Predstavljamo - Žang Ži (Zhang Zhi)

Žang Ži (Zhang Zhi), rođen 1965. godine u Feniks Taunu, okrug Bašian, provincija Sečuan, jedan je od najvažnijih pjesnika, kritičara, prevodilaca i izdavača savremene Kine. Njegov pseudonim je Diablo, englesko ime Artur Žang (Arthur Zhang), a njegovo porijeklo vodi iz Nan’ana, Čongćing. Doktor je književnosti. Trenutno je predsjednik Međunarodnog centra za prevođenje i istraživanje poezije, glavni urednik časopisa Rendition of International Poetry Quarterly (višeknjiževni) i engleskog izdanja World Poetry Yearbook. Savjetnik je Centra za globalizaciju kineske poezije pri Fakultetu stranih jezika Univerziteta Nankai.

Žang Ži je svoje književne i prevodilačke radove počeo objavljivati 1986. godine. Neka od njegovih djela prevedena su na više od četrdeset stranih jezika. Dobitnik je književnih nagrada iz Grčke, Brazila, Amerike, Izraela, Francuske, Indije, Italije, Austrije, Libana, Makedonije, Rusije, Japana, Egipta, Belgije, Jermenije, Kirgizije i Srbije.

Njegova najpoznatija djela uključuju zbirke poezije:

RECEITA (portugalski-engleski-kineski),
SELECTED POEMS OF DIABLO (engleski),
POETRY BY ZHANG ZHI (njemački-engleski-portugalski),
Selected Poems of Diablo (kineski-engleski),
A Jigsaw Picture of the World (albanski),
Feu Follet On Paper (arapski),
Poison (arapski),
The Mirror Image of Ghost City (srpski).
Takođe je autor zbirke kritičkih eseja Series Essays on Avant-Garde Chinese Poets, kao i nekoliko prevoda:

A & 1 IS THE FOUNDER (engleski-kineski),
Selected Poems of Tareq Samin (engleski-kineski),
My Secret Lover, You (kineski),
Lotus Rays (ruski-engleski-kineski).
Pored toga, preveo je roman Назови имя бога (ruski-kineski).

Žang Ži je uredio i mnoge antologije, uključujući:

Selected Poems of Contemporary International Poets (engleski-kineski),
Selected New Chinese Poems of 20th Century (kineski-engleski),
A Dictionary of Contemporary International Poets (višeknjiževni),
Chinese-English Textbook 300 New Chinese Poems (1917–2012),
Century-Old Classics: 300 New Chinese Poems (1917–2016).
 

Pjesma od četrnaest stihova: Šesnaestogodišnjoj A Ven

Učila si od svojih roditelja
Počela si raditi kao prostitutka
Sa šesnaest godina, kažeš

Natjeran stvarnošću života
Počeo sam pisati poeziju
Sa šesnaest godina, kažem

Sad su tvoje male grudi još uvijek čvrste
A i ja sam poznat kao pjesnik—
Ti ne možeš razumjeti velike promjene u mom srcu
A ja ne mogu objasniti tvoj gorući sjaj

Nije toliko da se može reći kako se slobodno otvaraš na postelji domovine
Koliko da rasteš tiho u redovima moje pjesme
Čije srce odnosi noćni vjetar u junu
Tvoje šuplje oči neće zadržati plameni uzdah

Svijet se ljulja u dvogledu

 
Svijet uprljan
smećem, sjemenom, nuklearnim otpadom, heroinom, krvlju i AIDS-om
nikad se neće očistiti

 
Gledaj! Svijet je ušao u iznajmljenu KTV sobu
Ko zna koja prelijepa zvijer
ponovo zanosno stenje pod njegovim kukovima
Večeras će prokleti svijet sigurno igrati grubo
— U redu je i to
ako tu scenu zamisliš
kao Treći svjetski rat

 
Rijeke teku na istok
Prostitutke idu na zapad
Svijet je poput izgubljenog jagnjeta
što stoji na raskrsnici
i pita robote koji idu na sjever i jug
„Kome da se poklonim, gospodine?“

 
Svijet plješće političarima nogama
Političari svijet kupaju krvlju

 
Svijet ne može jasno vidjeti naša lica
možda nemamo lice
„Možemo biti besramni jer nemamo lice“
rekao je jedan prokleti umjetnik.

