by Haizi
Zha Haisheng, mostly known as Haizi, is one of the most famous poets in modern China. One possible explanation for his pen name would be “the son of the ocean.” As a matter of fact, the two characters in his name each mean ocean and birth. This romantically describes who he is. The ideas in his poems mainly concern the deep enthusiasm for his beloved land, seas, and the power of living. These concepts are relevant because most Chinese would agree that land and waters provide a sense of motherhood to us. His works guide us to understand and appreciate the true value of what Mother Nature has granted us, to show gratitude for, and share the joy of, the infinite energy of life. His idealism is trapped in a breath-holding reality, but he founds his own utopia rather than compromising. You may admire his courage for being faithful to poetry and life. You may dislike his cowardice for committing suicide and leaving unfinished drafts and dreams. However, please approach him by embracing the warmth of living and the power of literature. Acceptance of being alive is the key to his utopia.
I want to be the loyal son to the distant
and a fleeting lover of the materialistic.
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
I must journey alongside martyrs and clowns.
While millions want the fire out, I alone will hold it high.
This fire is celestial, blooming and falling upon the sacred motherland.
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
I can voyage through the endless darkness of life by this fire.
This fire is celestial, the language of the motherland and the fortress of Mount Liang built of a mess of rubbles,
The Dunhuang of dreams—where coldness bursts into your bones even in July,
Like snow-covered firewood and the hard white snow, lying across the mountain of gods.
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
I throw myself into this fire; those three are the lanterns imprisoning me, emitting light.
While millions walk across my blade to build the language of the motherland,
I willingly start everything anew.
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
I willingly endure the imprisonment as well.
Among all creations of the gods, I am the most perishable, bearing the speed of inevitable death.
Only grain is my beloved; I hold it tightly, holding it to fertilize in my hometown.
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
I am willing to be buried on the high mountains, watching over my home with peace.
Facing the great river, I am utterly ashamed.
I have wasted my youth, only weariness is left.
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
Youth slips, leaving no drop of time behind; within each drop, one horse’s life comes to its end.
A thousand years from now, if I am given rebirth on the riverbank of the motherland,
A thousand years from now, if I am granted the rice fields of China again, and the snow-capped mountains of the Zhou emperor, and the heavenly steed’s tread,
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
I will choose the mission of eternity.
My mission is to be a lifetime of the sun,
From ancient to present—the SUN—it is extraordinarily magnificent and bright.
Like all poets who ride dreams as horses,
In the end, I will be carried into the immortal sun by the gods at dusk.
The sun is my name,
The sun is my life,
That buries on the peak of the sun, it is the corpse of poetry—the thousand-year kingdom and I,
Riding the phoenix of five thousand years and the dragon named “Horse”—I will surely fail,
Yet poetry will triumph in the name of the sun.
1987