Presenting the loud, tumbling, and heavily felt poetry of Max Yu, a rising poet and playwright from the San Francisco Bay Area living in Shanghai. This is poetry to be spoken and heard, so we’ve included recordings from the author along with our usual slate of art, interview, and critical accompaniment.
The Poems
Old Chinese Man
i’m taking my salary in cash
bundles and bundles of pink Mao Zedongs stuffed into my backpack
i don’t have a bank account
i don’t have a work permit
i ask HR to give me my salary
they tell me i don’t have a bank account
yes i’m aware of this
i’m aware of this everyday as i pay everything in cash
only old people pay with cash
i like to drink baijiu
i have a bottle full of tea leaves at the bottom
i spit a lot
all that’s left to do is smoke cigarettes
the last step until i complete my transformation into an old chinese man
it is true
i have come to shanghai to become an old chinese man
it’s been my goal ever since i was a child
at work i act like a young white man
but after work, i become lao yeye
it’s a good life being an old chinese man
when i spit i make the ground more authentic
you cannot have a chinese sidewalk without saliva and snot on it
my existence breeds culture
i am drinking Red Star erguotou because my retirement benefits are shit
i can only drink maotai when my son comes to visit
my son has a lot of money
he’s been to europe
he went to college
i did not go to college
in elementary school i learned russian
my russian is very good
da
privyet
it used to be better
but then in school we learned about su xiu
soviet revisionism is very bad
the soviets are bad
i started to learn english
but then a soldier came in and told us to stop learning english
who needs to learn the language of dogs?
did you know that i graduated high school at 16?
everyone did back then
things were different
i’m smoking double happiness cigarettes and drinking erguotou again
i spit at your feet, narrowly missing your polished leather shoes
i do not say sorry
old chinese man does not apologize for being old chinese man
i wear my military hat
you’ve seen it before
green with the red star on the front
i am loyal to the party
the party has done bad things to me in the past
but people make mistakes
it is okay
do not ask me about those bad things
i am old chinese man
i do not have access to emotions and painful memories
i only have access to baijiu and cigarettes
and the wind in my ears during my morning stroll
i live alone
my wife died many years ago
did i tell you my son lives in america?
the birthplace of capitalism and colonialism
no one says that anymore
but i still remember a time when people did
i remember a time when the factory bell woke me up
i remember a time when people knew my name
you see me every morning on your way to work
i was the leader of my work unit
today china is strong
i am proud to be chinese
i no longer recognize china
i am proud of my country’s development
where is my home
my son is in america
i am not sure what he does
i do not ask
i wouldn’t understand anyway
there’s so much today that i do not understand
i only understand a world that died with the people who knew my name
it is late at night
i caught the last train home
i work 996, 9am to 9pm six days a week
tonight i had to work a little longer
i had to finish up
i am a businessman
i work at xujiahui
my work is very complex
i sell insurance
everyone needs insurance
everyone needs me
i am walking home from work and pick up fried rice at a street stand and i see you there smoking double happiness cigarettes and a bottle of erguotou in your pocket
you are looking at me
i look away
you spit and it lands near my polished leather shoes
i look away you look at me you see through me
you wear a military hat i’ve seen you before green with a red star in front
you suddenly reach out and grab the sleeve of my custom tailored suit i got at the Bund
i dress for success my work is very complex i am a businessman i sell insurance everyone needs insurance everyone needs me so unhand me
i smell the cigarettes clinging through your teeth you pull me closer and say
i live alone
i am loyal to the party
i used to be the leader of my work unit
my wife died many years ago
i do not say sorry
i no longer recognize china
my son lives in america
i am proud of my country’s development
where is my home
you see me on your way to work while i am on my morning stroll
i have access to baijiu and cigarettes and the wind in my ears
i look calm and serene with my hands clasped behind my back like the earth welcomes my every step
but i am only wandering in a world i no longer recognize
like a son so successful he never calls
i am proud of my country’s development
my son went to college
i used to be the leader of my work unit
you’ve seen me before
i wear a military hat
green with the red star in front
you know me
you see me at the intersection
you see me in the grocery store aisle
you see me on my morning stroll
you see me on my stool at noon
you see me when you walk home from work
you look away i look at you i see through you
i remember a time when you looked at me
i remember a time when you knew my name
Jingan Bathroom
i love shanghai
cause when i need to pee
i just walk into a shopping mall
and there is a bathroom
so beautiful
i could live in it
shopping malls are everywhere
china has demolished history
to make shopping malls
so i can feel comfortable peeing
i’m in a bathroom somewhere near jingan temple
do you know what jingan means?