 
Svijet maše svojim penisom
urla na vrhu zgrade UN-a
„Gledajte, to je veličanstveno“
Zapravo, sinoć
taj isti mi je šapnuo u snu
„Gospodine, moj penis je beskoristan“

 
Svijet nije u žurbi
Svijet se ne plaši
Svijet je otišao pod točak historije
ali krv ne izlazi
Ko je ikada vidio pravu krv

 
Brijući nož, svijet
danonoćno vadi svoje meso
Osjećaj oskudice pjeva vječnu pjesmu u kap krvi
„Krema za povećanje grudi povećava grudi, ali ne i struk“

Jezik ptica

Krik ptica nikad ne može biti viši od neba
Baš kao ni ljudi
Nikad ne mogu jasno vidjeti sebe
Te zjenice, kosti i krv
Skrivene u betonu
Više se ne bude

Čak i kad kažem da je svijet poput slike
Čak i kad postavim znak da kupim svjedočanstvo
Čak i kad držim bebe za ruke
I gledam novorođenog tigra
Čak i kad svakog dana čitamo naglas
luksuzna imena, bajke i jezik ptica

Ko može povjerovati da će od večeras
orlovi letjeti naniže
Zvjezdana svjetlost nikada ne tamni
Ili, pahulje snijega gore za toplinu

U danima kada je zemlja prekrivena bajalicama
Mjesec hoda zajedno s lešom

Avaj

U spomen zaklane kokoši

Jučer popodne
Izašao sam da kupim kokoš
Na poljoprivrednoj pijaci
Zemlja je bila mokra na sve strane
U zraku
Miris truležnog povrća ispunjavao je prostor…
Kokoši su bile strpane
u veliku žičanu kavez
od strane prodavača kokoši
Pored njega mašina za čupanje perja
Perje razbacano unaokolo
Kad sam prišao kavezu
Sklupčale su se u užasu
Pokazao sam na jednu koju sam htio kupiti
I zamolio ga da je izvaga
Kad je posegnuo rukama
Prekrivenim nekoliko perja
U kavez s kokošima
Suočena s istrebljenjem, kokoš je
bila nepokretna
Potvrdilo je to
poznatu kinesku poslovicu
— Glupa kao drvena kokoš

Kad ju je izvagao
Uzeo je
sjajan nož
I poravnao ga s njenim vratom
Prisilno ga je pritisnuo
Naleti krvi
odmah su šikljali…
Odmah nakon toga
kokoš je bačena u mašinu
Zatim je uzeo lonac
ključale vode i polio—
Vrištala je iznova i iznova
Što je takođe uznemirilo kokoši u kavezu
Prizor vriskova…
Jauk
je na kraju oslabio
Dok nije iščezao na hladnom vjetru—
On je već
pokrenuo
svoju mašinu da miješa…
Poslije trenutka
Jedna gola kokoš
pred mojim očima
bila je isječena na komade
U isto vrijeme
Kokoši u kavezu
su se smirile
Počele su kljucati hranu
kojom ih je hranio gazda
Neke su počele glatiti perje
Neke su kokodakale
Neke su se borile za hranu
Kakav miran i sretan prizor to bijaše
Kao da sudbina njihovih drugova
nije imala nikakve veze s njima
Ono što se upravo dogodilo
Takođe je izgledalo kao noćna mora
Sada
Sve je opet bilo mirno…

* * *

Zhang Zhi, born in Phoenix Town of Baxian County, Sichuan Province in 1965, is an important poet, critic, translator and publisher in contemporary China. His pen name is Diablo, English name is Arthur Zhang, and ancestral place is Nan’an of Chongqing City. He is a doctor of literature. He is the current president of the International Poetry Translation and Research Centre, editor-in-chief of Rendition of International Poetry Quarterly (multilingual) & the English edition of World Poetry Yearbook, and advisor to the Center for Globalization of Chinese Poetry of Foreign Languages College, Nankai University. He began to publish his literary and translation works since 1986. Some of his literary works have been translated into more than forty foreign languages. He has ever won Literature prizes from Greece, Brazil, America, Israel, France, India, Italy, Austria, Lebanon, Macedonia, Russia, Japan, Egypt, Belgium, Armenia, Kyrgyzstan, and Serbia. His main works include poetry collections such as RECEITA (Portuguese-English-Chinese), SELECTED POEMS OF DIABLO (English), POETRY BY ZHANG ZHI (German-English-Portuguese), Selected Poems of Diablo (Chinese-English), A Jigsaw Picture of the World (Albanian), Feu Follet On Paper (Arabic), Poison (Arabic), and The Mirror Image of Ghost City (Serbian), collection of poetry criticism entitled Series Essays on Avant-Garde Chinese Poets, and poetry translation A & 1 IS THE FOUNDER (English-Chinese), Selected Poems of Tareq Samin (English-Chinese), My Secret Lover, You (Chinese) , Lotus Rays (Russian-English-Chinese), and translated a novel НАЗОВИ ИМЯ БОГА (Russian-Chinese), etc. In addition, he has edited Selected Poems of Contemporary International Poets (English-Chinese), Selected New Chinese Poems of 20th Century (Chinese-English), A Dictionary of Contemporary International Poets (multilingual), Chinese-English Textbook 300 New Chinese Poems (1917—2012), and Century-Old Classics·300 New Chinese Poems (1917-2016), etc.

