"Temporary September" by Woeser

It’s the season to enjoy good fruit
I meant to change into work clothes
Planning, at the instant the moon reached fulness
In some garden encircled by deep-hued vegetation
Right in the middle, you don’t see many such, so calm
The one that’s meant for me,
Hanging so high, on which branch?
An embarrassment of riches; which should I want most?

I’m a moody gal
No longer young, no longer fresh
But still get high on emotion
No shortage of illusions
This time the delusion’s so real
I want it bad, I’ll supply whatever’s missing
Recklessly singing along that road
That microbe in the air
The brilliant writer I adore is sick, he’s dying

The woven basket in my hand, even if filled with pure water
Still could not cradle this last seed of love
Better to pick up my little hoe
But the healing herb, now extinct,
How can it shoot up again?
The fruit, still waiting, rejects the base scoundrels
Here all’s wrapped in miasma
Ah! But it’s only the imaginary garden
Once September’s past, will all be well?

Translated from Chinese by A.E.Clark and published originally by China Rights Forum Magazine, 2006.