West Changan Street
Bian Zhilin

Long is the slanting, slanting, faint shadows
Of dead trees, of the old man walking under the trees,
Of the cane on which he leans,
All upon the wall, the red wall of the afterglow.
Long also is the red wall, the blue sky beyond the wall,
The blue sky of the North is very long, very long.
O! Old man, this road, to you, must be
Long? The days in winter, to you, must be also
Very long? Yes, I believe.
Look! I am now closer, why not
Talk as we walk, about this, about that?
But we say nothing to each other,
We only follow, follow each other’s shadow,
Walking, walking…
How many years now,
These shadows walking, these long walking shadows?
On and on, and on and on,
To the wilderness, marching to the Great Wall?
Sounds of bugles, it seems. A big squad of cavalry
Moves on, facing a big circle of morning sun.
The morning sun is each person’s red face; horse hooves
Raise golden dust, ten feet, twenty-feet high.
Nothing, nothing at all. I am still on the sidewalk,
Nor do I see the old man of former times; two or three
Soldiers in yellow uniforms standing before the main gate,
(Army headquarters? Once a so-and-so prefecture?)
They stand three upright like tombstones,
Making no sound, no conversation, and thinking of home,
Of home under the sky of the Northeast? Must be……
But to think of it now is useless,
Even if they think of the enemy’s war horses now
Drinking water by the well of
Their home, or of a group of chickens
Wandering uneasily into sorghum fields, also
Of not knowing where their temporary home be! Thud, thud.
What? Gunshots? Where from?
Local-made guns! Our own! No fear, no fear……
But the singing of crickets has already seeped through
The green silk cover, now all faded!
Thinking? Not a bit of use at all!
Think tomorrow. Now do nothing but
Keep quiet, no conversation, but come head-lowered.
Look at the cars flash past the long boulevard.
How “modern”! how comfortable! Martial-looking, eh…
But how can they be compared to the large flags of former times?
A whole face of broad smiles under the red sun!
If you don’t believe me, ask the three big red doors
In front, now sadly facing
The autumn sun.
Ah! under the setting sun
I have an old friend who is living in
A much older city, how is he now?
Perhaps he is walking past a deserted street
Accompanying a long, slanting, faint shadow?
Tell me your first impressions of Changan.
(By my side there seems to be your shadow)
Friend, don’t follow the example of the old man;
Let us talk……