: Black Miscellany :

an excerpt by Yang Zi

translated by Fiona Sze-Lorrain


But someone is indeed suffering from cancer,

someone is indeed falling off his capsized boat.

Will his body padded in cotton

be scalded by the wintry sea?

Someone is indeed going mad,

walking up to those

who do not believe he is mad,

announcing loudly:

I – am – mad!


Tiny black miscellany

floats in the air.

We sit by the window,

drinking in silence whatever is in our cups.

Your coffee, her milk tea, my whisky.

On Ersha Island,

in the night of dazzling lights,

black miscellany falls into the throat,

itching slightly,

choking slightly.


We cough softly.