Moonlight Rests on My Left Palm: Poems and Essays

by Yu Xiuhua, Fiona Sze-Lorrain (Translator)

Starting with the viral poem “Crossing Half of China to Fuck You,” Yu Xiuhua’s raw collection in Fiona Sze-Lorrain's translation chronicles her life as a disabled, divorced, single mother in rural China.

Yu Xiuhua was born with cerebral palsy in Hengdian village in the Hubei Province, in central China. Unable to attend college, travel, or work the land with her parents, Yu remained home where she could help with housework. Eventually she was forced into an arranged marriage that became abusive. She divorced her husband and moved back in with her parents, taking her son with her.

In defiance of the stigma attached to her disability, her status as a divorced single mother, and as a peasant in rural China, Yu found her voice in poetry. Starting in the late 90’s, her writing became a vehicle with which to explore and share her reflections on homesickness, family and ancestry, the reality of disability in the context of a body’s urges and desires.

Then, Yu's poem “Crossing Half of China to Fuck You” blew open the doors on the patriarchal and traditionalist world of contemporary Chinese poetry. She became an internet sensation, finding a devoted following among young readers who enthusiastically welcomed her fresh, bold, confessional voice into the literary canon.

Thematically organized, Yu’s essays and poems are in conversation with each other around subjects that include love, nostalgia, mortality, the natural world and writing itself.

Genres: Poetry, Essays, China, Disability, Nonfiction

160 pages, Hardcover

First published September 14, 2021

About the author

Yu Xiuhua (simplified Chinese: 余秀华; traditional Chinese: 余秀華; pinyin: Yú Xiùhuá; born 1976) is a Chinese poet. She lives in the small village of Hengdian, Shipai, Zhongxiang, Hubei, China, and has cerebral palsy resulting in speech and mobility difficulties. Despite this, she still writes poetry, and as of January 2015 Xiuhua had written over two thousand poems. In 2014, her poem I Crossed Half of China to Sleep with You (穿过大半个中国去睡你) was reposted frequently in WeChat, leading to a significant increase in her notoriety. In the same year, the poem magazine, a national magazine of China, published her poetry, which made her work even more famous. Still Tomorrow a documentary about her rise to fame and relationship with her family as well as her divorce from her husband, was released in 2016, and has been showcased in different film festivals. Moonlight Rests on My Left Palm, a collection of poems and essays in writer, poet, and translator Fiona Sze-Lorrain's translation, is out from Astra House in 2021.

Reviews

[Lauren · Rating 5 out of 5]

Starkly beautiful.

Pastoral settings, natural landscape descriptions of rural China and her family's crops and animals.

This collection was made all the better by the inclusion of Yu's essays, my favorite among them "I Live to Reject Lofty Words". They provided a deeper context for many of the poems, narrative personal essays about living with disability, death of loved ones, and her writing process.

[Puppybhai · Rating 4 out of 5]

"My morning holds two rows of light one shines as I write another as I bathe"

This book feels like moments of life told in snippets, it created imaginary and I could feel the words while reading this.

There were moments where I felt it could have been a little less narrative and more poetic but overall it was a good read for me.

Thank you, NetGalley for providing an arc of this book in exchange for an honest review.

[andreea. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Beautiful at times, but some of the essays took away from the experience for me; especially because they could have been so much more touching as poetry rather than spelled out in a long narrative. I loved the reminiscences, but there were also many landscape-descriptions-poems that did not bring much to the table. The concept was touching, and Xiuhua has a wonderful way with words when she speaks of her native village and when she translates her disability into metaphors. Beautifully nostalgic, almost tragic, and I appreciated that the tone never veered onto the intoxicating optimism usually found in disability narratives.