it means peace and quiet, so
Temple of Peace and Quiet
i don’t know if you’ve been
to the Temple of Peace and Quiet,
but it’s not peaceful
or quiet
it’s quite the opposite
advertisements sting your eyes,
horns
everywhere
you know where there’s peace and quiet?
in this bathroom
i bought this bathroom
(i’m rich!)
i am renting out my bathroom to others
people come to me and ask
where can i find peace and quiet in my life?
i say, meet me in jingan
that’s not peace and quiet at all! they say
trust me, i say, the greatest solitude
lies within the eye of the storm
they come to my bathroom and experience bliss
they come to my bathroom and experience the pleasures
of automatic faucets and automatic soap
automatic bliss, automatic escape
the corporate cysts sting your eyes
sometimes people come to me with no money
they cannot afford to rent out my bathroom
no matter
i rent it out to them for free
(i’m rich!)
some people ask,
how did you know to rent out your bathroom?
how did you know the greatest peace and quiet
was in a shopping mall bathroom?
simple, i say
you are what you hate
i hate these shopping malls
i am a shopping mall
i destroy culture and history
i am an imposition to everyone around me
no one wants me because there’s a cheaper version online
i am too expensive
i am too needy
i am the product of an ideal gone amok
i am the product of a lazy fuck
i am the product of all you hate
i am the product of all you live for
i am the product you die for
do you know how i came to this shopping mall
i was searching for my grandmother’s old house
she lived in a longtang, a lanehouse
thriving communities bound by narrow alleys
narrow lives died in marrow and blood
my history is written in a world unseen
i found the address and in front of me
is a giant fucking shopping mall
a giant fucking shopping mall
where my grandmother lived and died
where my great grandmother lived and died
i go inside and ask the information desk
for information on my grandmother’s home
and they do not understand me
why do they not understand me
why are they looking at me like i’m crazy
why do they not understand that the road we’re taking
is a road we’ve deluded ourselves into calling development
where are the lives i search for in dreams
where is my home where is my history
where is the peace and quiet i dream for
why is the peace and quiet i yearn for found
in giant fucking shopping mall bathrooms
with shitty imported American pop
why is the peace and quiet i find
only in the raindrops on my window
why can’t i find the peace and quiet
in the faces that merge on the subway
why can’t i find the peace in me
to quiet the release i’ve lost so long ago
胖大海 – Big Fat Ocean
胖大海 is pronounced pang da hai
which literally translates to big fat ocean
胖大海 is an herbal tea used in Chinese medicine
they are tiny, hard seeds;
when soaked in water, the seeds expand layer after layer
into a squishy blob
my grandmother sends me 胖大海
my father texts me saying that
grandma wants me to drink 胖大海 regularly
she says it is good for my throat
which is good because i am a teacher and teachers talk a lot
he agrees
Please drink more big fat ocean
i never touch it
胖大海 is used for clearing up your throat
it reduces phlegm, and it aids your lungs
my stash of 胖大海 sits in my kitchen drawer
until you tell me you’re sick
the next day i go over to your place to give you medicine
i lie down next to you on your bed
it smells like chinese herbs
my face is hot, i wonder if you see me blushing
i read you a book and scratch your head
i never read aloud to anyone before, i said
you start a new job on monday
and i want you to feel better by then
but secretly
a little voice in my heart hoped
that you would still be sick
so i could have an excuse to lie beside you in bed
and scratch your head
it’s next week
i realize i never gave you my 胖大海
we don’t text for a day
i act like an immature 14 year old girl about it
by running circles in my head
and constantly checking my phone
finally, i cave.
i can’t help but text you asking if you want some big fat ocean
you laugh at my translation
you know i just want to see you
to get more of last time
an hour that felt like an era
looking back it feels like seconds
you know i just want to see you
the fourth time we hangout you say
you want to be around me all the time
isn’t that dangerous, you tell me.
just so you know, a pause as you finish
the strawberry smoothie we’ve been sharing,
i might hurt you
you’re busy with work, i don’t see you, i still have 胖大海
i see you at a party, we don’t talk much
i try not to look at you
i want you to talk to everyone else
i want you all to myself
i lie awake wondering if you share the same thoughts as me
do you know that i only let you pet my head?
that i only like it when you call me cute?
