Gu Cheng poems.

Picture of Gu Cheng (1954-1993)

The return.

don't go to sleep, don't

dear, the road is long yet

don't go too near

the forest's enticements, don't loose hope

write the address

in snowmelt of your hands
or lean on my shoulders

as we pass the hazy morning

lifting the transparent storm curtain

we'll arrive where we are from

a green disk of land

around an old pagoda

there I will guard

your weary dreams

and drive off the flocks of nights

leaving only bronze dim, and the sun

as beyond the pagoda

tiny waves quietly

crawl up the beach

and draw back trembling.

*

*

A headstrong boy.

I guess my mother spoiled me, I am a headstrong boy

I want every instant to be as lovely as my crayons

I'd like to draw, on a chaste white paper

a clumsy freedom, eyes that never wept

a piece of sky, a feather,a leaf,

a pale green evening, and an apple,

I'd like to draw dawn,the smile dew sees,

the earliest tenderest love,an imagined love,

who's never seen a mournful cloud,

whose ayes the color of the sky will gaze at me forever and

never turn away,

I'd like to draw distance,a bright horizon,

carefree ,rippling rivers, hills sheathed in green furs,

I want the lovers to stand together in silence,

I want each breathless moment to beget a flower,

I want to draw a future I've never seen, nor ever can,

though I'm sure she'll be beautiful,

I'll draw her an autumn coat the color of flame,

and maple leaves,

and all the hearts that ever loved her,

I'll draw her a wedding, an early morning garden party,

swatched in candy wrapper decked with winter scenes.

I'm a headstrong boy. I want to paint out every sorrow

to cover the world with colored windows

let all the eyes accustomed to darkness, be accustomed to light,

I want to draw wind, mountains, each time bigger than the last,

I want to draw dreams of the east,

a fathomless sea, a joyful voice.

Finally I'd like to draw myself in one corner, a panda-

huddled in dark victorian forest

hunkering in the quiet branches, homeless, lost,

not even a heart left behind me,

far away, only teeming dreams of berries,

a great wide eyes,

But I didn't have any crayons, any breathless moments,

all I have are fingers and pain,

I think I'll tear this paper to bits,

and let them drift away,

hunting for butterflies.