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Two Chinese Working-Class Poems

2021; University of Oklahoma; Volume: 95; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/wlt.2021.0104

1945-8134

Xiao Hai, Tammy Lai-Ming Ho,

Migration, Ethnicity, and Economy

Two Chinese Working-Class Poems by Xiao Hai Chinese Workers I am a Chinese worker Our revolutionary comrades are found in every corner of the Earth Perhaps consciously or perhaps unintentionally We truly stand here Traveling the world’s ups and downs with our hands that feed horses and chop wood I am a Chinese worker Lurking inside the desire of tall mansions in steel and concrete is our captive cut-price Youth The changes of the season are not ours Food and vegetables don’t need our attention All we can do is let the mystery of the words Made in China Fiercely flood every river leading to the four oceans and seven continents And at every intersection Take the spoils of the October Revolution To exchange for much sought-after ticket stubs to return home at year’s end I am a Chinese worker Let those days of monotonous workshop/factory life explode and tumble in the cogwheels of time On the quay, the suitcases that have crossed oceans and seas are stuffed with our Penniless and ephemeral pursuits The sparks of the years howl Torrential rain in the heart, endless winds Between lightning and thunder we ask ourselves When will we give our lives a wild run Eight thousand miles is too far Three thousand miles is too near We are in this vast land, nine million six hundred thousand kilometers Surviving the night I come from a village You come from a town Both of us fight barefoot in this dreamy big city Against the gunfire of the Second Industrial Revolution I wish to write those blond-haired yuppies with blue eyes across the ocean A letter A letter that can’t be delivered Tell them of the blooming of spring flowers Tell them how high birds fly Tell them those walking in the streets Wear clothes that appear decent Oh, but they make us feel embarrassed We sleep ashamed on the warm beds in the workshop Without warning we wake up in shock Full of incomprehension Full of drilling pain I want to ask them Why is the dawn sun covered by dark clouds Why isn’t there a rainbow after rain Why are nights in the city bright as day Why are rivers, once grand, now sparkling gold A shining place or somewhere with overgrown grass POETRY Xiao Hai (b. 1980) came from Shangqiu City in Henan Province, the philosopher Zhuangzi’s hometown. He has drifted in different cities as a migrant worker for many years and composed over five hundred poems. He was a member of the Picun Literature Group and won the Best Poet prize at the First Laborers’ Literature Awards. 36 WLT SPRING 2021 “CHINESE FACTORY” BY DANIELFOSTER437 IS LICENSED UNDER CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 There grow Chinese workers standing side by side like the Great Wall There grow Chinese workers covering mountains There grow Chinese workers holding bronze tools There grow Chinese works who smoke and puff There grow Chinese workers who are armored There grow Chinese workers quiet as a riddle There grow Chinese workers There grow Chinese workers There grow Chinese workers I am a Chinese worker We Come from the Workshop The blue work clothes are covered in grease The oily hands smell of rust In the messy hair hides the light of the cutting machine I leave the workplace dragging my tired legs Forget about the assembly-line rush Forget about the production supervisor’s bark Forget about the deep solidified depression after being abandoned by fate I take off the antistatic garment shaped like iron netting and come from the workshop We are like the wandering wind We are like the drifting clouds We are the prodigal sons that have left home to travel day and night We fold love like bauhinia and orchid in dreams Some come through the Yellow River Some come through the Yangtze Some come through the boundless Milky Way Those bosoms are stuffed with gravel and mud We come from the workshop, covered in grease We come from the workshop wearing decaying moonlight We come from the workshop, our bodies mechanized Our communal living space is between the...