Chapter 6, Passionate Enlightenment Poets
——Reading Bei Dao’s passionate, hazy poem
“Ending or Beginning — Dedicated to Yu Luoke”
I, standing here
in place of another murdered person
for the sake that whenever the sun rises
the heavy shadow becomes like a road
passing through the entire land
Sorrowful fog
covers the patchwork roofs like scattered patches
between house and house
chimneys spitting out crowds like ashes
warmth is blown away from bright treetops
lingers on the impoverished cigarette butts
in one tired hand after another
rising into low dark clouds
In the name of the sun
darkness openly plunders
silence is still an Eastern story
the people on ancient murals
silently live forever
silently die
Ah, my land
why do you no longer sing
could it be that even the rope of the Yellow River boatmen
is like a snapped string
no longer making sound
could it be that time’s dim mirror
has forever turned its back on you
Only stars and floating clouds remain
I search for you
in repeated dreams
in one misty night or morning after another
I search for spring and fruit trees
for wisps of wind stirred by bees
I search for the tides of the coast
for seagulls made of sunlight on wave crests
I search for legends built into walls
for you and my forgotten names
If blood can make you fertile
on tomorrow’s branches
ripe fruit
will retain my color
It must be admitted
in the white cold light of death
I trembled
who would be willing to become a meteor
or the cold statue of a martyr
watching the unextinguished fire of youth
pass into another’s hands
even if doves land on the shoulder
they cannot feel body heat or breath
they smooth their feathers for a moment
then hurry away again
I am a human being
I need love
I long, in the eyes of my lover
to spend every peaceful dusk
in the rocking of a cradle
waiting for my son’s first call
on grass and fallen leaves
on every sincere gaze
I write the poem of life
this ordinary wish
has now become the full price of being human
In my lifetime
I have lied many times
yet I have always honestly kept
a promise made in childhood
therefore, the world
that cannot coexist with a child’s heart
has never again forgiven me
I, standing here
in place of another murdered person
have no other choice
where I fall down
another person will rise
on my shoulders is wind
above the wind are flickering star clusters
Perhaps one day
the sun will become a withered wreath
hanging down
before every immortal warrior
forest-like growing tombstones
crows, fragments of the night
scattered down in disorder
“Misty Poetry Movement” originated in 1976, during the “April Fifth Movement” period of the Beijing Tiananmen Xidan Democracy Wall. From Bei Dao’s poem “Answer” to the early 1980s, although lasting only a few short years, it marked the beginning of Chinese modern poetry breaking away from the ghost of Marxist-Leninist-Maoist doctrine and turning toward the poet’s inner consciousness and social observation. The journal “Today,” founded in Beijing at the end of 1978, was the base of the Misty Poetry Movement. Bei Dao, Gu Cheng, Yang Lian, Shu Ting, and later Hai Zi, were major poets of this period. So-called “Misty Poetry” responded to strict ideological censorship at the time; poets adopted Western expressive techniques, using symbolism and implication to conceal the real intent and reference of the poems. Its main focus became the inner spiritual world, producing poetic ambiguity, blurred imagery, and multi-layered meanings.
At the end of ten years of the Cultural Revolution, when Chinese society was still in turmoil and everything awaited reconstruction, the opening lines of “Answer” — “Baseness is the passport of the base / Nobility is the epitaph of the noble” — indeed inspired the will of young intellectuals, making them recognize the parasitic privileged class that had long existed under the communist system: senior party cadres and party officials.
I will introduce another long poem by Bei Dao: “Ending or Beginning — Dedicated to Yu Luoke”. Yu Luoke was an upright and outspoken educated youth during the Cultural Revolution. Because he came from a “black five categories” family background, he suffered unequal treatment in education and employment. In 1967, he angrily wrote a series of essays titled “On Class Origin”, criticizing the bloodline ideology that the Chinese Communist Party had long used to guide dominant social thought—namely the theory of hereditary class status (“the son of a hero is a hero, the son of a reactionary is a villain”)—and advocating democracy and human rights. The essay was widely circulated and had a huge impact. In 1968, he was arrested by the authorities as a “great poisonous weed,” and in 1970 he was executed for “counterrevolutionary crimes” at a mass struggle rally at the Beijing Workers’ Gymnasium. He was 27 years old at the time of his death, and the poet Bei Dao was present in the same historical moment. For such a tragic young figure of his era, ten years later—before Yu Luoke had been formally rehabilitated by the judicial system—Bei Dao wrote this poem in support of this young man who “preferred to cry out and die,” positioning Yu Luoke as an “immortal warrior.”
“I, standing here / in place of another murdered person” — at the beginning of the poem, the poet replaces the murdered Yu Luoke with himself. “For the sake that whenever the sun rises / the heavy shadow becomes like a road / passing through the entire land” — the heavy shadow becoming like a road crossing the land implies that the poet identifies himself with Yu Luoke’s spirit of “preferring to cry out and die,” continuing Yu Luoke’s unfinished cause, walking across the land to awaken the people.
