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Review of Winter Sun: Poems by Shi Zhi, trans. by Jonathan Stalling, with an
Introduction by Zhang Qinghua.

Article  in  Moderne Chinese Literature and Culture · January 2013

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Birgit Bunzel Linder

City University of Hong Kong
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Winter Sun: Poems
By Shi Zhi

Translated by Jonathan Stalling/Introduction by Zhang Qinghua

Reviewed by Birgit Linder

MCLC Resource Center Publication (March 2013)

http://mclc.osu.edu/rc/pubs/reviews/linder.htm

Winter Sun is a bilingual collection of

poetry by one of China's most widely
known contemporary poets. Translated
by Jonathan Stalling, it marks the first
collection of Shi Zhi's 食 指 poetry in
English, and it is an important addition
to Chinese literary history and the study
of contemporary Chinese poetry in
translation. The roughly eighty poems in
the book span the years from 1965 to
2005 and give a comprehensive
overview of the work and life of a Shi Zhi,
who first came to fame as an
underground poet during the Cultural
Revolution (1966-76) and has continued
with his work until now. In addition, the
chronologically arranged collection
offers a twleve-page introduction by
literary scholar Zhang Qinghua 张清华, a
"Letter to My American Friends" by the
Shi Zhi Winter Sun: Poems. Tr. Jonathan Stalling, Introduction by
Zhang Qinghua. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2012. poet, and a "Translator's Afterword" by
ISBN: 9780806142418.
Jonathan Stalling that explains his
choice of free verse translation over a more formal approach.

Shi Zhi (Index finger), whose real name is Guo Lusheng 郭路生, was born in
1948 in Shandong province. During the Cultural Revolution, Shi Zhi was
widely admired for his daring and persistent poetry that, with a few exceptions,
circumvented prescribed ideological content and conventional revolutionary
imagery. Following his premature retirement from the army in 1971, he
experienced a prolonged period of silence and suicidal depression and was
finally diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1973. He spent many years in a mental
hospital, until he was released in 2005. Shi Zhi lives with his second wife in
Beijing and continues to write poetry.

Most critics do not consider his poetry great, but admit that his tenacity and
personal resilience are remarkable. His distinct status derives from the fact
that he was able to write lyrical and honest poetry in the midst of harsh
political and ideological restrictions. Van Crevel has described the poet as a
"torch-bearer of non-orthodox poetry"[1], and as a writer who was able to
speak "with the voice of something like an individual self."[2] It is in this sense
that Shi Zhi has established his legacy and has become a vicarious,
therapeutically honest collective voice, expressing the painful scars of history,
the terror of displacement, and the "puzzled anomie" felt by many, especially
after Mao's death in 1976. In addition, while he never belonged to
the menglong 朦 胧 school, most of the menglong poets acknowledge their
indebtedness to his daring lyricism. In the Introduction, Zhang Qinghua
assigns his poetry "heterodox individuality and emotional power" and goes on
to explain that "The principal image he has created in his poems is one of
humanity, mental conflict, kindheartedness, firm convictions, sensitive
emotions, unshakable willpower, and a somewhat tragic personality" (xvi). [3]

