The Rivers of Amsterdam
The Poetics of Memory in Duo Duo's Poem
Like Xue Di or Gao Xinjiang, Duo Duo is one of today's Chinese poets living in exile since 1989, the Tiananmen massacre. He is also often associated with the so-called menglong (misty, ambiguous) poets such as Yang Lian or Bei Dao, other prominent representatives of Chinese exile poetry. Duo Duo has been living in the Netherlands; that is why he chose Amsterdam and its rivers to draw a parallel between his life in his homeland and the condition of being an exile.
His poetic vision might seem to rely on 'simple' images: times of the day, seasons, familiar allegories. However, he treats these concepts in such a special, subtle way that he manages to create a poetic and linguistic tension throughout his work.
Amsterdam and China constitute two separate time layers in the poem. The starting impressions reflect upon the outside reality: a cold, dark November night in Amsterdam. The frame of the poem is based on these impressions of the Western city, built on the water: that is where the poet sets his sail from and casts anchor at the end of his contemplation. What is in between - the body of the composition - is an imaginary journey back to his homeland.
After the two brief, matter-of-fact lines the word "Suddenly" indicates the beginning of a new vision: the poet moves from the level of reality to the realm of memory. The separate arrangement of the word is of special significance: it not only marks a shift, but also builds symmetry between the first stanza, and the second one, introducing China.
The time of the year in Amsterdam is almost the same as in his memory-land: it is autumn in both places. Yet, the "autumn breeze" in China does not imply darkness, or in a symbolic sense, aging and the closeness of death. On the contrary, these first pictures depicting his homeland are full of freshness: the "mandarins on the tree" indicate life and vitality.
Shutting the window in the next stanza can be interpreted in two ways: as a simple act against catching cold in the November night of Amsterdam, or as a naive attempt to escape from his memories, evoking in him nostalgia after the lost homeland, as well as sorrow over the tragic events of 1989. The backward flow of the rivers is a bad omen, prophesying chaos in the place of cosmos. Although the line "That sun all inlaid with pearls, has risen" refers to the perfect cycle of nature, it turns out that in front of the destructive power of human cruelty even nature is vulnerable: "Yet to now avail"-laments the poet. The sun may rise every day over China, however, for the victims of Tiananmen it has set forever. Thus, the contrast between the November night of Amsterdam and the glowing sun of China dissolves into one darkness: that of despair and death. In other words, the darkness of nature is juxtaposed with the dreary events that have taken place in the motherland.
Perhaps the most powerful image in the poem is that of the doves. Doves are well known symbols of peace and love, or in Christian mythology of the Holy Ghost. They are white, as opposed to the simile in the poem: "Doves like iron filings scatter and fall". Their scattering and fall are further implications of death and suffering. Furthermore, all the adjectives of this stanza - "devoid", "vast and empty" emphasize the loss of positive values. The falling doves may be identified with the "boys" in the next line who are now missing from the roads; who are now all dead. And the people who killed them are symbolized by the snails, crawling on the roof after the autumn rain. The choice of the animals is not accidental, since in several mythologies snails are the signs of sinfulness. Specifically, the poet uses their image to reflect on the political situation of China where noble aims have been defeated by corrupt leaders.
The closing line: "On Amsterdam's rivers, slowly sailing by…" evokes the archetypal meaning of river, as a metaphor of time. Its currents, being in perpetual motion, gradually blur the memory of the past. However, those sharp, powerful images, which seem to be nailed into the poet's memory, can never be entirely washed away.
by Katalin Juhasz