Leading a Dog's Life
Every afternoon when I mow grass, Little Wu comes along
Sometimes I run after her
while she wags her tail

These days I see a man opposite us harvesting wheat
He yells "Miss Xiuhua" at me with a flattering smile
I mow faster a
nd cut my finger a few times

A son-in-law lives with his parents-in-law, a wife gone mad for twenty years
Their son suffers from autism
carries a tape recorder around his waist
so loud that a drift pin can hear it

My rabbit runs to another field, Little Wu chases on
but the son's sickle is faster than a dog
After he drags the rabbit home
he is still searching for it


[Arc provided via Netgalley]

[Fern Adams · Rating 4 out of 5]

“One’s experiences can’t serve as a role model for others, nor should it exist as a subject for others to lament.”

Yu Xiuhua is a Chinese poet who sprang to fame after one of her poems went viral. She is a peasant in rural China who has cerebral palsy and had an arranged marriage which she went onto escape when it became abusive, leading to additional stigma due to her being a divorcee, single mother. She writes truthfully, rawfully and also elegantly about these experiences and her book in a mixture of poems and short essays.

I especially loved the short essays in this volume. They were packed with anecdotes, bits of wisdom and fascinating insights into the changes that have taken place in her home town. Her poetry was full of great imagery also.A really fantastic book!

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for sending me an ARC in exchange for an honest review.

[Cheryl · Rating 4 out of 5]

“I was not convinced: no matter what, I would bury myself,
or at least my soul, in the sky. My father dismissed any discussion
about the soul as the most idle activity, and would not stop for such idleness.
In his words, We can’t do anything about our souls, as the soul takes care of itself.
But I feel I should place myself in this sky, whether shattered or exalted,
and contribute a part of myself”

“Indeed, when I first thought to express my feelings through language, I chose poetry because of my cerebral palsy. Writing a word is strenuous for me: I must exert all my strength to balance my body, pressing my right wrist down with my left hand before struggling to get a word out. Among all literary genres, poetry uses the least amount of words. Naturally, it spoke best to me. Much as society might contaminate my mind, poetry cleanses me with compassion.” “As her translator, I have learned how her life and disability have shaped her poetry in a unique voice that must be heard just as it is. I have chosen beauty and austerity by seeking to translate Yu Xiuhua simply, quietly, paying attention to every nuance of her work.”

I actually stumbled upon her poetry when I read Winter Pastures by Li Juan this year and was perusing the translator’s website in awe of the voices they were publishing, and the translations. The first poem made her famous, and while not my favorite, it is raw and real, and transcends borders and language. She is disabled but clear eyed, lonely but spiritual, real in a way that opens my eyes to what the people of China are like in their repressive regime and what appears to the outside as conformity and sameness I can’t imagine a world where nearly everyone has black hair and dark eyes, for example. But not only does it exist, it is the greatest mass of humanity on our planet. I can really sense the simplicity in translation here which I love; other translators change the feel of things by trying to make them fit into English; this translator kept the beauty and rawness. My found poem:

Poetry and love, I believe,
forever sing aloud
on this vast land,
no matter how
traumatic it might seem.
Once I add a word,
my sorrow, despair,
and fury turn into beauty.
I use portions of time
to gather half a lifetime
When the sun is fine,
I place myself inside it, like a dried orange peel
Time and again I must curb
snow in my heart
Too pure and close to spring
Wherever they are is my homeland
an ancestral temple
where I hear stars in dialogue
Here is an ambiguous boundary:
barely a moment ago, a strand of twilight
sparkled through a poplar, emanating
an exquisite voice between its body and leaves.

CROSSING HALF OF CHINA TO FUCK YOU
I press countless dark nights into one dawn to fuck you
I, as many, run as one to fuck you
Of course butterflies can lead me astray
and I think of some odes as spring
I love you without reserve, not just to move your heart,
since your solitude means nothing to me,
but to praise your lovely existence in this world.