if it’s anyone else, i glare
but when you do it
i blush like a one-dimensional anime character
the next morning i wake up
and feel that feeling in my throat
when i cough, i know what it is
i’m sick
i’m brewing 胖大海 as i text you saying
“i might be dying”
i watch the big fat ocean expand
layer upon layer
into a squishy blob
you reply back in two minutes with six short messages
asking if i’m okay
i grin
you ask if you got me sick
i reply with
maybe
i grin
you order medicine to be delivered to me
and say you’ll try to see me tomorrow evening
the medicine helps
but you know what would really make me feel better
it’s tomorrow evening
i’m waiting for you to come check up on me
i’m waiting for you to rub my head and tell me i have a fever
i’m waiting for you to lie down next to me and do what i did for you
i’m checking my phone
it’s 7pm and you said you’d come by in the evening
i’m low-key panicking
okay i’m high-key panicking
my friend writes me an email saying
she wants to fall helplessly in love
her new year’s resolution is to “break more bones”
jamie, why are you wishing for that
why are WE wishing for that?
i fantasize falling in love
but when i do
it’s AWFUL
it’s 8pm and i’m waiting like a princess
for a prince who’ll never arrive
my prince has too much work
too many phone calls
and now i doubt if my prince has any calls at all
are you just ignoring me?
i am a big fat ocean of emotions
it is dangerous to give me love
one sip and i go fucking wild
Loveaholic!
I’M A SLUT FOR EMOTIONS!
Big Fat Ocean!
when you give me a drop of love
i expand into a squishy mushy blob
you can’t hold me anymore
throw me away
when i fall in love i become trash
i’m a princess just waiting to be held
waiting to be loved
when has falling in love ever worked in my favor?
uh
NEVER????
come on, max, get with the fucking times
get your head in the game
my father’s name is ocean
i am son of ocean
i am BIG FAT OCEAN
i throw myself into emotions even if it hurts me
i walk out in the rain without an umbrella cause i can take it
the rain drenches my face and i love it
i get sick and i love it
you can’t check up on me and i love it
you don’t have time for me and i love it
you know i’ll always fall for you and i love it
you know i’m fragile goods you’ll always put me upside down
shattering me you know i’ll crawl back to you in shards
i romanticize pain and trivial pursuits
i can’t trivialize my pursuit of you
even if in the end it breaks my bones
i’ll always crawl for another just to get sewn
just for you to break my bones
you’ll never know cause it’s not your fault
the blame is my own and mine to pride
you’ll blow me to the side
i miss you all the time
i am Big Fat Ocean
you can litter in me and you think i’ll never feel it
you can piss in me and you think i’ll never feel it
i’m the master at hiding emotions
just another way of saying i’m a coward
i’ll choke on your plastic love
i know it’ll never end
there will always be more
but tonight i pretend there’s only you
you say i love to repeat lines
it’s my style, you say
well the reason i repeat my words
is because i can never learn from them
in my writing everything becomes clear
but every morning i wake up in a fog of fear
you warn you’ll hurt me
but i’ll never listen
i’ll run head-on into emotions
trip and fall
it’s your name i call
i am big fat ocean
i’ll pretend you’ve been avoiding me
because you like me too much
and don’t want to get attached
i’ll buy into my pity lies
to smother my pitied self to sleep
there will be a knock at the door
and i will allow myself the naive hope
that you’re on the other side waiting to surprise
i am big fat ocean
i don’t think i love it at all
but if i don’t love it
why do i keep doing this to myself?
i am big fat ocean
just for you to break my bones again
an hour that felt like an era
it’s your name i call
i am big fat ocean
you can piss in me
trip and fall
i’m a coward
i’ll run head-on
there will be a knock at the door
are you just ignoring me?
i’ll never listen
i am big fat ocean
i might be dying
A SLUT FOR EMOTIONS!
i’m a princess waiting to be held
the stupid naive hope
crawling back in shards
you can litter my hopes
i’ll choke your plastic love
why do i want this
layer upon layer
expand
tonight there’s only you
i grin
i am big fat ocean
isn’t that dangerous
i might hurt you
you know i just want to see you
are you smart enough to not get attached?
i am big fat ocean
i want to see you
i know you’ll hurt me
i am big fat ocean
an excuse
i am
i am an excuse
repeat after me
you are an excuse
you are an excuse
i repeat for me
an excuse for you
for you i am me
for me for you
an excuse for me
a doormat to each of us
the excuses in me run loose
waiting for you to say the truth
A Brief Chat
Deva Eveland: I’m curious—do you speak aloud as you’re writing? The poems have this very spoken quality.
