Sidetracks XXIV
By Bei Dao
Translated by Jeffrey Yang
tanks and thorns Ramallah besieged city
treaded tracks of night roll over the heart of fire
spread out the ancient map west of the Jordan River
a wisp of spring wind opens the flowers of the dead
pass through a grove of olive trees climb over a wall
hurry by that rooster with raised feathers
chase after a small donkey mind the minefield
drink freely from the basin of a stone well
open the second page of the new century
Jerusalem the gods on the Temple Mount
stay for a stretch gasp for breath fly away
empty sleeves pilgrims memorize the creeds
in the name of God or the people
pendulum arises out of an inner motive force
to witness suffering cover your eyes
count the meteors in earthen jars
and the tanks advance inch by inch
Al-Kasaba Theatre at the heart of the city eye of the storm
a spotlight beams down on Darwish
words are illuminated etched on the water
security cameras the ceaseless zooming in on details
each second to second pulses—where the heart resides
tanks close in on the line of defense of the mother tongue
Arafat forever wearing his checkered keffiyeh
from freedom fighter to president—a smiling mask
back against the precipice weary of the assassin within
water lotus fast asleep at the president’s office
revolution eventually catches up with its shadow
three days later tanks attack the official residence
Darwish says to me on the matter of freedom
the pace of poets and politicians is not the same
Saramago astounds with a word
Blindness groping fumbling despot days
harvests the light it didn’t sow
volcano in metaphor set free
sidereal chorus pushes the hospital bed
rivulets shimmer across the textbook
rooftops drift along the world of dust
a kite pulls the unseen hands
Gaza corridor cooking smoke more desperate than hunger
follow the dirt road around a corner years throb
the Mediterranean Sea exhales the breath of ten million horses
a match strikes for a lifetime sky
crashes down suffering fills with shards of glass
becomes bound to memory brothers in gunsmoke
fighting the current to chase the homogenous race
dry this bitter cup of wine for the gods
O Darwish you guide me along the track
knocking on the gate of midnight my torchbearer
white scarf mother tongue centers the breath
and the pages of the book flicker with light
from birth to imprisonment poetry grows
for lovers to savor the salt of time
when the hurricane tries to blow through the eye of a needle
he uses the heart to make a fist
Translated from the Chinese
