Xu Zhangrun Archive

送葬接續燔祭中
化作劫灰的飄緒

The Fifth Month of China’s traditional lunisolar calendar (May-June in the Gregorian tradition) includes three anniversaries — one ancient, the second international and the third a contemporary day of remembrance:

• 端陽節 The Double Fifth Festival;
• 兒童節 International Children’s Day; and,
• 六四 June Fourth.

These anniversaries variously mark self-sacrifice, hope, protest and forbidden mourning. They have previously featured in New Sinology Jottings 後漢學劄記. In 2025, we commemorate these days with a new work by Xu Zhangrun, writer, poet and refusenik. Professor Xu is an unbowed voices of conscience and one of China’s most important shadow thinkers.

We offer a translation of the introduction to Dies Irae 送葬, a collection of poems by Xu Zhangrun published by Bouden House in March 2025. The latest volume forms a trilogy with From Heaps of Ashes 劫灰 (2022) and Burnt Offerings 燔祭 (2023) and the titles of these books form the Chinese rubric of this chapter in our ongoing effort to archive Xu Zhangrun work —《送葬》接續《燔祭》中化作《劫灰》的飄緒。

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Dies Irae, or ‘the day of wrath’, refers to a liturgy in the Roman missal used in the Catholic requiem mass:

Note: A Chinese translation of this passage in Dies Irae 震怒之日 dating from the Ming dynasty reads:

世界毀日，哀哉凶哉，
達未德王，童女共證。

審判生死，下降之時，
詳詢徳慝，顫慄至哉。

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As a preface to Xu Zhangrun’s essay we feature a Pie Jesu, which combines two motets in the liturgy and is sung by Malakai Bayoh.

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It is three decades since the Long Bow Group released The Gate of Heavenly Peace, a documentary film about the 1989 Protest Movement in China. The writer and thinker Liu Xiaobo features prominently in the denouement of that film and, as we recall the fateful day of June Fourth, 1989, and the unquiet souls of the people killed then, we mourn too Xiaobo, a hero whose voice of reason and protest echoes through the years.

These are days of unassuaged ire.

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The following text forms a pair with ‘So it Begins, with the Written Word’. See also Sympathy for the Devil in China, America and Russia.

— Geremie R. Barmé
Editor, China Heritage
31 May 2025, Double Fifth

乙巳蛇年五月初五端午節

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Pie Jesu Domine,
Dona eis requiem

Pie Jesu qui tollis peccata mundi
dona eis requiem, dona eis requiem
Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi
dona eis requiem, dona eis requiem
Sempiternam

祈望天主，赦眾夙犯。
耶穌惻憫，息止安所。

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Dies Irae — My Wrath, My Requiem

《送 葬》序

Xu Zhangrun

許章潤

Translated and annotated by Geremie R. Barmé

 

It is as if poetry has coursed its path through the four seasons of the year. Herein I have brought together the 223 poems that I written under the titled, Dies Irae. It is a leave taking, a funeral in words, that began with the collections Burnt Offerings and Pile of Ashes. Taken together, these three volumes are an elegy for our era. They give voice to my exasperation, certainly, but also to a gnawing disbelief; starting with a desire to record the vagaries of the world I have found sublimation in ancient and modern melodies.

Living as I do in the garbage time of this, our Red Empire, even though I am an impotent actor I am still free to think my own thoughts. What remains to me is this fragile gossamer of words; they bear witness and offer proof. These sounds we strain to make fail yet to achieve the haunting beauty of the heron’s calls that echo in through boundless skies over a frozen wasteland. In these modest verses I seek fellowship for these witterings of mine are a lament — I mourn in sorrowful anticipation the grief others will experience in times to come. I bewail our era, which those in the future will in turn deplore. I am unable to deny my feelings and, like the ancient the poet, ‘in vain I tried to curb them, to slacken their swift pace’. All the while, [as Qu Yuan put it,] ‘my spirits soar high up, far into the distance.’

In this heartfelt sorrow, delight and inspiration are also mine.

