Chu Shu Chen
Hysteria
When I look in the mirror
My face frightens me. I am
Afraid of myself. Every
Spring weakness overcomes me like
A mortal sickness. I am too
Weary to arrange the flowers
Or paint my face. Everything
Bothers me. All the old sorrows
Flood back and make the present worse.
The crying nightjars terrify me.
The mating swallows embarass me,
Flying two by two outside
My window. Plucked eyebrows,
Weary eyes — that have grown hard
With loneliness. Swallows chirp
In the painted eaves — but I
Have lost ability
Even to dream of happiness.
Each new Spring finds me deeper
Tangled and snarled in bitterness.
As all the world grows more lovely
My bowels are torn with sorrow.
Peach blossoms quiver in the
Light of the new moon on the first
Nights of the Season of Cold Food.
Huge willows in the golden
Twilight wave their long shadows
In the clear bright winds of Spring.
Surrounded by flowers, trapped in
Pain, I watch the sun set beyond
The roofs of the women's quarters.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth