Hou Qing

no picture Margaret Siu
Se registró el día 2 de julio de 2014
  • 2 Artículos

This is a monoprint on a linoleum block with acrylic paint on imported ancient Chinese print.

This is a monoprint on a linoleum block with acrylic paint on imported ancient Chinese print.

Rising rapidly in power, population, and industry, China is, as we all have acknowledged, on the rise. With this poem I wish to recognize how China has grown from the fall of their dynasties (Qing) and the Opium Wars to the industrial giant of today. Hence, the poem's name to be 'Hou Qing' or 'After the Qing Dynasty'. Thus, all in all, this is in inspiration that all can grow from a fall, a collapse, disgrace.

And from that, all can rise to power.

Hou Qing

I. Who are you mirror and why did you paint

someone’s weeping eyes and hollow cheeks when

clearly my face was gilded with carnival

pomp and flavor that yesterday lingered.

II. Today my hair is cropped thin in mourning as ash

trails rust-colored rivers down my face—

Hailed as majestic yesterday and stripped

by the multitude of scarlet flowers I then bled silver rain like

A fruit, richly swollen sweet and over taken by

flies with avaricious foreign hands trailing over me,

thieves and xīfāng conquers of virgin lands

only amounted to barbaric western glory

when heavy breath and labored fingers

carved my once upon a time in blood to brick ruin,

III. And is there even a remembrance from my gilded days

in yellow chrysanthemum maiden brocade

before they set the summer palace ablaze?

I found time’s speed of it all so strange

as I was both huángshàng and celestial mother

to so many, who now have left me broken—

no one wept for me the day all fell quiet,

with my new place, underfoot to be auctioned austere antique,

not lover, not slave, but the enemy’s possession.

IV. And now the grey world has

raped, pillaged, and seized my children because

it seems as if war baptized born man to beast,

their lusty hate paint nation heart

for smoke and iron that knows nothing

of twirling silk umbrellas and deep rich calligraphy strokes

gifting rice paper screen like ribbon dances remember

V. although these ribbons are no longer in flight

but entwined in mops and rags of the industrial cement floor.

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