Biography of Cao Shui
Cao Shui（Chinese: 曹谁;pinyin: Cáo Shuí), also Shawn Cao (born in Jun 5, 1982), is a Chinese poet, novelist, screenwriter and translator. He is a representative figure of Chinese Contemporary Literature. He leads the Great Poetry Movement, Poetry Film Movement and Dramatizing Fiction Movement. In his “Manifesto of Great Poetry”, he aims to integrate sacred and secular cultures, oriental and occidental cultures, ancient and modern cultures in Chinese literature. In 2008, he resigned from a newspaper and traveled around Tibet and Xinjiang, which is the center of Eurasia or the World in his view. His novels Secret of Heaven trilogy tells the whole developing history of human civilization. His most notable works includes Epic of Eurasia, the already mentioned trilogy and King Peacock (TV series). In his works, he extracts elements of various ancient human civilizations, from Babylon to the west to Judea, Egypt, Greece, to the east to Persia, India, China, and uses these elements to reconstruct a new Utopian human homeland, which always described as Eurasia, the Top of the Tower of Babel or Kunlun Mountains (Heaven Mountains). So far fourty books of Cao Shui have been published, including ten poem collections, four essay collections, ten novels, twenty fairy tales, four translations and one hundred episodes TV series and films. He has won more than 50 literary awards worldwide, including the 1st Chinese Young Poet Award, the 4th Cao Yu Cup Drama Award, the Apollo Dionysus Award of the 8th Italian Rome International Academy of Contemporary Poetry and Art Award, the 12th Russian Golden Knight Award, and the Top Ten Public Figures of the 5th Chinese Poetry Spring Festival Gala, etc. His works have been translated into 30 languages, including English, Italian, Spanish, French, German, Swedish, Portuguese, Danish, Polish, Russian, Hungarian, Croatian, Slovenian, Turkish, Arabic, Japanese, Korean, Hindi, Nepali, Vietnamese, Greek, Bengali, Kazakh, Irish, Serbian, Kyrgyz, Albanian, Persian, Macedonian, Mongolian, etc. He has been invited to participate in the 30th Medellin International Poetry Festival, the 26th Havana International Poetry Festival, the 14th Kritya International Poetry Festival in India and the 4th Qinghai Lake International Poetry Festival. He is a member of China Writers Association, China Film Association and China Poetry Society. He is also chief editor of Great Poetry, deputy editor in chief of World Poetry, member of China Writers’ Association, Asian Coordinator of World Poetry Movement, Chinese Representative of BRICS Writers Association, secretary general of Boao International Poetry Festival, executive president of the Silk Road International Poetry Festival and Chairman of Beijing International Poetry Film Festival. Currently he lives in Beijing, and works as a professional writer, translator and screenwriter.
GREAT DANCE OF SORROW
You stand center stage
They all push you towards sorrow
Backstage, some play the accompaniment
Behind you, some dance to the funeral music
Standing center stage crying, there’s only you
This stage stands center of the Asian continent
You are on the Pamir plateue wailing
People come from all directions
Asians play funeral marches for you
And Europeans dance along
Wishing for death, you stand there
You are the most ordinary person
Yet no one will let you be
They sing for you, dance for you
To aid your sorrow process
Until you give up all hope
Until you depart this world
They’ll grieve briefly and leave
To find the next eulogee
Translated by Brendan Higginbottom（USA）
MERMAID
I walk along carrying an injured fish
This pot only fits one fish
How was it that the fish was injured?
I too want to know the answer
Only an examination will reveal the truth
I traveled past mountain ranges, bodies of water
I travel through centuries, millenia
Great rivers cut through deep valleys
One night I fell into flooding waters
The fish jumped out from the jar
I could only stare as she left
People say I’m affable
The fish now becomes a mermaid
With servant girls by her side
A waning moon sits upon my head
The mermaid ascends the moon
A drop of fragrant dew drops down
I extended my hands to catch it
And suddenly understood life that’s passed, life that comes
Translated by Brendan Higginbottom（USA）
GRAVE LIQUOR
We buried a jug of liquor in a grave
Buried last year under the moon
Dug up this year under the sun
We drink at either dusk or dawn
Looking at the girl’s name incribed on the tomb
Rising or setting, we aren’t sure of the sun
The jug of liquor in the grave was empty
Unaware when burried
Realized when retrieved
We think day and night of empty liquor jugs
Translated by Brendan Higginbottom（USA）
PRINCE SNOW LEOPARD
A long tail coiled overhead,
yellow and white patterns
reflect the snow mountain.
Sharp claws sparkling with stars,
roars in the wind pass through like a gale.
I think back to years ago,
when I found myself before its blue eyes:
like lights they illuminated space and time.
You, king of beasts, look at your kingdom:
wild yaks are loyal and brave generals,
the Tibetan antelope is a foresighted minister,
the Tibetan wild donkey is a holy Hermit,
white-lipped deer are monks
who see through the red dust.
