Mirror
by Zhang Zao
Translated from Chinese by Fiona Sze-Lorrain
49 Poems ~ 248 Pages
Price: $19.00 USA ~ $21.00 CANADA
Poems appear in bilingual translation
Publisher: Zephyr Press
ISBN: 978-1938890-35-2
To Order: www.zephyrpress.org or Amazon
Reviewed by Michael Escoubas
In her lengthy preface (a must-read) Fiona Sze-Lorrain avers that translating Zhang Zao was a process that covered 12 years. Little wonder … this masterpiece of creative writing would challenge the most skilled reader and translator. Sze-Lorrain was and is completely equal to the task even though she admits to feeling a touch of intimidation.
“Kafka to Felice,” canto #5 in a sequence of 9 sonnets, offers a taste of Zhang’s insight into the human condition … his perception of truth:
5
When do men see themselves most clearly?
Moonlit night in a stone’s heart.
All that moves will walk from shattered years
to a rendezvous. O, all is a mirror!
I write. A spider sniffs the reeking moon.
Words wake up, lift their skirts, face each other,
and waltz away on the floor with heavy hearts.
Who knows if they are God’s children
or belong to Satan. I want to cry.
Suddenly something smashes. They hide
back into things, shadows left behind
to face the resonant stillness.
Felice, again there is no letter from you.
In solitude I mutter to my intriguing self.
This sonnet’s connection to the enigmatic Kafka is Zhang’s ability to ask tough questions. Like Kafka, Zhang can and does unsettle readers who dwell in complacency. For example, the question posed above caused me to think about the meaning of phrases such as, a stone’s heart, shattered years, and all is a mirror! Zhang postures a disjuncture between belonging to God or to Satan. There are tears. A smash is heard. Solitude brings on an internal muttering. There is a lack, in the poet’s life, of what Felice represents.
Such insights are huge when we think about the reach of poetry … the depth of its power. Zhang seems less interested in solving problems than in raising issues for in-depth thought. Only the best poets do this well.
Zhang (December 29, 1962–March 7, 2010) was a multi-talented child prodigy. In his brief life span, he became legendary for his language and writing skills. His poems entertain, challenge, and conflict his readers. In “The Prince of Chu Dreams of Rain,” Zhang states, My pain is also the world’s pain. I felt the poet’s pathos within my own being. Another poem, “Early Spring, February” displays his penchant for sensory delights:
The sun once shone on me; in Chongqing, a drop
of dew with clarity, images enfolding in petals
I go around the air, patch by patch; railways
harm trains until they flee, sparing a light cuckoo’s song
I say, Hello summit, wutong trees, pines and cypresses
High or low, please let me love like in a secret rendezvous
In Hunan, sunlight kindles childhood eyes
My hands grow, the path they fondle is cut short
Dust swirls around the city and dances round and round
Like a brother the trumpet wheels a kaleidoscope
Teething pain turns into a scar on the buttocks
A fruit grabs me up a tree and harshly
drops me. Why, I still feel alive today
in a pseudo place made of paper; spring
coos, the sun touches everywhere like a quack
touching this early or belated
era, touching this world’s utopia
Ah, a hidden dragon waits for action, as futile as rotten rope
For all the sensory delights, however, A fruit grabs me up a tree and harshly / drops me, ending the poem with a tip-of-the-hat to futility.
While as a reviewer I feel inadequate to run Zhang Zao’s work into a corner, I find comfort in reading him from a contemplative standpoint. Slow reading is best. Why should I hurry? I may miss the most important part. I treasured “Memory of Mount Lu” for its meditative brevity:
you dance below the mountain
no longer tangled in other arms
leaves falling from the sky, birds chirping from trees
sunlight illumines your chest
you don’t fear fresh air
who your other half will hand over
who is darkness inside a fruit
who is a lamp before switching it on
who goes up the summit
books unfinished, asleep?
“Cloud Sky” reveals Zhang’s sensitivity to ways in which Nature nourishes the human spirit:
in my loneliest moments
I gaze at the cloud sky
I don’t know if I’m praying
or survived
always a tiny voice
in my heart’s labyrinth
leading me to a farther place
despite my reluctance
at dusk, the neighborhood and sunflowers
are an unparalleled quiet
I wonder, deep in the forest
has the fawn practicing its glow
been devoured by a submerged
tiger, multiplying as spring leaves?
sigh, the tiny voice aches for no reason
I pray for the same sacrifice …
I reckon my luck
will come one day
I’ll be read, adored
by the few and rare
outstanding figures
I’ve pictured all my life
The title poem “Mirror” is most representative of Zhang’s creative powers:
Once regrets come to mind
plum blossoms fall
Like watching her swim to the other shore
Like climbing a pine ladder
Beauty exists in danger
Why not watch her return on horseback
cheeks warm
with shame. Head bowed, she answers the Emperor
A mirror awaits her forever
Let her take her usual place in the mirror
Looking out the window, once regrets come to mind
plum blossoms fall over the southern mountain
A key term for me is “regrets.” Zhang’s treatment of this term encompasses life. Isn’t life in large part determined by our regrets and our responses to them? Herein lies the force of Zhang’s creative life. The mirror is speaking. How can one be complacent about life when Beauty exists in danger? Life is waiting to be lived to the full. Let us look out the window … and watch plum blossoms fall honoring a well-lived life.
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