FORGIVING AND 

NOT FORGIVING

Poem for Today - April 30, 2014

U 20000

He forgives the crows of the countryside’s roosters, forgives dusk as they sing. He forgives the stone grinders and B.C.’s casting technology.

He forgives the dry pen, the stubborn donkey. He forgives the female teacher in middle school, forgives the dumb woman for locking him in a dark classroom.

But he won’t forgive the human folly, even though he forgives the sealed walls, the crowded streets, the flies, even the person with goose bumps in a warm room.

He forgives the surrendering army, the judges who drink milk, his files, memos, decisions, but he won’t forgive slogans, documents, books, and the typos in instructions.

He forgives his children and wife for their betrayal; his weeping has never seen any words. Only today did he realize he had every reason to smash the radio.

But he didn’t. He forgives belief in electricity, belief in water. How sad the shiny river!  But he won’t forgive the unbelieving sky. Where is he going? Whom will he meet?

He forgives his cancer, his miserable funeral. He forgives the way he’d forgive rotten food. But he won’t forgive the paper money they offered.

Twenty years after he died, we acknowledge him as a person.

© Xi Chuan, excerpt

from “Misfortune”.

Translated from the Chinese

by Wang Ping and Alex Lemon