Max Yu: I would say I definitely speak them out loud. The ones for Spittoon that David saw me perform, not all my poems are spoken word like that. But I’ve done more of that since coming to Shanghai. As to why, I have no idea. That’s a new thing. If there’s ever spoken word poetry or open mic, I will always do those kind of poems. Everyone really likes them, it just sounds really good when you say it out loud. Some poetry doesn’t sound amazing or interesting when you read it out loud. The wide majority of poetry when you read it out loud at an open mic or whatever doesn’t seem that interesting. Not that it’s bad, I’d just personally find it more interesting if I could just read it in my head. That’s my opinion though. I care more about how it sounds. Whenever I talk with an editor (my prose too) they’ll say “Your tenses are all wrong” or “Who was the antecedent?” And I get it. But I’m not really interested in keeping tenses perfect or keeping the correct word choice, I would say. Because I like the sound of things that are not correct. Or things that are wrong tenses. I think that’s better if you break that.
DE: For the sound quality? Or sometimes when words are a little off they can do something unexpected. When words butt up against each other in ways we’re not used to, they can form new connotations.
MY: Yea, I like that. But also, here’s a specific example. In the Old Chinese Man poem I said “The cigarette smoke was clinging through his teeth.” It should be clinging to, because when you cling to something you cling to it, right? The smoke could go through but you shouldn’t use the verb clinging. And I thought about that (I had written it that way unconsciously). And I read it again, and yea, you know what it needs to be clinging through. It doesn’t make any sense but I just want it that way.
Critical Accompaniment
You have to listen to Max Yu. Preferably live, in a dark room, surrounded by others. Alternatively in your room with the volume cranked all the way up. The lines on the page are best heard in Yu’s breathless delivery, which almost stumbles over itself in its urgency to express. These aren’t poems to be meditated over in detachment. They’re battle cries, sobs of frustration, violent spasms; anchored and justified by the all-too-human individual giving vent to them. They’re theater. And they function very differently from your usual scratch-your-head and ponder poems.
I’d like to call the kind of poetic voice that Max Yu inhabits “un-knowing.” Characterized by unpretentiousness and loose arrangement, this voice performs rather than describes. The poet’s right there, speaking or screaming right at you. He’s on your level. He doesn’t know anything more than you do.
What we get in this type of poetry is a lot of honest ambivalence—questions without answers. “Where is my home where is my history / where is the peace and quiet I dream for?” There’s no answer even implied here, only a spiraling repetition of the same questions. It’s not just the poet who doesn’t know, even the poem doesn’t.
The effect of such poems is often a kind of restless anxiety. Not a deepening of feeling, but a fretful despair over lack of feeling. The speaker of Jingan Bathroom is drawn to the bathroom but disgusted by it, attracted and repulsed, vibrating in place with nowhere to go. The narrator’s words in Big Fat Ocean, although intended ironically, ring true, “the reason I repeat my words / is because I can never learn from them.”
The great strength of this style is honesty. It is true, more or less, that many people live in the state of frenetic anxiety Yu acts out. There’s communion here, mutual recognition. Less authoritative imposition of the artist’s cosmos (this is how it is!), more offering-up of the artist’s lack (is this how it is, for you?) Not the eulogy, parsimonious with its emotion, but the widow beside the casket wringing her hands. She’s moving because she’s right there.
Un-knowing poetry seeks less to interpret than to be what it says; a reproduction of the jagged surfaces of experience with little comment or rearrangement. It confronts you as one more contradictory shard of reality among others, as you might walk down a city street and see: beggar, toilet bowl, COCA COLA CLASSIC, old crush, text message, trash can, cop. A relentless crush of images and objects which don’t make sense on their own, but must be made sense of. Traditional poetry attempts to marshal this manifold into something coherent, imparting an order modeled on the poet’s inner hierarchies. The un-knowing poet reverses this, patterning his art on the cacophony of the world.
The overwhelming impression is desperation. Time and again in Yu’s poetry characters reach out, begging to be understood—the old man who grabs the businessman, the spurned would-be lover. They say “I do not understand me, do you?” And just as you comfort the widow, you reach out back to Yu. Not because you understand, but because he’s there.
You might call this therapeutic art. It functions like a primal scream, with Yu at the front of the pack. One by one we catch up to the howl and then—cleansed? invigorated? released?—return our eyes slowly to the earth.
Max Yu is a writer and performer from the San Francisco Bay Area who is now based in Shanghai. He is featured in the New York Times for winning one of America’s largest cash prizes for theater, the Relentless Award. He’s participated in Horizon Theater’s New South Young Playwright’s Festival in Atlanta. He holds a B.A. from the University of California, Los Angeles.