The coffin fell apart.
There was the sound of decayed wood crumbling, and a cloud of smoke surged out, like water vapour from a hot steamer.

Yan Lianke / Carlos Rojas

Mao Jing Poetry Translations

You may never know for sure
After this gust of wind,
There isn't going to be more…
Of course, the wind blows.
What I meant to ask is this:
What has a gust of wind done to your hair?
Has it knocked you down on the ground?
Or has it uprooted you in the mid air,
crushed your bones and made
your liver, stomach, intestine and lung
stormed down like bullets
hard hitting on that roof top? ​


# 1.   

A Chinese Bob Dylan?

Anna Gustafsson Chen, November 30, 2016, 2:27a.m.

# 2.   

茅境诗抄选译 Eric, thanks for 'piping' my debut translation here! I also love reading this piece of work Voila, lacks a toe; Voila, sing this hymn the latest feature on

susan, December 6, 2016, 12:26p.m.


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