As I write this, a bee hovers above a flower, and alights in its open petaled mouth. Crawling into the fragrance, he takes his fill of the sweet treasure within. It is his mission. Then he is off again exploring and enjoying the many different aspects of all colors of flora, and returning them to his home. And in this simple task, he brings with him all of what he has experienced. Thus flowers of all kinds become pregnant with fresh evolutions, different aspects, variations, strengths, immunities, hues and textures of all sorts. The forest is radiant with color and abundance as these flowers become intermingled and enmeshed in this green sea of life. I believe a true translator is as simple as a bee, and as would be expected, quiet busy.

I once told an acquaintance of mine in passing that I was in the process of translating poetry from Chinese into English. He scoffed and said that it was pointless. He said there’s no way you can translate those thoughts and feelings across in the same way. And in some regards, he was correct. It’s because of the fact that languages, to greater and lesser degrees, have inherent differences that require translators to create something brand new, while doing our utmost best to retain the original meaning, imagery and forms. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t carry the spirit across the borders, and enliven our own people in a nuanced way. Translation of international poetry does just this.

Interestingly enough, my experiences in China began at the end of the eastward road of trade for those bygone western merchants: in Xi An, the ancient capital, home of the Terracota Warriors and so many legendary dynasties. Long ago, by means of this road, and even today, through The Belt and Road Initiative, there has been an exchange of goods and services. In the past, China exported so much porcelain throughout the world that all the household tableware or other similar ceramic materials in America are all simply became known as china. They sold so much tea that the British created the idiom “I wouldn’t do (X) for all the tea in China.” When I was growing up in America, and even nowadays, if you turn over any object in the house, you’ll find it was made in China. There have been many great nations engaged in fair trade with each other because of the bounty in China to be shared. But I think often we only focus on the tangible things that have been traded, and forget about those imports and exports that cannot be seen or touched, and that of which are, in ways, realer than those objects which eventually perish, and eventually become but a speck of dust floating in some distant stretch of this endless universe we somehow find ourselves placed within. Once a physical object is given away, it is gone. Thats it. Yet to give away an idea is to not only to keep it, but also strengthen it as well. As Li Bai once wrote: 千金散尽还复来.

There’s an invisible collective realm, a universal mentality, like some sort of quantum womb, out of which spring “the ten thousand things”, those of which we experience with our senses- inventions, architecture, enterprises, movements, revolutions, entire countries and civilizations. This is the invisible realm where word is born, where it collapses down into ink upon the page into poetry. This medium, poetry, which is neutral in itself, allows purposeful language and feeling to transmit through it amongst the nations of the globe, for better or for worse. Assuming that a government does a good job of screening out depravity and things that could be termed unhealthy, what remains is an immaterial treasure trove. If the poet is skilled enough, and the translator is as well, this transmission can be done in unexpected, novel ways, that imbue our lives with more meaning and beauty. In a way, poetry and the translators of this art form are road and railway builders, creators of humanity’s psychic infrastructure, who bring the great ideas across our respective borders, which benefit all who may see value in them.

These ideas, at their best, are invaluable, exchangeable, and capable of import and export, just like economic trade in other goods. Furthermore, this process of immaterial trade been going on since before China opened up it’s Silk Road, in those cultures fortunate enough to have the courage to open their hearts, minds, ears, and doors to the foreign nations who share the planet with them. As the Belt and Road Initiative aids other nations in their own infrastructure and promotes cultural bonding, poetry and translation run parallel right along side these pathways, like a virtual network of neurons running through the consciousness of man, reaching from China at its epicenter, outward and back again, creating a series of virtuous circles amongst the world’s nations, until the center is indistinguishable as we are all benefitting and coexisting as one planet.

The translated poetic works are an interconnected series of roads that I’ve begun to walk these past years, and in truth, they all lead homeward. I took a walk with my lover today through the city streets of Beijing. She was snapping photographs around the park, picking out details I never would have picked up on. And those pictures she took were brilliant, and inspiring. She said she always remains a tourist, even in her home town. The poetic works of foreign nations and the high quality translations into different languages allows just this sort of experience. A walk through your own mind in a new, beautiful, and unexpected way.

I gaze fondly now at another buzzing hovering bee on a different flower, covered in golden dust, as I finish up this speech. There he goes, flying off into the future.