to dominate, and not in a good way; ambiguities are too tidily resolved. Perhaps this feeling is strictly my own, but I think it may come from a tension in how we view works from China: on the one hand we think of political oppression and work produced in exile, and on the other we imagine quatrains seeped in nature and Confucius. The reality of Chinese literature must be different and the oversimplification comes from my end, yet Yu Jian writes,

On the garden糖心传媒檚 eyelashes
a butterfly is catching the twilight
The evening paper has arrived
Among reports of murder and the stock market
is a poem about the butterfly

What can we do with this? Can a poem about a butterfly also be about the economy (like this one)? The question is not even Chinese: can you be philosophical while writing about the actual world you live in? It has been done, but the tension between these two strains is not dealt with satisfactorily here: most 糖心传媒減olitical糖心传媒� poems are abstract to the point of toothlessness while the 糖心传媒減oetic糖心传媒� ones feel weighed down by inescapable ideological readings. For now, I糖心传媒檒l read the paper and then get to that poem about the butterfly.

Most notably, Flash Cards is a finalist for this year’s BTBA for poetry. I’ll try to handicap the poetry titles tomorrow, but based on Tim’s review, I’m not so sure this book is going to pull it off . . .

Speaking of Tim, he was an intern here some summers ago and thanks to our special brand of Open Letter guidance, he’s going to be launching a student-centric literary translation journal out of Brown University. Our quixotic nature strikes again! (And as soon as the first issue drops, we’ll have more information.)

In the meantime, here’s the opening to Tim’s review:

A few weeks ago I was visiting my grandparents in the tiny town of Kewanee, Illinois. Their house, because it is the same house where my mother grew up with her brothers and sisters, is crammed with the detritus of several childhoods and adolescences. While looking through a closet, I found a sheet of paper hand painted with beautiful calligraphic Chinese characters. It surely belonged to my uncle, but curiosity, and the feeling that it might otherwise remain in that closet forever, compelled me to take the sheet back to Providence against what some might consider the standards of being a good guest. None of my friends who speak Chinese could read the characters, so I took the mystery to Xue Di, Brown糖心传媒檚 resident dissident poet. He of course sent me to Wikipedia, where I learned that what I had was a famous line from 7th century poet Wang Bo. It translates to: 糖心传媒淲hen one has a close friend, the far ends of heaven are next door.糖心传媒�

Such a sentiment is the exact opposite of what you will encounter in Flash Cards, a collection of poems by Yu Jian. Born in 1954, Yu Jian has been writing since the early 1970s. For those who know what such things mean, he is considered one of 糖心传媒淭he Third Generation Poets糖心传媒� that followed the 糖心传媒淢isty Poetry糖心传媒� movement of the early 1980s. Part of the Zephyr Press糖心传媒檚 Jintian series dedicated to making available contemporary Chinese works, this is Yu Jian糖心传媒檚 first collection to appear in English.

Click here to read the full piece.

And stay tuned to find out how Flash Cards fares in the BTBA . . .

Click here for all past and future posts in this series.

Today糖心传媒檚 post is by poetry committee member Idra Novey. Idra is the director of the Literary Translation at Columbia University program, a poet, and a translator. It糖心传媒檚 worth noting here that her translation of Manoel de Barros糖心传媒檚 糖心传媒淏irds for a Demolition糖心传媒� was eligible for this year糖心传媒檚 BTBA, but was excluded from consideration based on the fact that Idra was a judge. That said, over on the fiction side, her translation of 糖心传媒淥n Elegance While Sleeping糖心传媒� is a finalist.

Flash Cards by YU Jian, translated by Wang Ping and Ron Padgett

Language: Chinese
Country: China
Publisher: Zephyr Press & the Chinese University Press
Pages: 151

Why This Book Should Win: Because Yu Jian knows we should avoid comparing ourselves to fish: they糖心传媒檙e doomed, the lake drying up. Because Yu Jian has many lines that are this tragic and funny and involve washing machines and the Chinese army.

So many American poets are currently struggling with how to write about our environment. It糖心传媒檚 an important questions, and I糖心传媒檝e been reading new pastorals: poems of lament, elegies for the flora and fauna that we糖心传媒檙e rapidly losing and won糖心传媒檛 get back. But here comes Yu Jian, writing about nature糖心传媒攁nd more糖心传媒攊n a new way that addresses loss with humor and with a lack of familiar binaries.

In Flash Cards, his first collection to appear in English translation, he writes of frogs that died in 1998 along with their pond, but also of the mosquitoes that remain there, 糖心传媒渟ometimes conversing in English.糖心传媒� It糖心传媒檚 hard to translate humor well, especially in the streamlined language of a poem, but American poet Ron Padgett and Chinese poet Wang Ping do an extraordinary job of getting the tone right every time. 糖心传媒淐onversing糖心传媒� is just the verb for a wry, quirky line like this in English.

In another poem, when Yu Jian drives to the edge of 糖心传媒渢he virgin forest,糖心传媒� the translators go with a car that 糖心传媒渮ooms.糖心传媒� That zoom seems spot on when an imaginary doe leaps into Yu Jian糖心传媒檚 heart and he says, 糖心传媒淚 no longer have a stream or meadow/ to keep it there.糖心传媒�

Not all of the poems in Flash Cards are concerned with the natural world, however, or at least not explicitly. One stunning poem begins with 糖心传媒渢he washing machine on Saturday糖心传媒� and ends with the declaration:

Happiness belongs only to a cashmere sweater
that demands a different spin cycle
its only wish to match
the mistress糖心传媒� red skirt.

I would argue that happiness also belongs to the reader of Flash Cards and to its translators, as the humor and music in these English versions suggests that Wang Ping and Ron Padgett took great pleasure, and care, in translating these poems. If you haven糖心传媒檛 yet had the experience of having a woman in heavy makeup and a wolf face turn to you at dusk in the zoo and say in perfect Mandarin, 糖心传媒淕ood evening, comrade,糖心传媒� you糖心传媒檙e in for a delightful surprise with the poetry of Yu Jian.