Zhang Er

Issue 46. Spring 2021

 Zhang Er

Two Poems Translated from the Chinese by Eleanor Goodman

Leaving the Capital

The return flight’s movie extracts itself from the haze,
reflecting the Mad Detective’s capture of a thief on Double Elm Street.
Is it the fated gift of a god? Then in slow motion,
the police station in the shadow of the bridge,
a blind musician leaning on a stick and singing.

A masked attacker raises an iron pitcher,
the vegetarian comes from the ocean’s far edge. In yoga class
she practices breathing and the art of being flexible,
first breaking open the maze of language,
then bounding about among the words’ obstacles.

Once, I peered out the window of a skyscraper in Wangjing,
the chain of mountains pressed in on the city, a corpse as ephemeral as a mayfly.
Cars with dismantled exhaust pipes hawked purple balloons
to the sky. A noisy party on the street corner,
voices, climatological sickness that marriage can’t make even.

We can only be to one side of it all, make tea,
talk about all sorts of irrelevant things. We took a walk after dinner,
east to the market on South Science Academy Road, then heading
to the Contemporary Mall. Picking out the next day’s ample fruit,
and in passing, buying a few discount appliances.

Dangerous Escape at Shekou

Turn the corner and there is Shekou
barking local dogs rush from the tunnel
licking the remains of stinking mandarin fish
and tofu plastered with the landscape

the supermarket aircon isn’t forgotten, just off
local renters use the nighttime
to buy heat-reducing seedless pulp
the cash register squares the accounts of the day

of high temperatures and bills
the radio grows sleepy and luck’s electricity is cut
the old security guard messes around on the internet
and two pears sneak into the single elevator

rumor has it the maternity hospital
has unused parking spaces
fumbles in the dark to start the engine
gunpowder once blew up the airport here

companies look for major investors along the peninsula
three years have passed, has depression also cooled off?
Cruel June
is also a June of snow

icicles in the air, goose down and cotton fluff
pedestrian crossings and rocking horses not to be ridden
goods being hauled in
a fire extinguisher spraying tears