SNOW DREAM
I dream of eight thousand miles of snow: from your province to mine,
from my embroidered cloth to your inn this white bluff and bluster
A discarded mine buried deep, a dark river sinks into oblivion
Horse bones rise in a wild grassland
The sky, a vast hollow

TO LEI PINGYANG
All these years, when people ask where I am in life I reply,
Surviving. Like you, I’ve never written any poetry
In this lifetime, we meet others who write poetry,
even though they aren’t poets to me
you are calmly facing the setting sun you are
weeping through poetry for a soul who can’t return

THOSE SECRETS SUDDENLY DIGNIFIED
Your birthday, my lover, is like an apple’s secret
On this unique day, you open autumn wind, appease waves
My narrative interrupted over and over, words dried up,
tears blind and imprecise
Once I add a word, my sorrow, despair, and fury turn into beauty
This day sways, suddenly dignified

OUR WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN IN THIS NIGHT
How wonderful, like plucking qin strings deep in a mountain
Only rocks and withered leaves are audible.
Moonshine or not, an abyss widens I say in a pond of time,
as we descend we must bear some fears I say indeed,
this has nothing to do with already, or yet to come

I LOVE YOU
In my dumb life, I draw water from a well, cook, take my medicine regularly
When the sun is fine, I place myself inside it, like a dried orange peel
Tea leaves to use on alternate rounds: chrysanthemum, jasmine, rose, lemon
These marvels lead me to spring
Time and again I must curb snow in my heart
Too pure and close to spring

HOW CAN I MAKE YOU LOVE ME
Who knows what comes next after being loved, but I wait in patience
Once, I followed a glow from the beginning to the end
Despair won’t linger long in the body
Even a strand of weed sways on my body I think this is a marvel
Once, I said to my father, “How blessed to be buried in this sky after we die.”
My father looked up and squinted; light from the sky had fallen into his eyes,
producing fine sparkling sounds. “No,” he said, “I don’t want to be buried in the sky.
It isn’t practical. Remember this: I must be buried in the earth.”
But I was not convinced: no matter what, I would bury myself,
or at least my soul, in the sky. My father dismissed any discussion
about the soul as the most idle activity, and would not stop for such idleness.
In his words, We can’t do anything about our souls, as the soul takes care of itself.
But I feel I should place myself in this sky, whether shattered or exalted,
and contribute a part of myself

AN AFTERNOON IN HENGDIAN VILLAGE
A splendid sun haphazardly shines on sloped roofs,
and a row of white poplars shines on a pond, square
by square, on its water plants shines on creeping ferns, rapeseed, wheat
Time isn’t flat enough to spread across plants divided among a cow
and ducks in the water among hand gestures and me
I use portions of time to gather half a lifetime
Mother uses these fragments to gather a head full of white hair
only the universe rejoices —it has garnered a spring

LISTEN TO A LOVE SONG
I always think of those leaves, how they fall into silence,
a gigantic silence that silences a village I think
of a quieter setting sun filtered through leaves
those golden sobs for the sake of a more striking golden
And I think of rain, how it cheers time up falling tearing up sorrow,
falling straight onto leaves or on their reverse side
You think of someone, his chest and back
All in the past. Years drag on as if they were
always there yet never If I die, a song will still whirl If I could still hear it

RAIN FALLS OUTSIDE THE WINDOW
Rain outside the window neglected me:
a drop hugged another, fell and pushed each other, falling
Fusion is wreckage, wreckage fusion
But how long can one return to the sky,
how long does it take to reach a descent
Rain sounds different in different places
No one vanishes faster than another
No one arrives more compact than another
No one in the rain, or not in it

ALL YOU NEED IS TO BE ALIVE
All you need is to be alive, God has His own plans.
I have lived into the future, thus is the future
Slowly a plant’s heart grows in the body
What a surprise, yet how naturally

A LEAKY BOAT
The boat has just endured two voids
One leaks out its body into a starry sky in the lake
Another leaks into the fish in its body
This is the only boat that confesses to being a boat
on a desolate shore the nature of wood from a past life, and water of this time

A DAY BESTOWED BY GOD
Morning glories lift blue up a fence, as wind blows from afar
A lush growth— each flavor penetrates me, warm and sweet
I stand in the vast plain and see your city in its radiance
I know you’ve crossed the road with a basket of apples
All clues are here
A day bestowed by God: you and I, content with the mortal world
What a precious gift
To my astonishment, I realize: when one feels bliss,
bliss has quietly arrived.
And at this very moment, bliss has virtually
metaphormosed into a talent or an ability.
It is about putting aside metaphysical work, and
observing this specific instant as a bystander. Everything is let go,
not a grain of sand in one’s hand;
one feels calm between Heaven and Earth.
I love this instant from the bottom of my heart.
My love for this marvelous instant has never ceased,
from when I first experienced it.

