29 To Cai Guo-Qiang 1 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. 2 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.


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