29 To Cai Guo-Qiang
Alas, I did not make a wife or a mother --
I made the bride of a married man,
The widow of a live husband,
A sister to my orphaned children.
I did not make a national of any country --
Moving south when it is cold -- as simple as that --
North when it is hot, following the sobs of wild geese
Rather than the anthem of a country written down
In my many passports.
I learnt many professions,
But stayed away from any trade.
In a word, I did not make even a nomad --
I made only a gypsy
Peddling the suspicious magic of words corrupted
By an already unrecognizable accent.
Via his exhibition
In one of the major Western Museums,
Cai Guo-Qiang insists
The West needs Cultural Revolution.
[If you don't know, he explodes canvases with gunpowder,
And stages miniature nuclear mushrooms across America.]
-- Comrade Guo-Qiang,
Are you kidding? --
I do not need Cultural Revolution.
I am already razed to the ground.
To the contrary, what I need is a megapolis
With its on-going exhibition --
I feel there most
The wilderness inside me.