In the late 1990s, owing to the effort of a group of friends and scholars[4], Shi
Zhi experienced something of a revival, culminating in the winning of the
People's Literature Poetry Award (人民文学奖诗歌奖 ) in 2001 and the China Free
Culture and Poetry Award (中国自由文化诗奖) in 2009, both commenting on his
role in bridging the gap between modern and contemporary poetry. This battle
between his role as a vox populi at a certain juncture in national history and
his self-identity as a poet with an ongoing poetic voice is apparent and
touching. In "The Poet's Laurel" (诗人的桂冠; 1986), Shi Zhi complains that his
fame only rests on his role as a poet during the Cultural Revolution: "The
Laurel of a poet wasn't in my stars/I only serve to record the instant of joy and
grief /And even if I have written many poems/They are not worth a penny. . . .
People would ask me who the hell I am/I can be anyone but a poet/I exist in
this unjust age/A Nobody, an insignificant victim." (p. 91) His authentic
struggle with contradictory life forces always wants to come into a poetic
existence and generates a degree of frustration, not only about the lack of an
audience, but also about the nature of words that "half conceal the Soul
within" (Tenneyson).
Shi Zhi's early poems are often full of youthful passion. In the long "Ocean
Trilogy" (海洋三部曲; 1965-8), he praises the times of youthful passion during the
Cultural Revolution, but already asks, referencing Maxim Gorky, "where are
you leading this boat?/To hell?/Or heaven?" (pp. 3-10). "Fish Trilogy" (鱼儿三部
曲; 1967-8) describes a fish full of passion that dies in its pursuit of freedom.
The famous poem "This Is Beijing at 4:08" (这是四点零八分的北京; 1968) condenses
the common experience of the youth sent to the countryside. Shi Zhi's
quintessential early poem "Believe in the Future" ( 相 信 未 来 ; 1968) is a
somewhat melodramatic appeal to carry on with passion and to love life no
matter what the hurdles might be. The last stanza reads: "Friend, believe
unfailingly in the future/Believe in the never-bending struggle/Believe in
death-conquering youth/Believe in the future, and love life" (p. 41). His later
poems often are reflections on his past and on his life as a poet, expressing his
life philosophy of simplicity and peace of mind. "This Is How I Write My
Songs" (我这样写歌; 1997) is a touching poem that picks up on his poetic identity
again: "Everyone suffers, everyone does/But a poet far more keenly/When
solitude challenges my imagination/I write my songs with a trembling heart"
(p. 125). "Sunlight of Winter" (冬日的阳光) and "Home" (家) are both dedicated to
his wife Han Le 寒乐. "Home" describes life in winter after returning home to a
warm cup of tea. It speaks of great simplicity and is reminiscent of the poetry
of Tao Yuanming 陶渊明. He is satisfied with very little, and the warmth he finds
is always in the midst of winter chill. "Sunlight of Winter," which is the poem
that inspired the title of the collection, also summarizes his commitment to a
simple life and to cherishing the warmth of the winter sun that symbolizes the
gentle love of the latter part of life.

Shi Zhi's poetry is at its best when he conveys the need and the pain of
controlling himself in difficult situations. In "Fury" ( 愤怒; 1974), for example,
he speaks of the anger of the past and the "unrestrained fire within my chest"
(p. 59). Now, however, probably in the isolation of the hospital and on
medication, "My fury has been turned into a terrifying silence" (p. 58). It is
typical of Shi Zhi's poetry that even though it speaks of "torrents of tears,"
"vengeance," "strings of arguments," and "shouting or screaming," it is a
strictly regulated poem, featuring five dun in each of the twelve lines and the
same repetition (我的/也不/更不/尽管) at the beginning of the lines in each stanza,
with only a small customary variation in the last stanza. It is in poems like
"Fury," "Mad Dog" (疯狗; 1978), "My Injured Soul" (受伤的心灵; 1987), "The Chill
of Autumn" (秋意; 1987), "This Is How I Write My Songs," etc. that Shi Zhi
becomes engaging. As in all his other poems, he contains his anger and
disappointment in a formal style, but they don't end on the didactic note that
seems to be a (sometimes unfortunate) characteristic of Shi Zhi's poetry.
One of the most interesting aspects about a collection that is both highly
lyrical-autobiographical as well as chronological is the ways in which the
poems reflect upon each other. Over ten years after "Believe in the Future," for
example, Shi Zhi turns the communal optimistic appeal into something more
personal. In the 1979 poem "Love Life" (热爱生命), he writes: "Yet I have an
obstinate mind/and though beaten time and again, I will not stay down/But
stand up and keep moving on/For I believe in the future and love life" (p. 67).
This poem reflects the transition from speaking of a common experience to
expressing his personal experience. Likewise, many of Shi Zhi's later poems
look back at his perilious life, albeit still always coming to the same conclusion.
In the 1991 poem "In the Asylum" (在精神病院), for example, he repeats what he
has said in other poems written in the mental hospital:

I would rather exhaust my mind to find poetry

为写诗我情愿搜尽枯肠
可喧闹的病房怎苦思冥想
But I can't rack my brains here in this grating ward
开粗俗的玩笑，妙语如珠 Hearing vulgar jokes and clever quips coming out
提起笔竟写不出一句诗行 I couldn't write even a single line with a pen in my hand

