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      A FOREST OF NAMES

      A FOREST OF NAMES

       108 Meditations

      IAN BOYDEN

      WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY PRESS

      MIDDLETOWN, CONNECTICUT

      Wesleyan Poetry

      Wesleyan University Press

      Middletown CT 06459

       www.wesleyan.edu/wespress

      © 2020 Ian Boyden

      All rights reserved

      Manufactured in Canada

      Typeset in Bembo, Futura, Songti, and Helvetica

      Printed on #70 Rolland Enviro Satin. This paper is acid free, contains 100% post-consumer fiber, and is manufactured using renewable energy—Biogas and processed chlorine free. It is FSC® and Ancient Forest Friendly™ certified.

Image

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      Names: Boyden, Ian H., author.

      Title: A forest of names : 108 meditations / Ian Boyden.

      Description: Middletown : Wesleyan University Press, 2020. | Series: Wesleyan poetry | Includes index. | Summary: “Poems meditating on the names of children lost in the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake” —Provided by publisher.

      Identifiers: LCCN 2020003827 (print) | LCCN 2020003828 (ebook) | ISBN 9780819579942 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780819579959 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780819579966 (ebook)

      Subjects: LCSH: Wenchuan Earthquake, China, 2008—Poetry. | LCGFT: Poetry.

      Classification: LCC PS3602.O9343 F67 2020 (print) | LCC PS3602.O9343 (ebook) | DDC 811/.6—dc23

      LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020003827

      LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020003828

      5 4 3 2 1

      Frontispiece and title page images:

      All of the names of schoolchildren gathered from “Names of the Student Earthquake Victims Found by the Citizens’ Investigation” (2008–2011). Courtesy of Ai Weiwei Studios.

      “Front cover illustration: Marble replica of twisted iron rebar pulled from one of the collapsed schools inWenchuan county, Sichuan. Ai Weiwei, “Rebar and Case” (2014). Photograph by Ian Boyden.” Maintain spacing, this is poetry.

       for Gavia Lachen

       Contents

Prologue1
108 poems meditating on
the names of children lost
in the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake5
Epilogue115
Acknowledgments117
Index121
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      Beichuan County, Sichuan, May 2008. Photograph by Ai Weiwei.

      Image courtesy of Ai Weiwei Studios.

       Prologue

      AT 2:28 ON MAY 12, 2008, an 8.0 earthquake leveled western Sichuan province in China, displacing millions of people and killing tens of thousands of others. It was one of the deadliest earthquakes in human history. It became clear that a disproportionate number of schoolchildren were killed when their government-built schools collapsed on them. To conceal the corruption behind the faulty construction, the government prevented parents and citizens from finding out who died, how many, and why—often using brutal tactics. Despite this, artist and human rights activist Ai Weiwei created a team called Citizens’ Investigation, which gathered and published the names of the children. In total, this list includes 5,196 names, their age, gender, date of birth, and which school they attended.

      WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleased with the

      sound of my own name? repeating it over and over,

      I cannot tell why it affects me so much, when I hear

      it from women’s voices, and from men’s voices,

      or from my own voice,

      I stand apart to hear—it never tires me.

      To you, your name also,

      Did you think there was nothing but two or three

      pronunciations in the sound of your name?

      —Walt Whitman, “Leaves of Grass,” 1860–61

      Those children have parents, dreams, and they

      could smile, they had a name that belonged to

      them. That name will belong to them three years

      from now, five years, eighteen or nineteen years

      later; it is everything about them which may be

      remembered, it is everything that might be evoked.

      —Ai Weiwei, March 20, 2009

      MAY 13

       Zhèngxī

      正犧

      First Glimmer of Dawn

      Even the moon was shaken.

      How the dust settled so quickly.

      The people looked to where

      the sun should rise, waited

      as if it were an offering.

      They held the place

      where they thought their heart should be

      though there was no proper place.

      Stones, parts of buildings,

      papers scattered like leaves.

      It must be winter,

      but the trees say it is late spring.

      The horizon of her name,

      dark blue but fading.

      MAY 20

       Péi

      培

      Banked with Earth

      Where continuity consists of brokenness,

      we plant the seeds of forget-me-nots.

      MAY 21

       Yuèxīn

      月新

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