Let poetry and love sing aloud on this vast land. Poetry and love, I believe, forever sing aloud on this vast land, no matter how traumatic it might seem. But life, like Zen, may not bring on immediate enlightenment. Nonetheless, life never fails to offer us the way of nature. Tao is the way, and all things come along with the path. A wide path is invisible. The invisible enhances life and its immensity. Given such revelation, all questions will vanish in days to come, and silence will be the final answer to all questions. I don’t see a better way, or a higher intelligence than this. There is no better ode to life than a weed that grows ruthlessly and arches out of the ground, despite its trauma.

There is a word in our language and culture, grass-folks, which refers to ordinary people who survive like ants and creeping vines on the ground. This word very much contains the disdain for a certain social class…Yet those who are wounded or trampled upon at any time are precisely the ones capable of holding up the sky of history, and of tolerating drastic changes and the pain of history, so the genes of a culture and civilization can seep through the soil and be preserved.

Li Po states, “Every talent has its place or time.” I consider being alive most purposeful. One’s existence is a heritage in itself, and the radiance of one’s insignificant thoughts must have inadvertently enlightened others one way or another.

I’LL SING EVERY SPRING
Every spring I’ll sing, watch clouds arrive from the south
Once wind softens, spring gets real
A man sits on a ridge where dandelions carry small flames
running in spring, all the way out of the village
He can’t hear my voice
But I’ll sing every spring
A voice sways in the wind, sad and sweet

TEMPTATION
He takes off spring in the morning. Flowers shut, even light walks deep into autumn
Fallen leaves beat on his shoulders: shudder, a temptation like his silence
Sunset penetrates his ankles: meandering light, a temptation like his smile
Even at dusk, he washes himself in a river the stains on his body
When he opens a wooden box, butterflies and bees rush into his face,
along with an erected hive and his calm and quiet

LONGING FOR A SNOWSTORM
I long for heavy snowfall, without premeditation, denser than death
Unexpectedly, in a deluge, smashing hatred down
I need it to be this violent. My slightness isn’t a snowfall
a careless reason I want the whiteness I loathe to pile on top of me!
In this vast wasteland I want it to erect an immortal tombstone

UNTITLED
There isn’t much time, we must condense sleep
Repeat to me the rivers, mountains, mornings
and crowds you have passed —the me you once
loved falls again for you then yawns without grievance

LOVE
In a sunny courtyard, a golden pitter-patter of sparrows faded
Chinese rose leaves look just fine
Time has an order. Life lays bare a bright side
its other side in need of love I will run into the best landscape, the best folk
Wherever they are is my homeland an ancestral temple
where I hear stars in dialogue
Here I am, at this hour
The world shows me how landscapes undulate
However large its secret, however large the sky it opens
At this instant, struck by a secret I weep, but keep my mouth shut

AUTUMN RAIN
You walk past that street: lights now on the rain hasn’t stopped
It’s been too long since we met.
You are dripping wet from another world
I don’t know where to start wringing you dry
We praise the world, exhaust a lifetime I praise you,
but let this lifetime sloppily drag on
Leaves fall on a straight path
Those who fail to catch the wind end up with hearts in knots
I thought a body that blocks wind would leave you a line of clear narrow sky
I still hope to err over and over

I favor dusk, as if I were just as gentle and cool. Perhaps I should be embarrassed, describing myself as gentle, but I can’t find a better and more calming word. We have manhandled so many words that I only dream of using them anew.