有时止不住想发泄愤怒 At times rage welled up and teetered on the edge of expression

可那后果却不堪设想…… But the consequences would be inconceivable
天呵，为何一次又一次地 God! Why time and again
让我在疯人院消磨时光！ Was I forced to waste my days in this insane asylum!
当惊涛骇浪从心头退去 When the stormy waves receded from my mind
心底只剩下空旷与凄凉…
In my heart only emptiness and desolation remained…
怕别人看见噙泪的双眼
I feared others might see my eyes welling up with tears
我低头踱步，无事一样
So I look down, and stroll away as if nothing happened (p. 97)

In "Thawing Tide of Emotion" (解冻的心潮), which was written twelve years later,
the uncivilized others, his isolation, and his heart-breaking self-control are
turned into a plea for compassion for those he previously condemned, and the
poet now sees himself as part of them:

回想起福利院严冬阴冷的早晨 Recalling the bleak winter mornings in the mental asylum

这阳光照不到的地方寒气逼人 I still felt the pressing cold of this place without sun
被轰出被窝的病人袖手缩脖 Patients driven off their beds, pull hands up into their sleeves and reco
一件件不合体的衣服紧箍着全身 With their ill-fitting clothes tightly binding their bodies

病房中是躲都躲不开的低级取乐 In the sickroom vulgarities are unavoidable

打骂中夹杂的惨叫更令人寒心 Beatings and scoldings mingle with patients' screaming to chill me th
恐惧中暗暗祈盼春天的临近 In this despair I secretly pray for spring's approach
我终于走出了福利院冰冷的铁门 Finally, I walked out the cold iron gate of the mental Institution (p. 14
Shi Zhi's poetry is defined by a lyrical will to vulnerability, conflictedness, and
idealism, and a regulated if not rigid formal style that has remained almost
unchanged for over five decades. His tendency to compress all emotions into
the same poetic form reflects an admirable constraint that in turn might also
reflect the way in which he deals with his illness and his life. He credits his
mentor He Qifang 何其芳 (1912-77) with introducing the formal poetry of "new
style poetry" (jintishi 近体诗) to him.[5] He Qifang and others postulated a style
that departed from traditional Chinese regulated verse (gelüshi 格律诗 ), but
adhered to strict rhyme schemes, versification, musicality, tone variations,
and so on. Because thoughts and feelings must be manipulated into a
structure, form plays a key role in the ordering effect of poetry and can itself
be a mode of reflexivity. Through meter, tone, rhyme variations, parallelism,
and juxtaposition, Shi Zhi consciously endeavors to reflect the undulations of
life and the oscillation between joy and grief. In his afterword, Stalling
explicitly states that he has attempted to translate the poems with "lyrically
charged free verse able to impart Shi Zhi's voice without interference from the
static of the history of English formalism" (p. 182). For the most part, he does
this convincingly. It comes to the fore especially in the easy flow of
alliterations and parallelisms that well substitute for the loss of rhyme and
meter in translation. "This Is What I Say" (我这样说; 1968) is a good example of
shifting from rhythm and rhyme to alliteration. It has a regular meter of four
dun (feet) and an abcb rhyme scheme. Stalling translates it into free verse, but
substitutes it with alliteration:

当在/秋天/伤心的/黎明 4a In autumn a broken-hearted day breaks

甜蜜的/瓜果/离开了/枝头 4b A honied fruit falls from its stem
果枝/和藤蔓/含着/秋露 4c Fruit-bearing branches and vines full of dew
永别了/她那/心爱的/朋友 4b Her beloved friends are forever left behind (p. 31)