In the second and third sections, the poet describes his personal observations and experiences in the course of carrying out this mission: scenes of ruined cities and countryside — “sorrowful fog / covers the patchwork-like uneven roofs / between house and house / chimneys spitting out crowds like ashes” — and impoverished, resigned people: “warmth is blown away from bright treetops / lingers on the impoverished cigarette butts / in one exhausted hand after another / rising into low dark clouds,” and “the people on ancient murals / silently live forever / silently die.” This further implies that the main cause of social decay and people’s poverty comes from the corrupt officials of one-party dictatorship: “In the name of the sun / darkness openly plunders / silence is still an Eastern story.” Under the guise of “people’s dictatorship” (the sun), this dark and evil force openly and mercilessly plunders land resources and the necessities on which people depend for survival.
“Ah, my land / why do you no longer sing?” — in the following sections, the addressee “you” refers to this land of suffering. Through rhetorical questions, the poet examines the tragic events and conditions occurring on this land: “Could it be that even the rope of the Yellow River boatmen / is like a snapped string / no longer making sound / could it be that time’s dim mirror / has forever turned its back on you?” The Yellow River boatmen, bare-bodied while hauling ropes, are reduced to struggling laborers whose ropes even break; this suggests that the lower classes struggling for survival cannot even secure basic subsistence, and there is little hope for improvement on this land—what more can the people expect from the ruling class?
“Only stars and floating clouds remain / I search for you / in repeated dreams” — in such a desolate and decayed land, the poet still searches in dreams for Yu Luoke’s spirit; in “one misty night or morning after another,” he searches for symbols of hope—spring, fruit trees, and bees; searches for tides and seagulls above wave crests; searches for “legends built into walls / you and my forgotten names.” However, the poet gradually realizes that all this searching is futile. Without fundamental systemic reform, this land will still show no vision of the future.
After this recognition of reality, the poet directly questions the land: “If blood can make you fertile,” and then imagines himself possibly sharing Yu Luoke’s fate, giving blood or even life for this land: “On tomorrow’s branches / ripe fruit / will retain my color.” Yet in the face of an unknown future, the poet is not without fear internally, nor has his will never wavered: “It must be admitted / in the white cold light of death / I trembled.” If he truly becomes a martyr, he can only become a forgotten meteor or a cold statue, “watching the unextinguished fire of youth / pass into another’s hands / even if doves land on the shoulder / they cannot feel body heat or breath / they smooth their feathers / then hurry away again.”
The poet then turns toward his own inner self and makes an honest confession: “I am a human being / I need love,” expressing several inner needs and desires: (1) the desire to be loved: “I long, in the eyes of my lover / to spend every peaceful dusk”; (2) the desire for family and fatherhood: “in the rocking of a cradle / waiting for my son’s first call”; (3) the desire for life and poetry: “on grass and fallen leaves / on every sincere gaze / I write the poem of life.” And “this ordinary wish / has now become the full price of being human.” Faced with such a harsh environment, the poet’s spirit is worn down through self-reflection on reality; he realizes that he is in fact no different from ordinary people, longing for a stable home, a wife and children, and a simple everyday life.
In the process of self-examination, the poet admits: “In my lifetime / I have lied many times,” yet he “has always honestly kept / a promise made in childhood.” Here, the “childhood promise” refers to an “innocent heart”—a child’s heart that cannot be reconciled with worldly reality. “Therefore, the world / that cannot coexist with a child’s heart / has never again forgiven me.” Because of this innocence, the poet in real life is often judged and challenged by this “childlike sincerity” during self-reflection.
In the final two sections, the poet returns again from inner reflection to external reality: “I, standing here / in place of another murdered person,” deeply realizing that he “has no other choice,” and must face the future with courage: “Where I fall down / another person will rise.” He will continue the struggle against the harsh environment—the dangerous communist system and the corrupt privileged class of officials. Even if Bei Dao falls, he believes successors will rise, because “on my shoulders is wind / above the wind are flickering star clusters,” expressing a radiant sense of historical mission.
In the ending, the poet holds hope for China’s future: “Perhaps one day / the sun will become a withered wreath / hanging down / before every immortal warrior / forest-like growing tombstones.” This suggests that wrongful cases like Yu Luoke’s will eventually be re-examined and rehabilitated. Like the sun’s overwhelming flames, the evil party and social system will, under waves of reflection and critique, “shrink into wreaths,” confessing to the “immortal warriors,” and restoring their historical evaluation and position. When that moment of truth arrives, the corrupt officials and privileged classes—like crows—“crows, fragments of the night / scattered down in disorder”—will be torn apart, muttering in the darkness. This will mark the true end of the Cultural Revolution turmoil and the beginning of a new China.