Here is an ambiguous boundary: barely a moment ago, a strand of twilight sparkled through a poplar, emanating an exquisite voice between its body and leaves. Night falls the next moment: I feel its gentleness as wind blows through the window. A windy hour is to me a gentle one.

I feel replenished right now, as the entirety of a day gradually flows, boosting a nobody like me with a sense of fulfillment. Time has its tangible flow; I am but a clean pond that waits for time to flow gently in me. Villagers back from the field look quite content, too: each day, each second glows in the field, subtle and still. How authentic, the arc of a body walking in the field at dusk. As I write, I realize I have not said anything important about dusk. I can only immerse myself deeper in it. I am but a slice of it, and can’t see it from a larger perspective. I am no more than a detail waiting for the whole picture. I praise dusk with my silence. My ode is a vestige of what it offers me and more

[fridayinapril · Rating 5 out of 5]

Moonlight Rests on My Left Palm: Poems and Essays by Yu Xiuhua
Translated by Fiona Sze-Lorrain
•
There is so much to unpack in this collection that I doubt my review will do it any justice. Yu's poems and essays are a treasure trove of emotion and sensibility. She touches on so many topics in her writing and writes unabashedly about womanhood and desire. As the translator reminds us in her note, Yu became famous after publishing her poem "I Crossed Half of China to Sleep with You".
•
Moreover, Yu paints a vivid portrait of her life as a woman, and as a mother who suffers from cerebral palsy. She gives a glimpse of what life is like in her small rural town of Hengdian and depicts with a touch of melancholy how the passage of time affected her agricultural town. She dwells on what was lost and how progress and modernity have slowly changed Hengdian and its inhabitants.
•
I read this collection with great delight, yet I enjoyed her essays more. Perhaps, it was easier for me to connect with her wondering thoughts and inquisitive mind. Her voice came through as evocative as ever and I sailed through the book. I have read it as an ebook, however, I think this is a book better read in print because I often got lost between the sections.
•
"People need a role model because they have no idea what to do in times of anguish. They can’t find an effective solution, so they need a reference. Once they imagine they have found a plausible reference at last, they might realize how futile it is. Let me say to these people: read more. Reading is a powerful activity: it calms one’s heart. When the mind is quiet, one can experience real joy. Regardless of our unbearable bodies or lives, we are each unique in this world. We ought to cherish ourselves. So why ask for more? I don’t know if these words seem unwarranted, but since I am no one’s role model, I can allow myself to talk nonsense."
•
"Undeniably, a disabled body is a great inconvenience in life, and leaves no room for all kinds of possibilities. But it is also undeniable that the disabled body’s soul does not feel about the external world any less than others. This is what counts most. True joys come from the depth of one’s soul, not the external environment."
•
"Suffering can propel and motivate one to write. On the other hand, suffering is suffering nonetheless. Writing about it can neither alleviate nor alter it. Writing merely provides us a form of expression, much as suffering is palpable and present."
•
"At last I understand that bliss is both concrete and attainable. One does not lose sight of bliss as easily as one may imagine. I am grateful for the strength to find this bliss."
•
"But what poetry is, I don’t know, nor can I speak of it. It is simply an emotion that leaps or drowns. It comes in the guise of a patriotic pose when the soul summons it. It is just a cane for one who staggers in a swaying mortal world."
•

[Becky · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a wonderful collection of poetry and especially the essays. I was a bit tentative going into the translation because of some of the language around disability used in the translator's note, but of course I can't discern what might be any imprint of Sze-Lorrain on the work itself, not having read any of the originals. Yu Xiuhua writes these brief and compelling works, and I'm so glad for the time spent with them.

[gen · Rating 5 out of 5]

5/5 for the translator’s honesty because ngl that was my reaction too when i first read this. translator did a superb job, and i dont normally enjoy reading translated work, but this one has set the bar high

[Mags (mbooksbycandlelight) · Rating 3 out of 5]

I am not a poet, nor do I read poetry regularly, but the description of this book and this author’s life called to me. It’s hard to rate such deeply personal work, but I’ll say, I’m glad I read it. I enjoyed it. And I hope to read more of her work in the future.

