What do you think?
Rate this book
Sidetracks
A lyrical masterpiece by the renowned poet with a “Whitman-like rhetorical immensity coupled with a passionately eccentric sensibility” ( Carol Muske Dukes , Los Angeles Times) Sidetracks , Bei Dao’s first new collection in almost fifteen years, is also the poet’s first long poem and his magnum opus―the artistic culmination of a lifetime devoted to the renewal and reinvention of language. “As a poet, I am always lost,” Bei Dao once said. Opening with a prologue of heavenly questions and followed by thirty-four cantos, Sidetracks travels forward and backward along the divergent paths of the poet’s wandering life―from his time as a Young Pioneer in Beijing, through the years of exile living in six countries, back to the rural construction site where he worked during the Cultural Revolution, to the “sunshine tablecloth” in his kitchen in Davis, California, and his emotional visit home after a thirteen-year separation (“the mother tongue has deepened my foreignness”). All the various currents of our times rush into his lifelines, reconfigured through the “vortex of experience” and the poet’s encounters with friends and strangers, artists and ghosts, as he moves from place to place, unable to return home. As the poet Michael Palmer has noted, “Bei Dao’s work, in its rapid transitions, abrupt juxtapositions, and frequent recurrence to open syntax evokes the un-speakability of the exile’s condition. It is a poetry of explosive convergences, of submersions and unfixed boundaries, ‘amid languages.’”
176 pages, Paperback
Published May 14, 2024
11 people are currently reading
313 people want to read
About the author
Bei Dao
84 books122 followersName in Chinese: 北岛
Bei Dao ("Northern Island") is another name for Zhifu Island.
Bei Dao literally "Northern Island", born August 2, 1949) is the pen name of Chinese poet Zhao Zhenkai. He was born in Beijing. He chose the pen name because he came from the north and because of his preference for solitude. Bei Dao is the most notable representative of the Misty Poets, a group of Chinese poets who reacted against the restrictions of the Cultural Revolution.
As a teenager, Bei Dao was a member of the Red Guards, the enthusiastic followers of Mao Zedong who enforced the dictates of the Cultural Revolution, often through violent means. He had misgivings about the Revolution and was "re-educated" as a construction worker, from 1969 to 1980.[5] Bei Dao and Mang Ke founded the magazine Jintian[6] (Today), the central publication of the Misty Poets, which was published from 1978 until 1980, when it was banned. The work of the Misty Poets and Bei Dao in particular were an inspiration to pro-democracy movements in China. Most notable was his poem "Huida" ("The Answer") which was written during the 1976 Tiananmen demonstrations in which he participated. The poem was taken up as a defiant anthem of the pro-democracy movement and appeared on posters during the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989. During the 1989 protests and subsequent shootings, Bei Dao was at a literary conference in Berlin and was not allowed to return to China until 2006. (Three other leading Misty Poets — Gu Cheng, Duo Duo, and Yang Lian — were also exiled.) His then wife, Shao Fei, and their daughter were not allowed to leave China to join him for another six years.
Since 1987, Bei Dao has lived and taught in England, Germany, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands, France, and the United States. His work has been translated into twenty-five languages, including five poetry volumes in English[7] along with the story collection Waves (1990) and the essay collections Blue House (2000) and Midnight's Gate (2005). Bei Dao continued his work in exile. His work has been included in anthologies such as The Red Azalea: Chinese Poetry Since the Cultural Revolution (1990)[8] and Out of the Howling Storm: The New Chinese poetry.[9]
Bei Dao has won numerous awards, including the Tucholsky Prize from Swedish PEN, International Poetry Argana Award from the House of Poetry in Morocco and the PEN/Barbara Goldsmith Freedom to Write Award. He is an honorary member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
Jintian was resurrected in Stockholm in 1990 as a forum for expatriate Chinese writers. He has taught and lectured at the University of Notre Dame in Indiana, the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, Beloit College, Wisconsin, and is Professor of Humanities in the Center for East Asian Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. He has been repeatedly nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Bei Dao ("Northern Island") is another name for Zhifu Island.
Bei Dao literally "Northern Island", born August 2, 1949) is the pen name of Chinese poet Zhao Zhenkai. He was born in Beijing. He chose the pen name because he came from the north and because of his preference for solitude. Bei Dao is the most notable representative of the Misty Poets, a group of Chinese poets who reacted against the restrictions of the Cultural Revolution.
