The China Sequence (A Zuihitsu)
1.
In the garden of knurled railway cars,
under half-light, pickled
cabbage smell, throbbing neon
displays of pinyin alternating with Mandarin,
the market for love dolls has exploded.
2.
Work song as yet unapproved by the Party
No bumblebee barbershop pole
revolving but tropics: magentas/
papaya greens/bitter gourd yellows:
Salon with Massage.
Three women of indiscriminate age
on stolls loll in miniskirts, call softly,
“two hundred yuan, deep relaxation!”
Salon or Massage.
Beyond television static, filmy curtains
reveal a teen with plastic bags
rubber-banded around her ankles:
Massage-y Salon.
Everything is for sale: from fish-
patterned dress, to hoop earrings,
to wallet size photos of her child:
Massage. Massage.
3.
Elevator of the Zibo Hotel
FL 1: Forerunner of equipments stay well-found, locating
six kinds language simultaneous interpretation function
FL 2: Provide the man and woman guest mulberry to retain
the bath upscale luxury, imposing style with milkfoam
wash abundant magical whitening and moistening effect
surely bring imperial honorable enjoyment
FL 3: Relax: a Western Restaurant provide the pure and
adulterated western meal delicate aromas, full taste,
tenderness, preserve the nutrition all country cuisines
FL 4: Establish the luxurious anteroom with thick and
profound cultural accumulations
FL 5: Provide the strange stone curio, the clothing box wrap,
the daily necessities and the in common use drugs, etc.
4.
Mencius would have been the man,
if not for Confucius. Just like Kung-Tze,
he had a temple, mansion, forest,
tracts of tombs and tablets in his name,
even possessed an ample and philosophical
Fu Manchu, yet remains resolutely
second fiddle, no Plato to his Socrates,
a lesser draw this year than even the Hall
of Immolated Horses or Mount Taishan.
Poor itinerant Master Meng!
5.
The well-field system of land distribution
| Private | Private | Private |
| Private | Communal | Private |
| Private | Private | Private |
6.
Story of higher prices & struggling producers
“For example, after a dispute between breeders and
the Changning slaughterhouse last year, the prefecture
stopped buying pork from the countryside. Instead
it turned to Southwest China’s Yunnan Province and
Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region. But a third of the
pigs from there die before they reach the local market.
Breeders say their dispute is over the abattoir’s “mean
deal” under which they have to “pay” a tax of 0.6 yuan for
every 500 gram of pork and a pig’s viscera. Without this
the local Animal Bureau won’t put a quarantine-clearance
mark on the pig for a 1.5 yuan fee. And without these the
bureau wouldn’t even consider selling part of the vaccines,
made available free by the Ministry of Agriculture to the breeders.”
-from China Daily, Insight Section, “Story of higher prices
& struggling producers,” Wednesday, August 15th, 2007
7.
Rare Altar Tapestry (Ka-Ching Dynasty)
Under shrimp paste
pu’er camel paw
blue-green algae fed on ammonia
and nitrogen run-off
from factories
a packed bus in summer
steam from a million
noodle kitchens
lead paint fumes
jasmine blossoms
coal smoke
steamed ginger
all commingling in the Hall
of Accumulated Fragrances
through which you pass
on a path past the Threshold
of Impure Thoughts
machine-carved balustrades
guarded by half-deer half-dragon
the entire world a reptile
tongue along the way
to the Jade Staircase
8.
Mash up of De Sino Gallery’s Porcelain Wares & Ceramics
Catalog (2006), Charlie Chan in Paris (1935) and Charles
G. Leland’s Pidgin English Sing Song (1903), or the
Construction of a Racist Text
Ping-wing large porcelain Mao measure
mud turtle in pond. He pie-man son
famous pose in early dais, more safe
than man on horseback, wearing PLA/red
army coat, hand folded back, holding PLA hat.
He velly worst chilo, united farmer liberation
army, not factory worker in red and black.
Good detective never ask what and why
until after he see.
Revolution
promote production, then he steal he mother
piclum mice, work thlowee cat in bilin’ rice,
and hab chow-chow up preparation for war.
Unusual to find no wonda’ where given its size.
9.
(Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!)
Traveling through the Shandong Province, I eat at a
mosquito-netted Muslim kabob shack on rope-weave
stools hunched on a dirt floor. Just back from Wefung City,
the city of kites. Use a concise, rigid line ornamented with
peach-blossom, inky plum, yangmei red, and curve it into
centipedes, locusts and flying babies strung together in
lengthy sequences, some to fight in the air with blades.
Along the way, the Japanification of Chinese society on
full display, hentai influenced, bubble-eyed, pumpkin
headed, twiggy-bodied, except for the busty, sporty
characters advertising a version of Dance-Dance
Revolution. Hitachi cranes and the specter of ceaseless
construction everywhere.
On a hill specked red with prayer flags like protest armbands,
I knell upon a pillow in a temple when the
monk rings a bell, bangs a hand drum, incense saturating
the altar, then suddenly ushers me into the vestibular
space behind a thin curtain.
A man with a long beard and black Mao jacket motions
for me to sit. The initial monk vanishes. Mesmeric eyes
glinting off glass cases bedecked with garlanded Buddhas
and Goddesses of Compassion. He cracks open a leather
book, indicating I write in Chinese characters that I
decipher, incorrectly, as name, birthday and secret wish
to be fulfilled. He unsheathes a red seal for me to lick. No,
to breathe on to certify my prayer, thereby embalming
my words when the red glyphs fell. Then he draws my
attention to numbers on all the previous pages. 199—399—
1099. These I translate correctly into monetary amounts.
For some Chinese, the impulse is to interject good omens,
where elsewhere there might be dismay and impending
doom, so spilled drinks and sudden storms are symbols of
luck. But this is an iconic fallacy.
Therefore I have no qualms about bolting from
the sacrosanct space after dropping crumpled bills, about a
fifth of the smallest amount I had seen written, on the
brass plate and bowing as a precursor to moving out
quickly of the temple. The air upon my cheek then is moist
yet cool.
10.
Homophonic translation of the first stanza of Li Bai’s Marble
Steps Complaint
You see go on
you see shambolic
He grows