Zhuang Zi is washing his hands in the water
over his palms a spread of silence
Zhuang Zi is washing his body in the water
his body a bolt of cloth
Clinging to the cloth are sounds
adrift on the water
Zhuang Zi wants to blend in
with the moon-gazing beasts
Bones grow inch by inch
like branches
above and below his navel
Perhaps Zhuang Zi is me
He touches the bark
and feels close
to his own body
Close and agonized
the moon touches me
as if I’m naked
nakedly
enter and exit
Mother is a door, gently open to me
思念前生
庄子在水中洗手
洗完了手，手掌上一片寂静
庄子在水中洗身
身子是一匹布
那布上粘满了
水面上漂来漂去的声音
庄子想混入
凝望月亮的野兽
骨头一寸一寸
在肚脐上下
像树枝一样长着
也许庄子就是我
摸一摸树皮
开始对自己的身子
亲切
亲切又苦恼
月亮触到我
仿佛我是光着身子
光着身子
进出
母亲如门，对我轻轻开着
A major Chinese poetic voice, Hai Zi (1964-1989) has a posthumous cult-like status in China. During his brief yet explosive life, he wrote about 250 poems and several epics, portraying an intense mix of illuminating yet complex visions of his difficult society. Hai Zi committed suicide in 1989 by laying himself on a railroad track at Beijing Shanhaiguan.
Ye Chun is the author of two books of poetry, Lantern Puzzle (Tupelo Press, 2014 forthcoming) and Travel Over Water (Bitter Oleander Press, 2005), and a novel in Chinese, Peach Tree In The Sea (People’s Literature Publishing House, 2011). She currently serves as the poetry editor of The Missouri Review and teaches creative writing and literature at the University of Missouri where she is a PhD candidate.