Lyrical Mystery of Time and Space: Conversing with Contemporary Chinese Poet Bai Hua

As a representative figure of the post-“Misty” poets, what are your thoughts about the tides of poetry and artistic search in the present-day China?

When a tide is over, one will become a tradition. When one becomes a tradition, he or she will also open up a new tide. This dialectic simply means: the more you pursue the art that impassions you, the more you will find yourself right at the source of a tide.

As a contemporary Chinese poet, to what extent does the question or issue of a readership stand as an agenda for you?

Bai Hua (left) with his friends Zhang Zao
and Zhang Qikai near the Black Forest
in Tübingen, Germany, November 1997
PHOTO COURTESY OF THE POET

Of course, the more readers there are, the better it is. We can sell more poetry books. But the fate of contemporary poetry has already determined its very small scope of readership. Contemporary poetry is aimed at those who suffer or are ill in their inner lives. Let me make a bold guess: these are — very possibly — men who are overly feminine and women who are overly masculine.

Do you have an ideal reader?

By chance you may meet this reader, but he or she cannot be sought. If you allow a most honest answer from me: my ideal reader can only be myself. So, to reveal something that is not quite proper in terms of public relations: I usually only read my poems. In fact, I read all of them again and again, to the extent that I almost do not read others’ work.

How do you nourish your poetic life?

Read, read, read. Non-stop. In a jumble, in chaos.

Being such a voracious reader, do you also see other “non-literary” possibilities as your artistic influences? If so, what are they?

I have never really thought about this, but now that you mention it, I did think about an influence that is not literary-related — music. Often, I finish some of my poems while listening to a melody or while singing. Some simple and lyrical music as long as it can stimulate my thoughts. Sometimes films excite me, too. For example, Andrei Tarkovsky’s Mirror (1975) had directly inspired me to write a stanza in my poem, “Gift”:

In the heavy rain, she opened the iron door of the press
rushing into the layout room of socialism, verifying
an original phrase from Chekhov’s Collected Works. Perhaps
sparrows fly by the window dotted with rust stains

— Edited and adapted by the translator with Sally Molini, this is an abridged version of an interview
originally conducted in Chinese, which also appeared in the literary magazine Chutzpah!

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