四季吟哦，凡223首，庋集一冊，是為《送葬》。其所接續的是“燔祭”中化作“劫灰”的飄緒，而抒發的莫不為對於時空的歌挽，則長歌短調，皆為喟嘆，也是驚歎，惟落筆於滄桑，收煞於韻律。身陷紅朝帝國歷史的垃圾時間，所有思，無所為，惟倖存這一絲聲線不絕如縷，吾人既在見證，更在作證，則一切人聲不似大漠凜冬之長空鶴唳，而俱為哀復後哀之嚶嚶鳴鳴而已哉。所謂“抑志而彌節兮，神高馳之邈邈”，何其悲乎，又何其快哉！

[Notes:

• 哀復後哀 refers to the lines 秦人不暇自哀，而後人哀之。後人哀之，而不鑒之。亦使後人而復哀後人也 in The Great Palace of Ch’in 阿房宮賦, a rhapsody by Du Mu 杜牧 of the Tang dynasty;
• 嚶嚶鳴鳴 is short for 嚶其鳴矣，求其友聲 in the Book of Odes 詩經; and,
• 抑志而彌節兮，神高馳之邈邈 are lines from the end of Qu Yuan’s Li sao 屈原 《離騷》which I have adapted from a translation by David Hawkes.]

What things are constituent of our humanity but thoughts and words. They are the province, too, of the humble scholar. Reality may be our origin, but thought, ratiocination, in all of its gnarled coruscations, is native to us. In their ephemeral travels our thoughts intersect with eternity. They pool and surge in a myriad of ways — this torrent born of alienation forever finds its home in exile, their natural state.

Words give form to our innermost thoughts, they are a mirror that reflects back a world of wonderment while also being a vehicle that bears stories of empires, the fates of regimes and the vicissitudes of destiny. Just as they are the makings of our human being, they tell too the stories of inevitable endings and final rites. The passage of the seasons and the accumulation of experience ultimately find respite in a solitary corpse. ‘In my beginning is my end. In succession houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, are removed, destroyed, restored’, all of this unfolds regardless of our volition. We are but witnesses of impermanence, that silent inevitability. That too is the endpoint, lying silently in wait. No matter how grand your progress, those of you harried flight, best not rush, fear not — you are on a road to nowhere. The world carries in its wake all of its creation to dissolution, all that is will be no more, every beginning ends with a cortège.

Is not time itself a grand and unbroken funeral procession? As it passes, the jostling crowds thin out as, as people drop out one after another, generation after generation fall away, singular in their own obsequies. The quick bid farewell to the dead at funerals, just as they in turn will be bid farewell. We depart from the departed before ourselves departing. The frightful ingenuity of creation embraces human existence within the borders of nonbeing.

[Note:

• ‘In my beginning is my end…’: the text brought these lines from ‘East Coker’, the second poem in T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, to mind.]

思與言，令人類成為人類，更是書生之為書生的心性異稟。思以存在本身為起點，而存在斑斕崎嶇，俱為暫在，永恆的只是臨時性和漂泊性。它們匯湧為萬象，湍蕩如奔流，抖落出流亡才是本根的實在，而實在性就是流亡性。另一方面，言為心聲，心如鏡像，映照著大千淋漓，承載了存亡盛衰，俱為人事，也就是喪事。蓋因人生一世而草木一春，積勞積慧，長亭短亭，不過是將自己最終變成了一具尸首，如同所有的王朝和帝國均以滅亡為自己收尾。造物起承轉合，不待人謀，惟生滅本身冷眼旁觀，無動聲色。終點就在那裡，一直就在那裡靜佇以待，盛大其事，趕路的人族啊，莫急，莫怕。所以說，世界帶領著它的創造物不息走向終點，一切創造和毀滅又無不在為這個世界送葬！

時間是一場漫長而盛大的喪禮，而熙攘人族的空間迭代紛陳，莫不為送葬行列孑孓零落的前赴後繼。我們是行腳的送葬者，我們也是等待別人行腳送行的待葬者，而無不為彌留世界中的彌留者。這世界，造化工力，風流俱足，人在天涯生死間，就是這般美好！

