Renditions
No. 46 (Autumn 1996) |
The Beer Bottle-top By Yu Jian Translated by Simon Patton unsure of how to address it it was still sitting at the head of the table only a moment ago the custodian of a bottle of stout absolutely indispensable it has a sense of its own status signifying conviviality as the sun goes down and the depth of froth in a glass opened with a pop at the start of the evening meal the action strikingly similar to that of a bullfrog the waiter even believes that it really is a frog believes that something on the table covered with cooked food has unexpectedly been brought back to life he is vexed by his misunderstanding and immediately shifts his attention to a toothpick he is the last one after him the world gives it no further thought with no other entries on it in the dictionary no original meanings extended meanings transferred meanings but those dishes originally arranged in submission before it signify nothing less than the flavours of Sichuan cuisine the napkin is touched by the hand of a general the roses in full bloom an allusion to privilege in an eccentric arc it exited this gathering an arc not its own the brewery never designed such a line for its product it now lies on the floor with the cigarette butts footprints bones and other rubbish an unrelated jumble an impromptu design of no use to anyone but its plight is even more wretched a butt reminds the world of a slob a bone brings to mind a dog or a cat and footprints of course allude to a human life it is waste its whiteness being nothing more than its whiteness and its shape nothing more than its shape it falls beyond the reach of our adjectives I wasn't a drinker then it was I who opened the bottle of beer and for this reason I noticed its strange leap its simple disappearance I suddenly tried to imagine the pop it made jumping out into space but was unable mine was the body of an author of a collection of poetry and sixty kilograms of corporeal existence all I did was bend down and pick up this alluring small white object it was hard with a serrated rim which cut into my finger and made me feel a sharpness unlike that of knives February 1991 Back to table of contents |
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