Y E H U I
________________TWO POEMS
Translated by Joshua Beckman and Zhang Er
The Old Telephone
Entering old age, my father's body feels better
more flexible. He climbs on top of the surrounding wall
to trim the branches, nervously
he stands in wind, silently he works alone, if
anyone talks to him, he growls, because he gets the danger
Never mind the ringing, he always says there's nothing urgent
One evening I come in from outside
I hear the crazed ringing of an old-fashioned phone
I run upstairs, pick it up, but it's the wrong number
Lamp light from outside falls on the wood floor, an inverted wedge
I remember some days, how similar, yet don't know which days
I remember I was with another boy, standing in the blue background just
after the rain had cleared up
under a telephone post made of a dark tree of no particular use
a man walked towards us, lean and elongated, stepping quickly as if
he were my father
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