As a teenager, Bei Dao was a member of the Red Guards, the enthusiastic followers of Mao Zedong who enforced the dictates of the Cultural Revolution, often through violent means. He had misgivings about the Revolution and was "re-educated" as a construction worker, from 1969 to 1980.[5] Bei Dao and Mang Ke founded the magazine Jintian[6] (Today), the central publication of the Misty Poets, which was published from 1978 until 1980, when it was banned. The work of the Misty Poets and Bei Dao in particular were an inspiration to pro-democracy movements in China. Most notable was his poem "Huida" ("The Answer") which was written during the 1976 Tiananmen demonstrations in which he participated. The poem was taken up as a defiant anthem of the pro-democracy movement and appeared on posters during the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989. During the 1989 protests and subsequent shootings, Bei Dao was at a literary conference in Berlin and was not allowed to return to China until 2006. (Three other leading Misty Poets — Gu Cheng, Duo Duo, and Yang Lian — were also exiled.) His then wife, Shao Fei, and their daughter were not allowed to leave China to join him for another six years.
Since 1987, Bei Dao has lived and taught in England, Germany, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands, France, and the United States. His work has been translated into twenty-five languages, including five poetry volumes in English[7] along with the story collection Waves (1990) and the essay collections Blue House (2000) and Midnight's Gate (2005). Bei Dao continued his work in exile. His work has been included in anthologies such as The Red Azalea: Chinese Poetry Since the Cultural Revolution (1990)[8] and Out of the Howling Storm: The New Chinese poetry.[9]
Bei Dao has won numerous awards, including the Tucholsky Prize from Swedish PEN, International Poetry Argana Award from the House of Poetry in Morocco and the PEN/Barbara Goldsmith Freedom to Write Award. He is an honorary member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
Jintian was resurrected in Stockholm in 1990 as a forum for expatriate Chinese writers. He has taught and lectured at the University of Notre Dame in Indiana, the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, Beloit College, Wisconsin, and is Professor of Humanities in the Center for East Asian Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. He has been repeatedly nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
December 31, 2025
Unos increíbles, otros meh
May 23, 2024
originally written in Chinese by the author Bei Dao (english translation credit is due to Jeffery Wang)
opening with a prologue of heavenly questions followed by thirty-four cantos, this gorgeous collection is too life-like for me the reader to scale it down to a synopsis size. visually, the poetry has an achievement-weight in appearance, a form with strong base, a solidity, yet the words feel opposite: like open windows. what others have called abrupt i read moreso as refined strength for conveyance, and it is a pleasure. the poems have transit and flow, “…of simplicity, of acceleration, of tunneling through emblem and image” (Michael Hoffman).
these lyrics are composed to life-like unromanticized (yet illustrious, enchanting) wavelengths on the page, are intense and exact yet lack exactly nothing in poetic wandering. these poems read like life, thoughts caught, impressions that spark visuals, elevated forms of interiority’s unarticulated and unanswerable questions-
the poems are heavenly answers to earthly witnessed/lived experience yet the ‘heavenly answer’ is in that they are distilled and formed into the container of individual poems rather than that there is/are any firm answer(s) to an eternally full life that must be lived, or written, or read, or lived.