Wolves can organize armies,
owls are night killers,
black-necked crane is a faithful lover.
Brown bear is a master of camouflage,
falcons control the sky,
snow-fowls are God’s poultry.
I crossed the First Canyon of the Yangtze River,
our four eyes looked at each other.
Years later, I always remember the thrill of that meeting.
Why can’t I control my tears?
Because I am a prisoner of time and space
and you will be the king of freedom forever.
SNOW COUNTRY
The heavy snow has blocked the mountain pass.
We ride horses between Heaven and Earth.
Laughter on horsebacks float in the wind.
Your lips are as red as wild roses,
my hair is black like smoke.
We meet on both sides of the river,
we are looking across two worlds.
We look inside and outside the castle,
we are looking across two worlds.
We are suddenly dizzy,
experiencing love and hate in a flash,
savouring joy and sorrow in a flash.
We extend our hands at the same time,
snow and ice have beating hearts.
That’s how we go together
and spend a day in the Snowy Country.
From sunrise to sunset.
It will be over when we wake up,
and this day will be a lifetime.
MERMAID
I walk along carrying an injured fish.
This pot only fits one fish.
How was it that the fish was injured?
I too want to know the answer.
Only an examination will reveal the truth.
I traveled past mountain ranges, bodies of water,
I travel through centuries, millenia.
Great rivers cut through deep valleys.
One night I fell into flooding waters.
The fish jumped out from the jar.
I could only stare as she left.
People say I’m affable.
The fish now becomes a mermaid
with servant girls by her side.
A waning moon sits upon my head.
The mermaid ascends the moon.
A drop of fragrant dew drops down.
I extended my hands to catch it
and suddenly understood life that’s passed,
life that comes.
GREAT DANCE OF SORROW
You stand center stage,
they all push you towards sorrow.
Backstage, some play the accompaniment;
behind you, some dance to the funeral music.
Standing center stage crying, there’s only you.
This stage stands center of the Asian continent,
you are on the Pamir plateau wailing.
People come from all directions:
Asians play funeral marches for you
and Europeans dance along.
Wishing for death, you stand there.
You are the most ordinary person,
yet no one will let you be.
They sing for you, dance for you
to aid your sorrow process.
Until you give up all hope,
until you depart this world.
They’ll grieve briefly and leave
to find the next eulogy.
GUARD IN FRONT OF TIAN’ANMEN GATE
Countless people are smiling at you,
countless people take pictures of you.
You face important people every day,
they all rejoice around you,
but they never see you.
From birth to death, you are fixed
in front of Tian’anmen Gate,
with no expression on your face.
Looking coldly or warmly at the
Monument to the People’s Heroes
and at the portrait of Chairman Mao.
The guards in front of Tian’anmen Gate
look at the world:
countless men run in a hurry,
they go towards joy or sorrow;
countless women run in a hurry,
they go towards love or hate;
countless important people run in a hurry,
virtuous or foolish, loyal or treacherous.
They are all performing on the big stage
of Tian’anmen Square.
And you, guard in front of Tian’anmen Gate, are thinking:
“I watch the whole world quietly
in the wind and under the clouds.”
TWO BILLIONS YEARS OF LOVE:
COMMUNICATION IN THE UNIVERSE
I’m looking at you in the Milky Way System,
Local Group of Galaxies, Local Supercluster.
You are behind the Milky Way System,
Local Group of Galaxies, Local Supercluster.
We write love letters separated by the Virgo Galaxy Cluster.
I am writing letters in the Milky Way System,
Local Group of Galaxies, Local Supercluster.
You’re writing letters in the Andromeda Galaxy,
Local Group of Galaxies, the Local Supercluster.
We communicate in the distant starry sky,
which is the sea, while the celestial bodies are rocks.
It will take two million years for this letter
to reach us in the light.
Our families won’t be neighbors for two billion years.
I’m writing letters from the spiral arm of Orion,
in the Milky Way System, Local Group of Galaxies,
Local Supercluster.
People write letters from the spiral arms
of the Milky Way’s Andromeda, Cygnus and Sagittarius.
We’re surrounded by dark matter.
Between us there is a huge black hole.
We spin with dark energy,
we’re all trying to find the time channel.
So when I will look back, I will see that you are smiling
in the depth of Universe.
DOUBLE HEADED WHITE SWAN
A double-headed white swan came from two directions,
the double-headed white swan came at night.
The double-headed White Swan stopped on my head in the middle of Eurasia.
It watched the sunrise in the East and sunset in the West.
It said: “Asia is on the left and Europe is on the right.”
We prospered between two rivers.
The White Swan with two heads was flying around me in the black night sky.
I closed my eyes and it entered my body.
And now, the double-headed White Swan always flies towards me from two directions.