This natural process is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy and no particular meaning can to be found herein. If meaning is to be had, however, it lies in the fact that, as human beings, we think and therefore we are. And what dramatic and contradictory thoughts they can be! It is in the churning evolution of their multiplicity that the world we perceive itself is human. In our odyssey there is exile, aimless wandering and momentary refuge; amidst it all an allusive sense of beauty persists. This realm of human being is as intimate as our native place, as endearing to us as delighted conversations on sunny days or on a moonlit night. These all both buttress our humanity and are an ever-present reminder of reality. Fleeting moments of love and hate are thereby bestowed with the promise of eternity. But there is more: the wails that burst forth when joy reaches its zenith; the alarums raised when injustice is detected; the unfettered travels over the vastness; the cries to heaven of the tortured — and then there is the mockery and derision that is reserved for all of the absurdities of the world.

All of these are native to human nature and also the privilege of our universe of human rights, created by the Maker of Things, innate and thereby inalienable. And thus it is known that to prevent people from speaking, to censor people’s thoughts, to attempt to ‘kill the heart and damn the mouth’ — both brainwashing and ‘mouth washing’, are acts that must beg the question: Does this not fly in the face of humanity itself? Does such perfidy by its very nature reveal its inhumanity? And yet to think, there are those who believe that their barbarity can vouchsafe their everlasting dominion!

其為自然進程，圓融自足，本身並無任何意義。若說意義，則人類因思而在，思旅跌宕，思路紛歧，原本自然的進程於是人氣氤氳，這世界方始秉具屬人之性，适可於流亡和漂泊的途中小憩，還可能，隱約尚存美感。而言說令屬人的世界進境於手足的故鄉，陽光下的暢談和月色裡的呢喃，讓我們保持人性，提示存在之真在，瞬間的愛恨便成永恆。更不用說喜極而泣的嚎啕，不平則鳴的呼號，大荒振袂的嘯傲，遭受酷刑時的朝天吼，對於一切荒誕不經之嬉笑怒罵——凡此種種，俱為人性之本性，更是人權大荒特權，天造地設，天經地義，雖天地不可剝奪。故爾，禁止人類思考和說話，誅人之心，堵人之口，既洗腦，再洗嘴，請問：還有什麼較此更加反人類？哪裡會有比它更為荒唐的笑話？竟然真的相信恃此愚蠻便可萬世一係！？

From one autumn to the next — starting in the Year of the Rabbit and ending in the Year of the Dragon — I cultivated the fields of poesy. Furrows awry and seasons out of joint, I gather here my unruly produce. The cacophony of my verse may suggest mere doggerel, but these are a voice from my heart. The lawless rhythms of these poems reflect my febrile moods for in their jumbled cadences I have sought release. The ancients wrote about ‘raising a solitary cup to the moon [to accompany the writing of poetry]’ and ‘inviting the spring on the tips of branches into one’s poems’ — the disheveled variety of my compositions reflects similar, if inferior, aspirations.

These verses vary both in style and in relative gravitas — some are hasty trifles while others aspire to a measure of profundity. Together they reflect the solitude as well as the undiminished passion I feel in the autumn years of my life. On their wings I travel into the hyperion beyond the clouds in calm repose, glimpsing all the while the mythic majesty of creation itself. They are also part of an ongoing journey in ‘thoughts and words’. In my daily progress, and as time passes, I am keenly aware that I am edging ever closer to that final leave-taking. Yet I remain undaunted, my enthusiasm not dulled, for I have clarity of purpose. In the process, I am bearing witness to the myriad of ways in which this garbage time of history will also bury me.