These types of effective translation shifts are found throughout the collection.
Translation, especially when it comes to poetry, is about striking a balance
between fidelity and fluency, and it should preserve its distinctive voice. If that
does not always sound fluent or contemporary, it is partly the poet who is to
"blame." Many of Shi Zhi's older poems now sound outdated and his imagery
doesn't easily translate into a contemporary feel. Some of his metaphors--such
that in this line from "You" (你；1991), "Older, you appear so ordinary/Like a
rose whose bloom is already spent/Even your green leaves have withered
away" (p. 98)--read like stock imagery. As Zhang Qinghua acknowledges in his
Introduction, many of the poems feature "out-of-date forms imbued with old
moral codes and values," and one cannot fault Stalling for translating them
equivalently.
One might argue that English poetry features a great variety of formal
structures not limited to rhyme schemes, pentameter, or ‘Victorian' poetry. In
order to avoid artificiality, it is reasonable to argue as Stalling did that not the
entire collection can be rendered into formal verse equivalent to the Chinese.
Sometimes, however, the translations are too literal to be read comfortably
and would benefit from such techniques as omission, shift of perspective, or
combination, if not blank verse. The poems about the asylum above, for
example, have several lines that could be shortened so as to reflect the length
and therefore rhythm of the original. Why not, for instance, translate the
line 被轰出被窝的病人袖手缩脖 ("Patients driven off their beds, pull hands up into
their sleeves and recoiling their necks") as something like "Driven off their
beds, patients pull in their hands and cower their heads" or even "driven off
their beds, patients shrink into themselves." The line 打骂中夹杂的惨叫更令人寒
心 ("Beatings and scoldings mingle with patients' screaming to chill me
through") could be rendered into a shorter version without losing meaning.
Moreover, it would be more precise not to switch tenses within the poems.
Since the first poem was written in the hospital and the second in retrospect, it
is fitting to use present tense in the first poem in order to translate the feel of
immediacy the original has, and past tense in the later poem, since it is a
lyrical retrospect. For the older poem, I suggest as one alternative to make use
of omission, amplification, and shift of perspective, and to use present tense:

At times I ache to vent my anger,

But the outcome I cannot bear foresee,
Heavens! What is it that year after year
Makes me idle away in a mental ward?

When the perils retreat from the mind,

The heart harbors only emptiness and despair. . .
Afraid others might see my tears well up,
I wander with my head bent, as though at ease. . .

Again using omission and now past tense, the last stanza of the 2003 poem
could read:

In the ward, vulgar spectacles were inescapable

amid rebukes and beatings, screams added to the chill
in this terror I secretly prayed for spring to come
when I would walk out of these ice cold iron gates

Throughout the collection, the poet's quiet voice hankers for hope, and is
sometimes rueful, sometimes didactic, sometimes optimistic and idealistic,
but most of all, contained. Most of his images are common nouns drawn from
nature: the sun, the seasons, the ocean, etc. They tend to be conceptual and
hypernymic, with only very few specific details or names or people appearing
in his poems. Therefore, the focus remains on his feelings and on his general
perception of the world around him. Authenticity seems sacred to Shi Zhi, but
his rigid style (in Chinese) and repetitive imagery, and his continued focus on
himself and his emotions at times arouse pity rather than admiration or poetic
appreciation. The careful construction of verse gives a sense of
accomplishment and aesthetic delight, but with so little variation, his poetry
becomes repetitive. It might have been better to either be more selective with
the collection, or to break the mold with a few thematic subheadings or images.
Since Shi Zhi himself outlined five distinctive periods of his writing in his
"Letter", those could easily serve as headings.

As shown above, for bilingual readers and translation students, the book has a
lot to offer. Side by side versions of each poem make interesting comparisons
and discussions possible in terms of language, poetic style, and translation.
The translator's brief commentary about his choice of translation is
informative and helpful. Stalling's translations appropriately reflect the pathos,
the desire for authenticity, and altogether, the book offers many interesting
angles for discussion and further research with regard to translation,
translation studies, and literary history.

Shi Zhi's "Letter to My American Readers" also gives an overview over the
several phases of his writing and adds some thoughts about American-Chinese
cultural differences. In the first section, he classifies his poems into five
different groups that are all related to his personal life context. In the second
section, he uses general dichotomies and truisms to talk about the major
differences between American and Chinese cultures. He does offer a
refreshing view of contemporary Chinese society, and a tender tolerance for
the younger generation who is still trying to find its own voice (p. 180). In
spite of feeling a little arbitrary and simplistic, the "Letter" gives readers a
good idea of the poet's sense of self.

