Huang Jiangpin (黄江嫔) is a modern-day Chinese woman, formerly a teacher, now working as a full-time poet under the pseudonym An Qi (安琪）. What strikes me about her poems—which I first read through translations— is the attention to detail that helps to paint a picture.
Reading An Qi’s work has been an interesting experience for me. As I have now been studying Chinese for almost ten years, I was able to understand much of the original poem in Mandarin. I also noticed some slight differences in meaning from the original to the translation: for example, the Chinese version repeats 天，or day, much more frequently than it appears in the translation. Fascinating!
Below find an 安琪 poem in both English and Chinese.
Parting Before Daybreak
by An Qi
First the day,
and finally the time for parting.
Local time in Beijing is 7 o’clock according to the TV.
As a child, I liked to lie in bed
and wait for daybreak,
my silver broach stayed in its soft dormant curve.
I counted my fingers,
but no light in the sky.
At daybreak you come. Daylight is gone when you go.
Days with light, days without light, days come, days go.
You come, you go, coming and going, walking to me, and away from me.
Now a grown-up, I still daydream,
waiting for daybreak like waiting for an archaeologist
to excavate, patting me with a spade
and expose me to daylight.
Oh, oh, just as I feel the thrill, I see your hand leaving.
Note: I could not find an image of An Qi large enough to head this post. Apologies~