“ II:
wild revelry is the privilege of slaves and the common folk
they use their feet to vote their hair to resist and make waves
songs boil the five stars in the public sqaure
night and day chase each other in the clouds
students boycott classes clocks stop at midnight
along the vertical axis of power a meteor soars
an accordian opens the deep folds of time
the clamorous waves of the singer roll stones roll sun
fear and courage are the same seed
making our stomachs ache and ache
the moment is defined by a bird turning in midflight
the bird is an image that lasts an instant
soldiers at the city gates must be courting danger
lofty mountains flowing waters end in the palm of a hand
the sky leans against the glass if utopia
the grip of the god of death tightens around youthful hearts
midnight hear the dogs howl in the thick fog
how can the broken line of death reach the end
Forbidden City and traffic lights
the season of change cannot be stopped
open a history book or a newspaper
ambushed by tiger leopard jackal wolf
break out of the snare of Chinese characters
outside the gate of the underground another prison awaits
the revolution needs a bigger space
so that the same tragedy cannot repeat itself
protest banners ice empty plastic bottles
guitar players leaflets the glint of blood on the hour hand
the flocks of geese with tents bound to the earth
hunger strikers squandering their last provisions
negotiations and farmers markets haggling over prices
brakes fail while flooring the gas
ambulances wail through the city
trees thirst in silence along the shaded avenues
the public square absorbs the heat late into the night
moonlights oscillates insomniacs swim
the storm whirls away the details of the dreams
whispers and martial law warnings rage against the night sky
a wedding ceremony unfolds beside the monument
the blue beam of a searchlight escorts the bride
freshly brushed blue paint is already fading
and you have become unrecognizable in the mirror
history eats weeds stones are displaced
the seven stars of the Dipper point to no exit
sharp claws cannot reach your own back
anonymous diaries disperse
narratives replace different characters
until the end of the opening———
all the long nights are doomed expectations
all revolutions are ideals betrayed
tears run down the face of a young girl
secret little paths outside history
show us the way the learn how to grieve in revelry
and in grief to learn how to sing silently silently
on the way out of the square looking back
the tide laps the night into a giant wave
“
opening with a prologue of heavenly questions followed by thirty-four cantos, this gorgeous collection is too life-like for me the reader to scale it down to a synopsis size. visually, the poetry has an achievement-weight in appearance, a form with strong base, a solidity, yet the words feel opposite: like open windows. what others have called abrupt i read moreso as refined strength for conveyance, and it is a pleasure. the poems have transit and flow, “…of simplicity, of acceleration, of tunneling through emblem and image” (Michael Hoffman).
these lyrics are composed to life-like unromanticized (yet illustrious, enchanting) wavelengths on the page, are intense and exact yet lack exactly nothing in poetic wandering. these poems read like life, thoughts caught, impressions that spark visuals, elevated forms of interiority’s unarticulated and unanswerable questions-
the poems are heavenly answers to earthly witnessed/lived experience yet the ‘heavenly answer’ is in that they are distilled and formed into the container of individual poems rather than that there is/are any firm answer(s) to an eternally full life that must be lived, or written, or read, or lived.
“ II:
wild revelry is the privilege of slaves and the common folk
they use their feet to vote their hair to resist and make waves
songs boil the five stars in the public sqaure
night and day chase each other in the clouds
students boycott classes clocks stop at midnight
along the vertical axis of power a meteor soars
an accordian opens the deep folds of time
the clamorous waves of the singer roll stones roll sun
fear and courage are the same seed
making our stomachs ache and ache
the moment is defined by a bird turning in midflight
the bird is an image that lasts an instant
soldiers at the city gates must be courting danger
lofty mountains flowing waters end in the palm of a hand
the sky leans against the glass if utopia
the grip of the god of death tightens around youthful hearts
midnight hear the dogs howl in the thick fog
how can the broken line of death reach the end
Forbidden City and traffic lights
the season of change cannot be stopped
open a history book or a newspaper
ambushed by tiger leopard jackal wolf
break out of the snare of Chinese characters
outside the gate of the underground another prison awaits
the revolution needs a bigger space
so that the same tragedy cannot repeat itself
protest banners ice empty plastic bottles
guitar players leaflets the glint of blood on the hour hand
the flocks of geese with tents bound to the earth
hunger strikers squandering their last provisions
negotiations and farmers markets haggling over prices
brakes fail while flooring the gas
ambulances wail through the city
trees thirst in silence along the shaded avenues
the public square absorbs the heat late into the night
moonlights oscillates insomniacs swim
the storm whirls away the details of the dreams
whispers and martial law warnings rage against the night sky
a wedding ceremony unfolds beside the monument
the blue beam of a searchlight escorts the bride
freshly brushed blue paint is already fading
and you have become unrecognizable in the mirror
history eats weeds stones are displaced
the seven stars of the Dipper point to no exit
sharp claws cannot reach your own back
anonymous diaries disperse
narratives replace different characters
until the end of the opening———
all the long nights are doomed expectations
all revolutions are ideals betrayed
tears run down the face of a young girl
secret little paths outside history
show us the way the learn how to grieve in revelry
and in grief to learn how to sing silently silently
on the way out of the square looking back
the tide laps the night into a giant wave
“
November 16, 2025
from Prologue
Where is the homeland
to lay a cradle for the dead
Where is the other shore
for poetry to step across the end
Where is the peace
that lets the day distribute blue sky
Where is the history
for storytellers to document and archive
Where is the revolution
that uses a storm to play the horizon
Where is the truth
that looks for a volcano in words (5)
from XI.