從癸卯至甲辰，秋復秋矣，一年筆耕，零碎無序而時序排列，更無增刪。一聲聲，一更更，類皆打油，但言心聲，以韻律應和陰陽，藉頓挫撫慰塊壘，恰如古人言，“舉酒對明月，南枝喜入新詩裡”，錯落聲聲，不過爾爾。至于品類不一，品位參差，無論炎炎還是詹詹，惟載述日暮桑榆的孤寂卻沸騰，聊將萬般心事寄託於蒼冥遊雲的散淡，卻又仿佛創世神話般之渾莽。總體以言，不外乎思與言的逆程上，在日復一日的詠唱中，每分每秒自己為自己送葬之際，欣欣然，嬉嬉然，兢兢然，還順便看看歷史的垃圾時間究竟如何自己將自己徹底埋葬。

[Note:

• 炎炎詹詹: a reference to 大言炎炎 小言詹詹 in the chapter On Making All Things Equal in Zhuangzi《莊子．齊物論》。]

This collection of poems has appeared in print thanks to the good graces of Rong Wei, a friend whose unstinting efforts cannot be repaid with mere words of gratitude. Now so much independent Chinese thought relies on an international readership and therein perhaps lie the seeds of some intellectual future. May the benefits of the extraordinary efforts [of publishers like Rong Wei] spread far and wide.

I am grateful also to Geremie Barmé, my brother in words, for suggesting the Latin Dies Irae as a translation of 送葬 sòng zàng, the title of this collection. The Chinese expression is conventionally translated as ‘burial’, ‘funeral’ or ‘funeral cortège’.

Zhangrun

Frimaire, Seventh Month of the
Jiachen Year of the Dragon
19 October 2024

Composed next to the old river bed
as autumn winds scatter the leaves.

詩集刊行，仍託榮偉兄打理，其勞心勞力，豈一個謝字了得！而海外集萃，為華文世界的獨立思想留存讀書種子，於匯聚華夏學思的勞形竭慮中為明天積蓄思想的勁道，苦心經營，澤霈廣被，更且劬勞卓著矣！

“送葬”一辭拉丁譯法，承白公杰明兄（Geremie R. Barmé）提示，一併竭誠恭謝！

章潤

甲辰霜月十七，二零二四年十月十九日

故河道旁，秋風掃落葉矣

[Note: For a translation of the Postscript 後記 of Dies Irae, see Further Thoughts on Poetic Justice 語言的公民及其論述性詩歌 ——再論詩學正義論, China Thought Express, 10 January 2025.]

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Dies Irae

Five Poems Selected by Xu Zhangrun

某僭主

那片血滋的赤土畸詭不辨東西，
陰陽失調，眼角與街角
都密佈著騰騰殺機，
可所有紛歧的心路都指向同一個
歸宿——
盼他趕緊死！

甲辰桂月廿八，二零二四年九月三十日

欲加之罪

文字千鈞，如蟻足趲奔，
馱負起星辰與愛恨。
我們來人間一趟，
從生到死，熱血自焚，
居然討不到一口香吻。
萬象俱隳不礙時間俯仰進退，
淚海的浪湧是血海從容不迫的天文。
既然人類都將客死於人間，
苦難啊，我感恩
感恩於你的雄渾！

甲辰六月初一，二零二四年七月六日。
四年前的今晨四點五十分，
京蜀兩地數十名警察和便衣包圍住所，
闖入家中，將寫字的漢子鋃鐺繫獄。

釘牢的大地

墳塚是插入地心的鐵釘，
釘頭所向，時間血流如注。
墳頭是敷蓋傷口的釘帽，
偃臥八荒四野，如亭亭華蓋，
敘說著萬古長青的無奈。
大地之上有多少墳塚，
便有多少刺心的釘，釘牢了千萬代。
而釘行大地，斑斕如星辰萬點，
阻隔了陰陽，對歷史削足黥面，
卻敞開了今古的千難萬險，
地上地下，華夏提頭相見。
眾鄉親言語不通，道路不平，
叮囑殷殷！叮囑殷殷！
在各自的部落等待雷鳴⋯⋯

