| IN TIANANMEN SQUARE |
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Tiananmen Square encloses space and people. A million souls can stand here while Moa shines out across it like the moon. He stares toward his mausoleum where comrades queue with tourists to see the man who challenged art, and grass. There are children flying kites today, pulling hard against the sky. A yellow wind blows in from the Gobi: it chases birds away, makes the people hide their heads in bags. We photograph Qianmen Gate and a man who screams through narrow eyes. We watch the bikes float by; we listen to the traffic growl and thunder. I think of tanks, faded grins, and imagine waking-up to find the circle squared. What is this place exactly? The people have no English, we have no Mandarin. All we do is wander to each compass point. All they do is stare and, sometimes, fail to smile. |
| Paul McDonald teaches English and American studies at the University of Wolverhampton. He has given papers on various literary topics in England, Holland, Finland and America. He has published critical and creative work in many periodicals both in Europe and the States. His most recent books are, Fiction from the Furnace: A hundred years of black country writing, The Student Guide to Philip Roth, and the critically acclaimed Black Country based novel, Surviving Sting. |
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Poem © Paul McDonald, 1999 Web design by Gerald England This page last updated: 25th October 2002. |