This is a column by Vinita Agrawal.
Liu was born in Changchun, Jilin, in 1955 to an intellectual family. In 1969, during the Down to the Countryside Movement, Liu’s father took him to Horqin Right Front Banner, Inner Mongolia. After he finished middle school in 1974, he was sent to the countryside to work on a farm in Jilin.
In 1977, Liu was admitted to the Department of Chinese Literature at Jilin University, where he created a poetry group known as “The Innocent Hearts” (Chi Zi Xin) with six schoolmates. In 1982, he graduated with BA in literature before being admitted as a research student at the Department of Chinese Literature at Beijing Normal University, where he received an MA in literature in 1984 and started teaching as a lecturer thereafter. That year, he married Tao Li, with whom he had a son named Liu Tao in 1985, Liu served as…
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Feet step over cracks-
some cracks are steeper than others…
that’s when two tall, anemic men in
well-fitted suits appear out of a sleek,
long black car; they’re silent, avoiding eye contact
with onlookers as they both pull white latex gloves
over their gangly fingers, as if they were preparing to perform
surgery publically, or handling an antique vose at a crime scene.
One suited man grabs the immobile victim by his legs
and the other man picks him up under his arms;
they wrap him in a maroon bag and zip it up.
They carefully place the man in back of
the black car and it slowly sputters away.
An ice cream truck drives cautiously down the block;
children lick their cones clean, while the bloodstain congeals.
Steven Allan Porter was born February 5, 1992 in Coral Springs, FL to a Jewish mother and a German father. His influences…
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In a book with little illustrations
And text, lies what takes place
On thrones and slums,
On rickshaws and cabins inside Jet airways,
Where little geometries
Are arranged, inversed, slanted
To make chemistries titillate.
And this book holds the corporeal truths
Few speak in sheer honesty
Or do in shameless subordination,
When in those close encounters
Anatomies and misanatomies are bashfully contravened
To make bare necessities
A bonanza of skill and articulation.
And all it takes is a small book
To make a man the god of little things;
Of all the naughty little acts in 64 positions
That we ignore in shame and yet
We bounce off anatomies, like questions being posed
By extensions of our bodies.
Pages that miseducate the sane
To make folly, with all the little
Places that are reachable by anatomical devices,
And of all the desires that the body conceals,
Only barefaced is worthy,
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In life, you will realise there is a role for everyone to meet. Some will test you, some will use you, some will love you, and some will teach you. But the ones who are truly important are the ones who bring out the best in you. They are the rare and amazing people who remind you why it is worth it.