甲辰五月廿一，二零二四年六月二十六日

極樂

宅茲於心，死亡的詩意，
恰似極樂一般有跡無形的隱秘。
此境：不足為外人道也。

一想到垂危時分的溫柔，
便嚮往彼岸烏有之敦厚，
哦哦，原諒吧，原諒所有的打手。

甲辰二月初十，二零二四年三月十九日

徒勞，憂傷配不上理想

臨刑前，如何熬過殘生？
只怕，只怕憂傷配不上理想。

說什麼呢？
在此異己的敵國的祖國——

十字架，十字架，
永恆流放的家！

癸卯臘月十一，二零二四年元月二十一日

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On June Fourth 1989:

• On the Eve — China ’89 Symposium, Bolinas, California, 27-29 April 1989
• Simon Leys, After the Massacres, 12 October 1989
• He Xin, A Word of Advice to the Politburo, January 1990
• Beijing Days, Beijing Nights, May 1989, 1991
• Using the Past to Save the Present: Dai Qing’s Historiographical Dissent, June 1991
• Geremie Barmé & Linda Jaivin, New Ghosts, Old Dreams: Chinese Rebel Voices, New York: Times Books, 1992
• The Gate of Heavenly Peace, Boston: Long Bow, 1995
• 1989, 1999, 2009: Totalitarian Nostalgia, June 2009
• Chai Ling Sues the Long Bow Group, 2009-2013
• The Gate of Darkness, 4 June 2017
• Mourning Liu Xiaobo, 30 June 2017
• Memory Holes, old & new, 29 May 2017
• Geremie R. Barmé, Supping with a Long Spoon — dinner with Premier Li, November 1988, 10 December 2018
• Liu Xiaobo, Bellicose and Thuggish — China Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow, 24 January 2019
• Tiananmen 1989 — Three Decades Behind China’s Gate of Darkness, 31 May 2019
• In Memoriam — Shrouds of Ice on a River Incarnadine, 4 June 2020
• Xu Zhangrun, et al, In Memoriam — 4 June 2021, 4 June 2021
• Prelude to a Restoration: Xi Jinping, Deng Xiaoping, Chen Yun & the Spectre of Mao Zedong, 20 September 2021
• Back When the Sino-US Cold War Began, 1 June 2023
• A Unabomber Moment, or How We Hurt the Feelings of the Chinese People, 23 December 2023
• June Fourth 2024 — Dai Qing, a Former Person who Refused to be Silenced, 4 June 2024

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Dies Irae

Contents

許章潤《送葬》目錄

序

後記

語言的公民及其論述性詩歌——再論詩學正義論

Further Thoughts on Poetic Justice, translated by China Thought Express

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In the First Light of Dawn

Xi Xi

In the first grey light of dawn,
We curl into the air,
Trailing from the ground
Up into the open sky above the square.
Limp, leaden, dumdum-pocked
The corpses lie
Mashed into the concrete.
Suddenly weightless
We drift
Like balloons.

We hear the sound
Of your weeping.

Mother, I beg you
Not to look for us again in the square,
The wasteland, where
Crushed tents, banners, command posts,
Public address stations
Strew the ground.
Teachers, students, friends
Are all gone.
The acrid smoke of gunfire
Fades as
Thousands of lives
Turn to ash.

Tomorrow will be Environment Day —
A Sanitation Show is planned,
The square will be scrubbed
Nice and clean,
As if nothing ever happened.

We hear the sound
Of your weeping.

We fell together,
Together we rise,
Joining once more our parted hands,
Holding our torches even higher.
A wound gapes
On one man’s chest;
A tank tread
Furrows one man’s brow.
But these wounds lie
On the body’s husk;
We are beautiful beyond compare.
Nothing can hurt us now.
We will share
The city’s splendour
With the stone beasts —
They, on their columns,
We, on the People’s Monument —
Calling
Across the square.

11 June 1989

— trans. Pang Bingjun 龐秉鈞, with John Minford, in
Geremie Barmé and Linda Jaivin, eds,
New Ghosts, Old Dreams:
Chinese Rebel Voices,
1992, pp.106-107

Reproduced in Three Decades Behind China’s Gate of Darkness, China Heritage, 4 June 2020

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