Introduced by Winnie Zeng, and: The World Has Been Raining All Night, and: Drink This Tea, and: Animal Amusement Park, and: After Rain

Introduced by Winnie Zeng, and: The World Has Been Raining All Night, and: Drink This Tea, and: Animal Amusement Park, and: After Rain Ma Yan (bio) translated from the Chinese by Winnie Zeng Ma Yan's poetry is highly personal; there is the sense that she is writing to those close to her. Whether the elements in the poem are rain, darkness, tea, or dance, the reason for writing seems to remain the same: during the brief time (or eternity) that the speaker and the person addressed have come into contact, some indelible change has imprinted itself on Ma Yan's reckoning of the world. While Ma acknowledges and savors certain changes ("Through him, I see / a heavier, darker self, slowly sinking"), she is also vehement in defending her commitment to art and her beliefs against those she with whom she disagrees: "They took over my imagination, I remove, / but feebly." In the way she both welcomes and resists change, Ma sheds a light on her intimates and her readers alike. After her passing, many of her friends published pieces commemorating their times together, including Huang Zhaojing, to whom the poem "Drink This Tea" is dedicated. Huang recounts their mischief and revolts against Beijing University, saying, "Her passing swept away part of my life … she is my deceased youth, my never realizable life." Another friend, Wei Yuan, remembers Ma's funeral—the gale, the tears, how four friends lifted her body into the hearse—and the drinks afterward. Ma writes in "The World Has Been Raining All Night," a poem dedicated to a friend who had recently passed away, "My lifelong work is the engraving of memories." So is the work of those who live and create after her, whose reckoning of the world she has indelibly changed. May all lives come in a circle and beyond. End Page 27 The World Has Been Raining All Night for Zhuo Qing The world has been raining all night,a usual night—some are wasting away good lives in front of the television,some drown and float up in wine glasses,and some crush their fear, build new selves beneath thirst.These aren't mere theories,you would agree; the world needs categorization.I recall the weather in late spring, bushes in the garden,water grass, people dancing on banks.Rum ice cream we have relished …If the pains in my life are presented to you,things might change.Or they might not; others' healings should not trouble you.I hesitated in that late spring,a warm and dark gathering, beers, hugs,morning lipstick, camera.Zhongguancun. Lunch with someone I have loved.Jewish history. Stuffy coffee shop.All the details of my life are rising …That only night:you returned from hiking, having just survived a crisis.You weren't the first and won't be the last.I firmly believe:I was with you that moment.That night's rain has wetted me the same.You meant "unimaginable";the crows above the village were a symbol of death,though not entirely ominous.At this moment I can only memorize that warm hand I have held—you become a memory shared by all,and my lifelong work is the engraving of memories. End Page 28 Drink This Tea written for Huang Zhaojing and our foolish lives Shortly, summer will arrive,land on our imaginary plain.Close friends sing songs of farewell at dusk,walk on slant, crossing paths on the plain.These paths eventually set them apart.One Chinese lady drinks afternoon tea in London,and another wanders in eight treasures tea.Through tea, they once again touch each other:"I plan to learn from Zhou Zuoren, if possible."Only a thought that turns into a chance,they would either look at each other not knowingwhat to do or read each other's minds.Most times, older gingers are spicier;moves should be quick and decisive;the key is to stop while you're ahead.Thousands of lessons have been learned,and we do not grow any wiser.What is forgotten goes into the past.We read, practice calligraphy, get chills, exclaim.On loose sheets, blueprints that do not know the...