A Poem of Fourteen Lines: To the 16-year-old A Wen

Taught by your parents

You began to work as a prostitute

When you were quite sixteen, you say

Pressed by the life in reality

I began to work as a poet

When I was quite sixteen, I say

Now still sturdy your little breasts

And also famous I am as a poet—

You can’t comprehend the great changes in my heart

While I fail to make clear your burning beauty

It is not so much to say you are opening freely on the bed of the country

As to say you grow silently in my poem lines

Whose heart is blown away by the nightly wind in June

Your hollow eyes will not hold the fiery sigh

The World Is Swaying in a Binoculars

1.

The world fouled by

trash, semen, nuclear waste, heroin, blood and AIDS

can never be cleaned

2.

Look! The world has entered KTV chartered room

Who knows which beautiful beast

delightfully moaning under his hips again

Tonight, the damned world will surely play rough

— It is also OK

if you image the scene 

to be the Third World War

3.

Rivers run east

Prostitutes go west

The world is like a lost lamb

standing at a crossroads

asking robots going north and south

“To whom I should bow, sir?”

4.

The world is applauding for politicians with its feet

The politicians bathe the world in blood

5.

The world cannot see clear our faces

maybe we have no face

“We can be shameless since we have no face”

a certain damned artist said so.

6.

The world is waving its penis

howling on the top of the UN Edifice

“Behold, it is great”

In fact, last night

this fellow whispered to me in the dream

“Sir, my penis is of no use”

7.

The world is unhurried

The world is not frightened

The world has gone under the wheel of history

but no blood is coming out

Who has ever seen the real blood

8.

Whetting the knife, the world

is gouging out its own flesh

day and night. Dearth

is singing an everlasting song in a drop of blood

“Breast-fattening cream fattens the breast, not the waist”

Birds’ Language

Birds’ cry cannot be higher than the sky

Just like human beings

Never able to see themselves clearly

Those pupilla, bones and blood

Hidden in the concrete

No longer wake

Even if I say the world is like a picture

Even if I put up a sign to purchase testimony

Even if I hold babies’ hands

And gaze at the newborn tiger

Even if every day we read aloud

De luxe name, fairy tales and birds’ language

Who can believe from tonight on

Eagles should fly downward

Star light never dims

Or, snowflakes are lit for warmth

In the days when the land is covered with incantations

The moon walks together with the corpse

Alas

In Memory of a Butchered Chicken

Yesterday afternoon

I went out to buy a chicken

In the farmer’s market

It is moist all around the ground

In the air

The smell of rotten vegetables filled …

The chickens were put into

A big wire cage by a chicken trafficker

Beside it was a hair removal machine

Their feather on the ground around it

When I approached to the cage

They crowded around in horror

I pointed one of them I wanted to buy

Ask him to weigh it

When he reached

His hands stuck with a few pieces of feather

Into the wire cage

Faced with the extinction the chicken

Was actually motionless

It confirms

A familiar Chinese idiom

—Dumb as a wooden chicken

After weighed

He held

A gleaming knife

Aligning it’s neck

To force a touch

A surge of blood

Was instantly gushing...

Immediately

The chicken

Was thrown into the machine

And then

He fetched a scoop of

Scalding water pouring down—

It screamed again and again

That also sparked those chickens in the cage

A scene of screaming …

Whine

Weakened finally

Until it disappeared in the chilly wind—

He had

Already opened

His machine to stir…

After a moment

A naked chicken

Right under my nose

Was chopped into pieces

At the same time

The chickens in the cage

Had also calmed down

They

Began pecking at the feed

Feeding by their master

Some began to smooth their feather

Some crowed

Some were fighting for food

What a peaceful and happy scene it was

As if their fellows’ fate

Did not link together with them at all

Just now what had happened

Also seemed to be a nightmare

Now

All was calm again…