I received an eArc via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

[Victoria L. · Rating 5 out of 5]

How tender and thoughtful this book is. I kept wondering, through it about the omnipresence of nature, the corn, the moon, snow slowly falling, how it could be said to be a locus amoenus, except it's a disabled, sexual, non-western one. I loved particularly the essays, the reflections on family, her grandmother, though it's probably the essay about dusk and the one where she speaks about being a "role model" that where my favorite pieces in this book. It strikes me how changing and not changing language is. In speaking about not wanting to be a role model or a symbol, Xiuhua rejects notions of "inspirational disability". Disability justice is rooted in this book, using the language of nature, the quotidian and the small town universe it has. So much of current discussions are focused on semantics, on bad faith narrowed to not sharing the same language-- that reading Xiuhua was like finding words that said similarly, that shared my battles, without needing to share the language or the theory. It was like coming home to Hengdian, as a stranger and yet to feel it familiar under my fingertips.

More than that, Xiuhua's natural world, her contemplation of a content life rather than the chase after success, is one that clashes with capitalistic notions of productivity. I loved reading a world informed by the author's disability, to see that shared universe, across whole oceans, hemisphere and life experiences. There's a profoundly sensorial description in these poems and essays, that truly defies understanding; so many lines that go to the fields, to falling down, to chrysanthemums, eternal poplar trees, and make it feel like summer air around you. I read this book over a week, bit and bit here. It never failed to make me feel enveloped by its world, as if truly I was home there, in Hengdian.

[McKenzie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I know that I am going to be in the minority, but I actually liked the essays in this collection more than the poetry. There. I said it. The poetry just didn't really speak to me, but that's fine. Poetry is very subjective. However, after having lived in China for almost four years, I found the essays to be more interesting. They speak to a society that is very conformative, but never being able to conform because of the authors cerebral palsy. They speak of people seeking more pain in her poetry than they have any right to. People trying to judge how much she has suffered by equating it with a disability.

My favorite part is when she discusses what it means to be a strong woman and rejection of the word strong in general. "A strong woman is essentially an unfortunate being who can't lean on others for help. In a way, her life is a failure. Fortunately, neither success nor failure is shameful or shocking in life: because of a failed life, her life lies right before her own eyes. We do not live to show others what our lives are, nor do we live to please anyone.... Strength is, therefore, about ourselves..."

I have no doubt that the poems will speak to a great many people, but for me it was the essays. I would recommend this for anyone looking for some poetry or somewhat philosophical essays to dive into. I enjoyed reading about the authors life and childhood as well, but the poems just didn't bring as much to the table for me. I look forward to seeing more by Yu Xiuhua in the future.

Thank you to Astra Publishing House and NetGalley for providing me with an eARC of this book, however all thoughts and opinions are my own.

[Kathy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I enjoyed many poems in this collection but it was the prose that really staggered me. Yu's writing may be often described as raw or confessional, but this seemingly straightforward style is underlied with many complexities that she is constantly grappling with in her poems and essays. I found her essays in particular to be sharply insightful, beautifully written and moving. As Chris Littlewood writes over at the Washington Post, "Yu renders her life in a way that is irreducible."

[Seher · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Sadly, I have realized that men whom I love tend to be as common as muck; even more tragically, I also realize that I can’t break this curse."

This was a beautiful collection of poetry and essays that have been translated really well. I did prefer the essays to the poems, but that's just me. The essay "My Nostalgia Differs From Yours" is easily the best thing in this book and the reason why I'm giving this 5 stars.

[a ☕︎ · Rating 2 out of 5]

OK, the rural imagery does get a little grating but i can’t fault it much—it is her profession and past livelihood after all—and her unusual perspective makes up for it by being captivatingly intense, melancholy yet bright. i actually think something might be off with the translation, so often her images come close to purity but then one word or way of framing takes me aback. e.g. “clouds echo through her chest,” a line i can almost love but don’t.

