The Artists' Village
We spilled into the artists' village
Adjusting our hats, sunglasses -- the artists were finishing lunch
their paint brushes sleeping in turpentine.
We were in a gigantic barn house complete with
maize, sunflowers, lazy gourds, unfinished dumplings.
We said 'ni-hao' affably and followed the guide
who took us to the living quarters of the artists,
inviting doorway crowded with their Volkswagens,Dachshunds
drowsy Dalmatians, panting bulldogs.
We browsed through the yard--
Tractor wheels had been sculpted into sunflowers
'farm yard metamorphosis' artist Yan explained.
'life cycle of iron scrapÂ
'rust to rust' -- he added
gingerly with a hint of melancholy.
Adjusting our hats, sunglasses -- the artists were finishing lunch
their paint brushes sleeping in turpentine.
We were in a gigantic barn house complete with
maize, sunflowers, lazy gourds, unfinished dumplings.
We said 'ni-hao' affably and followed the guide
who took us to the living quarters of the artists,
inviting doorway crowded with their Volkswagens,Dachshunds
drowsy Dalmatians, panting bulldogs.
We browsed through the yard--
Tractor wheels had been sculpted into sunflowers
'farm yard metamorphosis' artist Yan explained.
'life cycle of iron scrapÂ
'rust to rust' -- he added
gingerly with a hint of melancholy.
Nuzhat Amin teaches English at Dhaka University. The poem was written during a stay in China.
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