Bei Dao
Born
in Beijing, China
August 02, 1949
Genre
|
City Gate, Open Up
by
—
published
2010
—
14 editions
|
|
|
The August Sleepwalker
—
published
1988
—
6 editions
|
|
|
The Rose of Time: New and Selected Poems (New Directions Paperbook)
by
—
published
2005
—
11 editions
|
|
|
Waves: Stories by Bei Dao
by
—
published
1985
—
25 editions
|
|
|
Unlock
by
—
published
2000
—
4 editions
|
|
|
At the Sky's Edge: Poems 1991-1996
by
—
published
1993
—
4 editions
|
|
|
Landscape over Zero (New Directions Paperbook, 831) (English, Chinese and Chinese Edition)
—
published
1996
—
8 editions
|
|
|
Blue House
by
—
published
1999
—
7 editions
|
|
|
Sidetracks
by |
|
|
Midnight's Gate: Essays
by
—
published
2002
—
10 editions
|
|
“In the world I am
Always a stranger
I do not understand its language
It does not understand my silence”
―
Always a stranger
I do not understand its language
It does not understand my silence”
―
“the bouquet
Between me and the world
you are a bay, a sail
the faithful ends of a rope
you are a fountain, a wind,
a shrill childhood cry.
Between me and the world
you are a picture frame, a window
a field covered in wildflowers
you are a breath, a bed,
a night that keeps the stars company.
Between me and the world,
you are a calendar, a compass
a ray of light that slips through the gloom
you are a biographical sketch, a book mark
a preface that comes at the end.
between me and the world
you are a gauze curtain, a mist
a lamp shining in my dreams
you are a bamboo flute, a song without words
a closed eyelid carved in stone.
Between me and the world
you are a chasm, a pool
an abyss plunging down
you are a balustrade, a wall
a shield’s eternal pattern.”
―
Between me and the world
you are a bay, a sail
the faithful ends of a rope
you are a fountain, a wind,
a shrill childhood cry.
Between me and the world
you are a picture frame, a window
a field covered in wildflowers
you are a breath, a bed,
a night that keeps the stars company.
Between me and the world,
you are a calendar, a compass
a ray of light that slips through the gloom
you are a biographical sketch, a book mark
a preface that comes at the end.
between me and the world
you are a gauze curtain, a mist
a lamp shining in my dreams
you are a bamboo flute, a song without words
a closed eyelid carved in stone.
Between me and the world
you are a chasm, a pool
an abyss plunging down
you are a balustrade, a wall
a shield’s eternal pattern.”
―
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