Guan Hanqin,
translated by Paul Watsky and Alex To
I'm Not Old Flowers, flowers, scramble over the wall. Branches, branches of willow at the road's dead end. Flowers flaunt their new red pollen. Green willows bend soft strands. The players are all pimped out. I break willows, trash flowers until they're thoroughly fucked up, dead. Half my life I've pawed willows, snatched flowers, all my years bedded flowers, laid willows. Under heaven I'm the leader of young studs. Worldwide I'm the playboys' foreman. I count on my rosy cheek not caving in. I scrounge for my jollies among flowers. I booze away my fear. I bet on tea froth, ink blots. I gamble on chess, horseshoes. I've got five melodies, six tones down cold. I kick worry away from my heart. I'm hangin' with three honeys. One strums a silvery zither. Another, perched at the silver counter, tallies silver nuggets. And a pricey call girl, all smiles, lounges against the silver paneling. My white jade angel, your jade hand in mine, jade shoulder pressing mine, we're climbing up inside the jade pagoda. A songbird in a golden headdress drawls out "The Golden Net," dandles a gilded cup brimful of gold nectar. You say I'm old. Not so fast! Nobody throws a hipper party. I'm with it, dialed-in. I'm general of the silk brigade, the cool platoon. I play in every city, province. Dude, it's me galloping the grasslands, the sandy steppes, hunting bunnies. It's me on horseback drawing my feathered bow at wild old pheasants. I've stretched it and shot cold-forged arrows, not ones made of wax. On a chase I never trail the pack. Don't they say you hit middle age it's all over? 64
FUGUE#35