long military march—to break free of the figures
ask directions—to look for home
reading—to lose the way in a mirror
poetry—burial rites for the river
tyrant—turns into a ghost
history—time becomes ruines
to twist off the faucet's singing
Gao Xingjiang's lenses flicker
looking left then right words digress
the arrow that forever points toward exile
disappearing in a thicket of words
he left his play Escape behind
for the relaunch of the magazine
open a space between wolf and wolf (50)
from XIII.
another boy pieces together a map of the world
there is another sort of color to language
I drink another cup of wine with my shadow
with my lover share another bed out to sea
cold currents reach another harbor
my hands let fly another letter (59)
from XVII.
Resist exile resist earth's invitation
rising awake—target of sun
my heart the alarm clock at the edge of the world
Resist fate resist my riverbed
quicken the whirlwind through the will of the trees
through the boundless wild weeds to the chorus of mountains
Resist death resist the power switch of fate
cut open an apple cut out the kernel of time
memory from empty nest to empty nest
Resist knowledge resist the gentle dust
a moonlight dancer disappears into the forest
in the whirlwind money clinks links cha-ching
Resist imperial authority resist hostages of the mind
an army of shadows engulf the light source of power
sparrow tracks on white paper (75)
from XXIV.
Darwish says to me on the matter of freedom
the pace of poets and politicians are not the same
from XXXIV.
I am you a stranger on the sidetracks
waiting for the season to harvest blades of light
sending letters though tomorrow has no address (153)
Where is the homeland
to lay a cradle for the dead
Where is the other shore
for poetry to step across the end
Where is the peace
that lets the day distribute blue sky
Where is the history
for storytellers to document and archive
Where is the revolution
that uses a storm to play the horizon
Where is the truth
that looks for a volcano in words (5)
from XI.
long military march—to break free of the figures
ask directions—to look for home
reading—to lose the way in a mirror
poetry—burial rites for the river
tyrant—turns into a ghost
history—time becomes ruines
to twist off the faucet's singing
Gao Xingjiang's lenses flicker
looking left then right words digress
the arrow that forever points toward exile
disappearing in a thicket of words
he left his play Escape behind
for the relaunch of the magazine
open a space between wolf and wolf (50)
from XIII.
another boy pieces together a map of the world
there is another sort of color to language
I drink another cup of wine with my shadow
with my lover share another bed out to sea
cold currents reach another harbor
my hands let fly another letter (59)
from XVII.
Resist exile resist earth's invitation
rising awake—target of sun
my heart the alarm clock at the edge of the world
Resist fate resist my riverbed
quicken the whirlwind through the will of the trees
through the boundless wild weeds to the chorus of mountains
Resist death resist the power switch of fate
cut open an apple cut out the kernel of time
memory from empty nest to empty nest
Resist knowledge resist the gentle dust
a moonlight dancer disappears into the forest
in the whirlwind money clinks links cha-ching
Resist imperial authority resist hostages of the mind
an army of shadows engulf the light source of power
sparrow tracks on white paper (75)
from XXIV.
Darwish says to me on the matter of freedom
the pace of poets and politicians are not the same
from XXXIV.
I am you a stranger on the sidetracks
waiting for the season to harvest blades of light
sending letters though tomorrow has no address (153)
November 3, 2024
the nascent wave horizon line—
(107)
(107)
January 6, 2025
complex and powerful
February 6, 2025
stunned by how voracious this is—in image and thought, how it collapse and dilates time deftly
April 11, 2025
“It is time for poetry to disclose the will of heaven.”
October 5, 2025
3.5-4 Not as strong as his earlier work, but still good.
Read
April 27, 2025“pushes toward the silent hospital
at the surgical blade endstation
youth shatters like ancient porcelain
freedom tears off the old bandage
the heart is the engine of madness
roars turn into hushed murmurs
military marches without borders”
Very powerful. This one was challenging, in a good way! :)
at the surgical blade endstation
youth shatters like ancient porcelain
freedom tears off the old bandage
the heart is the engine of madness
roars turn into hushed murmurs
military marches without borders”
Very powerful. This one was challenging, in a good way! :)
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews