Three Poems from The Passion of the Rabbit God
By Hongwei Bao, from The Passion of the Rabbit God, published by Valley Press, 2024
Qu Yuan
As I threw myself into the Miluo River, I felt the glare
of the sun, the whisper of the wind, the splash of the cold
water breaking into a thousand tiny waves, rippling,
reverberating, glistening in the bright sunlight. I plunged
deep into the sandy riverbed, where my lips were kissed
by the fish, feet tickled by the weeds, which all reminded
me of you, my dear king, your smile, your kiss, my
pounding heart, your peach-coloured cheeks. Our time
was short, because of your weakness, and the rumours
spread in the royal court by petty bystanders, those who
disliked me, who envied us. What intrigues! What malicious
lies! They say I sacrificed myself for the nation. I didn’t.
The kingdom means nothing to me. All its pompousness,
pretentiousness, emptiness. But you, my love, you are my
Muse. You are the only reason for all my verses. Please don’t
let them fall into the hands of those people. They don’t
deserve to read my poems. They won’t appreciate my affection
for you, and our feelings for each other. Remember me,
every year on the fifth day of the fifth month, when the crescent
moon climbs up the sky, when its silver light is cast on the river,
when the water is calm and clean. Think of the many
happy days we’ve had together. Please don’t shed tears.
Take delight eating rice dumplings in my memory, unwrapping
the green bamboo leaves, feeling the warmth of my tongue, the taste
of me in your mouth. Please don’t throw dumplings into the river
while the poor are starving, or allow dragon boats to roar
on the canal, in my name, for the thunderous noise will disturb
the quiet life of the fish, the plants, my spirit, the river ghosts.
Chang’e
On full-moon nights, if you look up to the sky, you’ll see
me cross the lunar sea, wandering in the fragrance of osmanthus,
accompanied by my beloved jade white bunny. Stop
pitying me for my loneliness or misery, for I have
none of them. Men have composed numerous verses
to praise me, pens flowing with lust for my beauty. They
have invented countless lies to defame, to warn of me –
jealous of what they can’t have. What no one can.
They say I’m greedy, selfish, and vain, a femme
fatale. They say I betrayed my husband, Hou Yi,
an ‘honourable man’. Lies. These are all his lies.
My husband hasn’t mentioned the beatings, his affairs,
my tears on those long, sleepless nights. Don’t be fooled
by him. By society, by his kind. The day I lost my courage
to live, I swallowed all the pills in the fridge, unaware
they were not for sleep, but longevity. My husband
had kept them for himself, so his tyranny would last
forever. (How ridiculous!) In trance, my body became
lighter and lighter, like a feather, like a cloud,
rising to the air, descending on the moon. Here I met
my sisters, who shared similar experiences. We care
for one another. We plant osmanthus and raise bunnies.
Who says the moon is a cold, lonely and desolate
place? I couldn’t be happier here. I don’t miss the earth,
that dirty, polluted planet where lies and violence
abound, from which arrogant men send spaceships
to planets – one after another – some bearing my name,
claiming ‘science’, but truly, seeking a beauty they can
only dream of, born from a lie repeated a thousand times
of the ‘femme fatale’ banished to, imprisoned on, the moon.
Lunar New Year
When fireworks light up the sky, announcing
the beginning of the Lunar New Year
(Some call it Chinese New Year
or the Spring Festival, but I praise the moon),
when loud firecrackers and red spring couplets
join hands to expel evil spirits (along with all
the nightmares from the pandemic lockdown),
when families are gathering for dumplings
or glutenous rice cakes (Are you sure they’re
happy? What about those who live alone
or who don’t do this?) I’m thinking of you.
I’m thinking of the millions who lost
their lives or their loved ones in the pandemic
(and the millions more who lost their work,
home or hope). I’m thinking of the funerals
that took place at the same time as the New Year
celebrations. (Should this be a season of joy
or mourning?) I’m thinking of the people jailed
simply because they raised a piece of white paper.
(The paper remained silent, even when
burnt, thrown away, or torn apart.)
I’m thinking of the physical or verbal abuse
Asians receive because of how they look.
(‘You’re Chinese, you deserve it!’)
I’m thinking of the Asian women shot dead
in Atlanta because of a white man’s obsession
(and the community who were denied rights
to mourning). I’m thinking of the gunshots
that shattered the glass of the dance studio
in Monterey Park, California. (Why so much hatred?)
The Year of the Tiger was fierce, but it’s finally
gone. (Perhaps no valorisation of meat-eating
creatures in the future.) The Year of the Rabbit arrives
quietly and discreetly (and may more people
become vegetarian or vegan this year).
I’m thinking of you, me, and us, still separated
by the oceans. And I’m thinking of the day
when we’ll finally meet, sometime, somewhere.