FIRE DRAGON – HORSES
The sand sank into the water
and fire blazed on the ice.
Where I hid between water and fire,
a secret love affair with a dragon was starting.
My anger burned on ice,
reflecting on the blue frost
and crossing dry pastures.
Fire surged everywhere in the mountains.
I laid quietly in the fire on the ice facing the North.
How delicate was the moon on the dragon in the night!
I’ll see fire dragon- horses running
towards the green pasture next spring,
trotting on the cracked ice.
Fire will sparkle over their heads,
fire will come from them,
but last year it sank into their hearts.
CROWN HIDDEN DEEP WITHIN
They’re on a horse trotting towards me.
The horse is facing backwards,
the horse is entirely hoofless,
its back is packed with monkeys.
I reach out for a long vine,
it became a snake, scurried away.
Cold snakes do not have teeth;
storing burning venom in their belly.
Looking past the confused crowd
I see the Earth;
looking past the blurred Earth
I see you.
Across your dizzy, teary eyes rests a crown
and I want to break it to bits.
I ALWAYS SEE MY MOTHER AS A
TWELVE-YEARS- OLD GIRL
Mother came to Beijing to see her grandson Cao Eurofrasia,
I show her Qianmen and Tian’anmen,
I took her to Houhai and Shichahai.
She didn’t say anything.
Every time we came across a clothes shop,
she wanted to have a look carefully.
Mother is like all women:
she likes beautiful clothes.
But I never knew that.
It was as if I had seen my mother
looking like a twelve-years-old girl.
She ran on the blooming hills
and rejoiced in a new dress.
Grannie died that year;
from then on, mum no longer dared to like clothes.
She brought up my little uncle,
she brought up Cao Shui and Cao Xi,
and let us go to school with the money saved on clothes.
Cao Xi became a doctor
at Chinese Academy of Sciences;
Cao Shui got a master’s degree
at Peking Normal University.
Mother was relieved at last.
She was there choosing a dress
and I could not help crying.
I always see my mother as a twelve-years-old girl.
A DREAM IN THE DEEPNESS
OF AZURE CLOUD TEMPLE
Dropping into the embrace of Fragrant Hill in the clouds,
Azure Cloud Temple is hidden within
and we hide deeper.
We enter through the mountain gate,
the courtyards unfold in succession.
Future is on the left and past is on the right.
We cross time’s corridor.
The passage of time opens,
straight to the center of the Five-Directions Pagoda.
We sit in the clouds
listening to the bells jingle and
chanting sutras in the absence of time.
We enter deeper Mandala,
we sleep in the middle.
The skyline overlooks the secular world.
In dreams we connect the future to the past
and, when we wake up, know everything.
ONE OF OUR DREAMS IS BETTER THAN
100,000 KINDS OF LIFE
People came from all directions
like rivers flowing back to the Highland,
like souls ascending the stars.
From China, India, Persia,
Greece, Egypt, Judea,
Jerusalem and Varanasi.
We arrived calmly too.
From Dunhuang to Babylon and Samarkand.
We arrived at the round top of the dome.
Tall stone pillars were erected up to the sky.
They entered through six doors,
we descended from the dome.
The Chinese spoke of the Yellow Emperor in Chinese;
the Greeks spoke of Zeus in Greek;
the Indians spoke of Indra in Hindi;
the Jews spoke of Jehovah in Jewish;
the Egyptians spoke of Ra, the God of Sun, in Egyptian;
the Persians spoke of Marduk in Persian.
They argued endlessly.
We couldn’t understand their language,
but we knew what they were talking about.
We read a lyric of the Tower of Babel:
words against people from all over the world.
They were all shocked
under the sun and the moon.
The Sumerians embraced the Akkadians;
Huangdi’s tribe danced with Yandi’s tribe;
the Cretans played with the Mycenaeans;
the Dravidians sang with the Aryans;
the Etruscans toasted to the Latins.
They came up and shook hands with us.
The Archangel Metatron came forward and sang:
“Your words are better than 100,000 books;
one of your poems is better than 100,000 languages;
one of your dreams is better than 100,000 kinds of life.
I’m Mithras, I’m Maitreya,
I’m the Archangel Metatron.”
We saw it from the dome.
The pillars around had a phallic shape;
our soft dome was a vagina.
The Archangel painted the Metatron’s cube:
the secret of everything was in their midst.
People were running on horses with two heads
to tell each other about themselves.
From Babylon,
from Chang’an to Luoyang,
Beijing, Nanjing, Kyoto,
Rome, Byzantium, Moscow, Vienna, Berlin,
New York, Los Angeles,
Machu Picchu and Tenochtitlan.
Our gathering was better than 100,000 meetings.
Everything started from here,
and everything will end here.
Eventually we will see our children and grandchildren
scattered all over the world.
（Translated by Fiori Picco）
（Selected from Flowers of Empire, Fiori D’Asia Editrice）