Zhang Qinghua's introduction gives an overview over the poet's life and his
role in Chinese literary history. He describes Shi Zhi's personal and political
background and various phases of creativity, and places him within the
context of the Cultural Revolution and after. It is useful as an example of the
metatext that always surrounds Shi Zhi, though it does not add new
information to what is already known from previous introductions in other
Chinese collections. Zhang's slightly hyperbolic style and associations are
bound to confuse readers. On the one hand, he talks about the "mythical
dimension" and "deeply introverted pathos" (p. xi) in Shi Zhi's poetry, puts
him on par with Shakespeare's "somber and hesitant thinker" Hamlet, Lu
Xun's 鲁迅 madman, and Du Fu's 杜甫 and Hölderlin's "tragic implication of
deep frustration." On the other hand, he acknowledges his "out-of-date forms
imbued with old moral codes and values." A reader also might not readily
understand why "Fish Trilogy" is equated with Lu Xun's "madman," or why
Shi Zhi is praised for being "the first poet steeped in the didacticism of the
modernist era," equating "didacticism" with a moral code. The introduction is
a plea to Western readers to understand Shi Zhi in the position he holds in
Chinese history as a "modern day pioneer of Chinese poetry" (xii). Yet Zhang's
assessment also feels apologetic, and readers might wonder whether this effort
to promote the poet means that his poetry doesn't entirely speak for itself.
Zhang is successful in his attempt to portray Shi Zhi as an eminent poet in the
context of modern and contemporary Chinese literature, but less so in
critically placing him in the context of world literature.

In general, to English-language readers, the book offers a glimpse into the life
of a poet who has courageously faced the vicissitudes of his life, and who has
found lyrical ways of expressing himself. Because of its formal style and
simplicity of language, Shi Zhi's poetry is easily accessible and, with only a few
exceptions, does not require extensive knowledge of the political or cultural
backgrounds it grew out of. Furthermore, the combination of the
chronological arrangement together with an introduction and the afterword
creates an appropriate representation of what this poet is about: It reflects the
text and trajectory of Shi Zhi's life, and also comments on the metatext that
surrounds him as a poet of the Cultural Revolution and as someone who has
suffered from a mental illness for the better part of his life.

Any translation of literature opens possibilities for academic exchange. In

addition to the above mentioned aspects,Winter Sun also makes an important
contribution to the largely unchartered field of cross-cultural Medical
Humanities. Winter Sun is a tribute that gives weight to the historical
trajectory of the poet's life. As one of the few poets who write about mental
illness experiences, Shi Zhi's collection functions as a valuable resource for
non-Chinese scholars in the field. It gives rare insights into what it feels like to
be mentally ill, and how the chronicity of his condition has encroached upon
the identity of this poet (and probably many other poets) suffering from a
mental illness. Some have suggested that the lucidity and formal constraint of
his poetry proves that he is not suffering from a mental illness. Medical
Humanities, however, has shown that it is precisely this stringent ordering
process and the inflexibility that are cognitive markers of the schizophrenic
mind. Therefore, in addition to introducing an important poet to readers, and
 contributing materials for fertile discussions about translation and poetry, Shi
Zhi's poetry also offers a resource for cross-cultural Medical Humanities and
cognitive poetics.

Any stylistically consistent translation of a poetry collection represents a

major accomplishment. Winter Sun is a welcome contribution to Chinese
studies teaching and scholarship and a solid addition to the corpus of modern
Chinese poetry in translation. As such, it opens the way to many useful
discussions about the complex field of poetry translation, literary history, and
other fields of research.

Birgit Linder
City University of Hong Kong

Notes:

[1] Maghiel van Crevel, Language Shattered: Contemporary Chinese Poetry

and Duoduo (Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1996), 29.

[2] Maghiel van Crevel, Chinese Poetry in Times of Mind, Mayhem and
Money (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 15.

[3] The page numbers for this and all the poems quoted here refer to their
occurrence in the book under review.

[4] Hong Zicheng 洪子 诚 and Liu Denghan 刘 登翰 , Zhongguo dangdai xinshi

shi 中国当代新诗史 (History of new contemporary poetry) (Beijing: Beijing daxue,
2005), 183. Hong explains that much of the revival of interest in his poetry
happened under the tutelage of friends (Lin Mang, He Jingke, Cui Weiping
and Li Hengjiu, to name but a few), but that he had no such status yet when he
was an underground poet, or among poets in the 1980s.

[5] Cui Weiping 崔卫平 , "Shishen juangu shouku de ren" 诗神眷顾受苦的人 (The
poetry muse favors those who suffer), in Liao Yiwu 廖 亦 武 , Chenlun de
shengdian 沉 沦 的 圣 殿 (Sinking gurdwara) (Urumqi: Xinjiang qingshaonian,
1999).

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