Bird from Cathay
Out of the cage of Cathay,
A bird is very happy.
High above the Pacific Ocean,
"I'm liberated," says he.
Crossing the ocean in 24 hours,
He finds him a home cozy.
Everyday he eats quaint food;
Everyday he watches fancy TV.
Soon our bird gets tired,
For no more fun can find he.
His wonders shared by no friends,
No BP in hand, he feels lonely
Worse that he has to learn new tricks,
So that life has continuity.
Our bird is now the age of old dog,
To be a student is not easy.
Our bird misses home a lot,
Where he life was care free,
Where he met birds of same feather,
Where he could visit his family.
Now every night he watches the sky;
The Big Dipper laughs at his stupidity.
He sings the song about Mao Tzetung,*
Wishing to be saved from calamity.
A land of strange trees is no fun,
Better to be where one should be.
Back in Cathay they have both:
Confucius and Coke in harmony.
A deep sigh our bird heaves,
His wings now weak and flabby,
His heart now weary of many a change,
He doubts his strength for another journey.
* Song from "The East Is Red', the grand dance epic in China in the 60s: "When we see the Big Dipper, we think of Mao, and we have direction in darkness."
Aug. 8, 1997
2016 new translation:
A bird escaped the China cage
Flew in the sky like a sage
I am liberated, said he
And enjoyed fun in a rage
A 24 hour flight over the ocean
Landed him happily in a place of pleasure
He enjoyed nice foods to the utmost
And watched fancy TV to the full measure
Yet as time passed his joys became less
The bird was no longer happy as before
His emotions were shared by no friends
Without BP, he was sad he heard no call no more
What was worse that he had to learn new skills
Without them how could he make a living?
The bird had reached the age of forty
What a pitiful student there he was sitting?
The bird began to miss his homeland
A care-free scholar he used to be
Those of his flock often met together
On holidays he visited friends and family
Now every night he looks up to the Big Dipper
And misses Mao Zedong the great leader
He wishes a delivery hand from the Savior
To get him out of this quagmire
There is no fun in the land of strange woods
It is much comfy just to stay at home
China is so big that she has all you want
Confucius, Coco Cola, you just give a name
Lowering his head the bird gives a lengthy sigh
His wings feeble and tired for the wind high
His heart is now aged after half a life's migration
Is his residual strength fit for another navigation?
Sonnet, If You Call It
I walk on the wet snow in warm winter,
Remembering childhood days in Beijing.
Dripping ice from low roofs in early spring,
Feed last year's grass seeds with clear water.
Often is earth clad in a biting cold,
In winter when ice mounds form on the ground.
Around the water source is a compound,
Of many houses that are shabby'nd old.
Grandma blows breath to thaw the window ice;
White flakes melt into steams of riverlets,
Covering the glass with criss-crossing nets,
And she wonders about the baikchoi's price.
Those are the days of simple subsistence,
Yet much I miss the happy innocence.
The Summer of Fredericton
St. John has trimmed herself,
Her banks have surfaced new,
Now blazing with yellow petals
Among grass with green hue.
Like pagodas, churches stand high,
Their spires brushing the sky.
The new foliage of trees
Hide and show roofs of houses.
Motor boats, some slow,
Like rafts they come and go.
The two bridges like sleeping beauties lie,
Their slender bodies pleasant to the eye.
High above hang the white clouds,
Scattering like sheep crowds.
A breeze touches my cheeks,
The ripples are calm and quiet.
The river calls back memories of home,
The Yangtze I left in order to roam.
Now to whom can I happily mention
The lovely summer of Fredericton?
When autumn comes the leaves in Maple Town are rouge turning
The autumn river now wears the expression of a passenger leaving
On autumn hills the shades of the summer still come into sight
However rough wind and rain now frequent the autumn night
When the autumn moon is full, I am bidding you adieu
The autumn clouds, so delicate, will remind me of you
My heart in this autumn is filled with so much sorrow
For whom do I write this song of autumn, if not you?