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Ma Yongbo: Your Voice
In the winter dusk, the corridor of the converted dormitory building
grows dimmer, there are sounds of neighbors returning home,
the crackling sound of stoves lighting up;
one after another the red flames glow.
The smell of layers of rotting cabbage and potato sprouts,
snowflakes clinging to woolen coats and to your hair.
You talk about things at the factory, about cheap goods,
the kindergarten and our child, your voice
is still the same as it is now, neither young, nor old.
Your unchanged voice brings back northern winters,
the blizzards of Decembrists and distant lands,
brings back our life that no longer exists.
Your voice, echoing in the narrow and dark corridor,
continuously echoing, warm and bright,
as if beyond this ordinary dusk
there is no hunger, toil and separation in the world.
There is only one double bed in the room,
a child sleeps near the radiator next to the window
with my black leather jacket as his pillow.
When I gently pull it out from under his head
his unfamiliar face turns slightly away, whose child is he?
He does not belong to us. The messy room is waiting for your hands,
yet your voice is still echoing in the corridor,
indistinct but bright, like the flickering stove fire,
ensuring that I’ll eventually wake up from this afternoon’s sleep,
ensuring our poor but steady life,
just like your unchanging voice.
Translated from Mandarin by Ma Yongbo
Ed. Note: The Decembrist revolt was a failed coup d’état led by liberal military and political dissidents against the Russian Empire. It took place in Saint Petersburg on 26 December [O.S. 14 December] 1825, following the death of Emperor Alexander I.
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你的声音
冬天薄暮，集体宿舍改造成的住宅走廊里
更加暗淡了，邻居们回家的声音
炉子相继点燃的噼啪声，红红的炉火
一层层腐烂的白菜和土豆生芽的气味
呢子大衣上粘着的雪花和你头发上的雪花
你们说着工厂里的事情，说着便宜货
幼儿园和孩子，你的声音
还是现在的样子，不年轻，也不年老
你不变的声音，带来了北方的冬天
带来了十二月党人的风雪和远方
带来了我们早已不复存在的生活
你的声音，在狭窄漆黑的走廊里响着
一直响着，温暖而明朗
仿佛除了这个普通的薄暮
世界上不存在饥饿，劳烦和分离
屋子里只有一张大床
靠着窗户的暖气片，一个孩子睡在那里
枕着我的黑色皮夹克
等我把它从他头下轻轻抽出
发现他陌生的脸微微转过去，他是谁的孩子
他不属于我们。凌乱的屋子等待着你的手
而你的声音，还在走廊里响着
模糊而明朗，像炉火摇曳着
保证着这午后的睡眠终会醒来
保证着我们贫穷而踏实的生活
像你的声音不会改变
~~~~
English and Mandarin versions copyright 2025 Ma Yongbo
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Ma Yongbo is a voice too, a voice I recognize as timeless, nation-less, lthe voice of all of us, in our dreams, in our hopes, our despairs; and I think of the world today and where it may take us all. The voices of those who went before us, who steadied us, before we were alone in ‘northern winters’.
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Thanks, Rose Mary. Your comments are always so perceptive.
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I feel the substance of the world resonating (in this poem). Thanks. Brilliant. Faceted Gem.
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Yes, it is a faceted gem. Great metaphor, Owen.
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This poem reveals such utter nostalgia for that “voice” — beloved, necessary and so missed. How the “corridors” and “dormitories” of our “poor but steady” lives resonate, endlessly, with that beloved “voice” from a life “that no longer exists”… And then there is that child and his “unfamiliar face” so deeply asleep — but who will wake in that “messy room”… This is such a poignant poem!
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Lovely and evocative comment, Laure-Anne. Thank you.
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Somehow I am instantly tuned in to this Poet and these terms, so clearly put forth; there is an austere beauty resonant with my heart and a medieval quality in the tonalities of these lives that remind me of my past—land no longer open to this world save down that dark corridor. How skillfully we are conveyed door to door, one portal shy of the last. It has all been a dream, this life.
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What an amazing paragraph, Sean. Thank you. You’ve captured a quality that many powerful poems have, a feeling of otherworldliness.
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And as I reluctantly pull up from the poem, I read your words and am back to the dark corridor and the texture of a black leather jacket.
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