[Matthew Potopsky · Rating 5 out of 5]

Absolutely stunning and captivating. It was a page turner that kept me addicted. I could relate to some of the poems and essays which is why I believe this book is now my absolute favorite.

Everything is written with so much love and passion—you can feel it. This is my new favorite book.

[Novi · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5/5

i think this is the first translated book that i have read where i have an issue with the translation. i couldn't help but think about how so much of the beauty of mandarin is being lost by translating a poem into english. the language in a lot of the poems sounded stilted, awkward, and choppy in a way that did not feel like it was an intentional choice by the author. however, i loved the essays in this book. Yu Xiuhua sprinkles several hilarious lines through these short reflections. I liked The Swaying Mortal World and I Live to Reject Lofty Words in particular. The first essay I actually thought was translated incredibly well. It was about her relationship to poetry and I could feel so deeply the tenderness and care she feels towards this form of writing. It is interesting to think about how she states because of the physical limitations of her cerebral palsy, she is almost forced into poetry's short form as a way of writing to express herself. At the end of this piece, I couldn't help but protectively think and hope no one can take poetry way from her. I would like to reread this book again with the original Chinese characters side by side. I think I would have enjoyed reading it a lot more and also pick up on what might have been lost through translation.

[Rebecca · Rating 3 out of 5]

Publishing date: September 14th, 2021

Thank you to NetGalley and Astra Publishing House for an advanced electronic copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

Yu Xinhua was born with cerebral palsy in a village in the Hubei province in China to a poor farming family. She was forced into an arranged marriage that became abusive, and she challenged the stigma or being a divorcee by leaving her husband anyway, and taking her son with her. She later found her voice in poetry, which shines beautifully in this collection of poetry and essays. This collection was originally published in 2015, but is being published now in English.

The more I read, the more I felt that the author is a no-nonsense kind of person with an interesting sense of humor. Some of her writing was deep and meaningful, while other parts were lighter. It felt like a great balance.

[Shahna (VanquishingVolumes) · Rating 3 out of 5]

An interesting collection of essays and poetry. I was very glad I was granted the opportunity to read this collection. Although each piece did not speak to me, I found that many of the pieces helps me to better understand the life of somebody living with a disability especially in another culture. Thank you to net galley and the publisher for the opportunity to read this collection.

[Nektaria · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thank you to the publisher for providing me with a review e-arc through netgalley in exchange for an honest review!

But what poetry is, I don't know, nor can I speak of it. It is simply an emotion that leaps or drowns. It comes in the guise of a patriotic pose when the soul summons it. It is just a cane for one who staggers in a swaying mortal world

Reading Yu Xiuhua's poems and essays in this collection (by the way, what a beautiful title for a collection: "moonlight rests on my left palm", aw, such a nice image) was a very enjoyable experience! You learn a few things about the author's life, her way of thinking and what she considers important through the intriguing essays and she seemed like a genuine, true person! The poetry has very strong feelings of longing, passion and a beautiful love of nature which is definitely very powerfully expressed through images and metaphors of nature throughout the lyrics!
The themes, however, since poetical themes are such a personal and unique experience for each reader, weren't exactly my cup of tea, even though I found them very beautiful!

[Grace · Rating 4 out of 5]

has lots of good quotes but I liked the essays better than most of the poems, I just read them and flipped the page but the essays cut a bit deeper

[Abi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Stunning. This is a collection to return to.

[Sofia Zapatero · Rating 5 out of 5]

Utterly impactful, that’s all I can describe it has it’s beautiful change upon this earth that has spread like fire, thank goodness

[Eve Javey · Rating 5 out of 5]

Simply beautiful!

I felt her essays in ever fiber of my being, especially the final one about her grandmother <3

If you love farming/the land/love/cool women you will love this.

[bookventures_of_a_wildflower · Rating 4 out of 5]

I very much enjoy poetry and jump anytime the option presents itself to review a collection of them.
Moonlight rests on my Left palm has been a beautiful collection of thoughts, however I did notice a rollercoaster when it comes to enjoying each piece.
I found that I loved the poems, whilst I sometimes struggled to stay focused/invested during the essays.
The writer was able to convey the hardships of living with disability (especially in a culture that's so different from mine), touched many heartstrings and yet was still able to portrey the beauty of life and living it with neverending passion. There were parts that even though I could not relate to, taught me more about this thing called life and how different each one of us perceives it.

I would definitely recommend this book to anyone who already loves poetry or the ones who just starting to dip their toes into it.

[Hilary · Rating 4 out of 5]

I remember a couple of months ago my dad told me about a disabled rural female poet, Yu Xiuhua, whose rise to fame began with a controversial poem <<穿过大半个中国去睡你>> ("Crossing Half of China to Fuck You"). This poem, along with other poetry and some of Yu's personal essays, has finally been translated into English in MOONLIGHT RESTS ON MY LEFT PALM this year. Yu's writing expresses the deep humanness of contradiction; these words simultaneously ache with longing for more while pulling back close to her roots and her own heart. "I Love You," she titles her poem, but ends it by recalling that "[t]ime and again I must curb snow in my heart / Too pure and close to spring." And later: "I doubt my love," she grieves in "Not For Me," wondering if the love she so dearly desires can ever be hers.

But what's most radical about Yu's writing is how unrestrained and truthfully a rural, disabled Chinese woman takes her vulnerabilities and places them in words for all the world to read. See me, a disabled women who desires, she seems to say. See me, a peasant rooted in a small village who can pull the world effortlessly from the imagination. See me, not anyone's role model, inspiration, or pity object—just a woman who deeply loves her art. "More often I just survive, not ill, no desire, one meal each day / I have lived into the future, thus this is the future / Slowly a plant's heart grows in the body / What a surprise, yet how naturally" ("All You Need to Be Is Alive").

Full review: https://www.instagram.com/p/CXEsFAiveXA/

[Avery · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love you without reserve, not just to move your heart, since your solitude means nothing to me, but to praise your lovely existence in this world.

Wait until your season arrives, wait for an inner voice to open yourself up.

How many marvels in your old life have we thrown away?

I don't want to die, so I must live. As long as I stay alive, I will take on all my suffering.

This is without a doubt one of the most gorgeous collections of essays and poetry I have had the pleasure of reading in my adult life.

The selling point of this collection is that Yu is a disabled Chinese single mother; however, this is not a collection that I would define by its disability narrative. She does not shy away from her disability and how it has shaped her experience as a poet and writer; however, Yu is also having a conversation about love, nature, relationships, and how we navigate each.

While the poems are beautiful and sincere, the essays are where the collections shine. In their own subtle way, these essays remind us that as we seek to understand love and nature and our families, complete understanding will always be out of reach and what we believe we know about them is shaped by preconceived notions. The charm of the essays is that Yu never uses them to answer big questions. It is as if she is asking questions through her words and encouraging us as readers to ask our own.

I can't recommend this collection enough.

[Luna Cr · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yu Xiuhua was born with cerebral palsy in Hengdian Village where she still lives. Her poetry is a an homage to simple living as well as a constant debate between a society that doesn't accept her and her inner world. A beautiful collection of poems and essays that are full of impactful moments. I love how she aches for the approval that comes with sexual desire and the relationship that she has with her own body as a disabled person.

Yu’s poem “Crossing Half of China to Fuck You” is so honest and raw that it takes your breath away. I had underlined half of the book and I resonated with so many of the emotions that she expresses. The collection also explores other themes in depth: motherhood, divorce, family, poverty, belonging and death.

I highly recommend this book and I will keep an eye on the author. Absolutely fascinating.

[desiree · Rating 2 out of 5]

I really wanted to like this book. I love diverse poetry. I love essays that let you glimpse into other people's lives. Yu's emotions are much too plainly stated for my preference. I will still recommend this book to people who love that type of poetry, but it was just not for me.

[Catherine · Rating 3 out of 5]

Two to start and then four to finish