In Psychiatric Ward: A Poetry Sequence by Xi Nan
5 min read
1. In psychiatric ward
A girl with yellowish
dusky skin
sits sideways
perched on a chair's armrest
Long bangs falling down
She peers at me through her fingers
cautiously, reservedly
2. Notes of a bipolar patient
I live in a mental hospital
trying to document something
My constant effort to record
Humans' desire for immortality
I don't want to be part of their games
the medication in exchange makes my head heavy
I sleep, and sleep, and sleep
These days I spend so much time sleeping
I'm scared I might just sleep through my life
Turns out, I'm also afraid of death
It's hard to let go
There are so many things left unfinished
so much love left uncompleted
so I must keep holding on
living to love, to create
You have to convince yourself
that everyone is here to help
If you think that way
things might just turn out that way
Try it—
stay sober, close your eyes, lean back
as if there's no gravity
Trust that they will catch you
accept you. Love is the only way
If you hate being asleep
then cherish every moment of consciousness
Oh, my ten fingers, meant for creating
how could they be wasted on petty disputes?
I live in a mental hospital
trying to document something
The boy next room thinks he's in a prison
obsessed with
the plastic tag on our wrists—our name,
age, gender, and department
This boy can recite ancient Chinese poems
he recites Li Bai's ‘Moonlight there is afore My Bed’ (床前明月光)
and came to ask, if I could teach him more ancient poems
Another gorgeously dressed girl
dresses up every day
pacing back and forth in the long corridor of the hospital
seems lost in thought
Don’t understand, how come the nurses tolerate her for not wearing a patient gown
There is also an old woman who knocks on my door late at night
claims wishes to make friends with me
she doesn't wear a patient gown either
instead wearing a bright red jacket, sunglasses at late night
‘Can I come in and sit for a while? I want to make friends with you.’
she says to me
She has indeed scared me
and she comes again and again, ‘I feel linked to you by fate.’
She really wants me to open my mouth and talk
but hell no, I don’t even know her
There are a lot more things
I'm staying in a mental hospital
trying to record something
For the first time, I feel so close to death
I even start to think that
after death, who should help
to publish my works
Honestly, I should be scared of my own writing
I love it so much
that love, even surpasses, the act of writing itself
Sometimes for long, I dare not pick up a pen
fear ruining its perfection once I start writing
I’m afraid I will be burned by it, devoured by it
I’m afraid I will be burned by it
The feeling of burning is exact
no one knows this exact feeling better than me
But now I want to live
I've never wanted it so strongly before
Now I will live
for a long, long time
to love, to create, and to live well
3. Just write
I want to write
just write
Before I lose my mind for real
I need to leave behind something
or leave more behind, while my sensitive nerves still exist
Interesting, when I attempted to type ‘disappear’ in pinyin (1)
the laptop input associated the word ‘hour’
It also knows, all this has something to do with time
‘Elapse’ is also related to time (2)
Perhaps I won't be an exceptional writer
and this saddens me
My writing lacks planning, too random—
is relying solely on passion unreliable?
Should I pay attention to the footsteps in the hospital's long corridor?
Is that wrong?
My parents wish I'd think less
be sunnier
and happier
I typed ‘sunnier’ and ‘happier’
the laptop says ‘almost’ (2)
I am waiting
I am waiting
Now the sky is dark
with impending rain
muffled thunder
I remember loving these moments as a child
this sensation, heavy rain in broad daylight
as I sat quietly in my room, doing something
feeling safe
I'll rid myself of this eerie sensation
better to forget it all
Just live well
I love this world so much
(1) Pinyin (拼音) is the Romanization of the Chinese characters based on their pronunciation. In Mandarin Chinese, the phrase ‘Pin Yin’ literally translates into ‘spell sound.’ In other words, spelling out Chinese phrases with letters from the English alphabet.
(2) The word ‘disappear (消失)’, ‘hour (小时)’ and ‘elapse (消逝)’ have similar pronunciations in Mandarin Chinese language; so do ‘happy (快乐)’ and ‘almost (快了)’.
4. Survived on the death line
No silly trying, no stupid dying
—my medical report made it perfectly clear
Something went wrong, seemingly hepatitis B
The doctor was relieved that
my antigen was negative
although my antibodies, absurdly high
—normal is around 10
I had over 300
My mother said it meant
hepatitis B waged a war inside me
and my body fought back
won, and left these antibodies
The doctor said high antibodies are good
a sign of strong resistance to the disease
But it still means
I was once infected with hepatitis B
Survived on the death line
a frightening thought
How can I live better?
Consistently inept at daily life
Relax
Relax
Am I not holding on too tight?
5. The dismal life of smokers
I want to hide by the only open window at the end of the hospital corridor
and smoke a cigarette
but there are too many people, they're exercising
stretching arms, stretching legs, whatever
I thought even though they were stretching their arms and legs or whatever
nobody would walk to the window, so far back
But a big guy comes over
it’s like, he has already seen through my little plot
I want to smoke a cigarette in the small terrace on the sixth floor of the hospital
but there are signs everywhere in the small terrace:
smoke-free hospital, smoking is prohibited here, and so forth
The small terrace faces a row of doctors’ offices, their windows wide open
Damn it!
Anyway, I could smoke on the ground floor
There’s a big empty space for parking and turning cars
I go for a walk there whenever I get the chance
happy like a king, for a little while
The problem is
it's too troublesome to go to the ground floor:
I need to lock the room door—too many patients staying along the corridor
and I don't have the key
This means after the door is locked
just five minutes after I step downstairs for a smoke
I have to rush back up, pester the nurse for the key
and if I keep doing this
I will drive the nurses crazy
Finally, I decide to hide in the toilet in my ward to smoke
I take a disposable plastic cup
pour in some water
it then becomes a perfect ashtray
The cigarette butts I secretly smoked last few times
are lying quietly in the cup now
The butts are soaked, and the water has become yellow
like a kind of pleasant psychedelic soup
I pick up this cup again
lock myself in the toilet
devour my cigarette
I keep inhaling until the filter tip burning hot
Oh, damn sweet
6. Every person on the sixth-floor terrace is like a long take
Every person on the sixth-floor terrace is like a long take
There is a small garden on the sixth floor of the hospital
but I prefer to call it: the terrace
open-air, a romantic way to call it
People on the sixth-floor terrace
they're always walking slowly
going in circles, or pacing in a same place
Anyway, they're slow, slowly
Some exercise, rooted in one spot
arms swinging in crisscross, pounding their shoulders
or stepping one foot after another on the flower bed's edge
alternating steps, picking up speed until it turns into a bounce
There is also an old gentleman who plays badminton
The first time, he saw me and Y. sitting on the stone steps beside
he said to me: ‘You two are so happy! You'll heal fast!’
He also suggested that I smoke less
I've seen him twice playing badminton on the sixth-floor open terrace
The second time, his sister came
She comforted him and said: you can leave the hospital tomorrow, how great!
Sister wanted him to do more outdoor exercises, play badminton or something else
Sister was gone, the old man hugged her tightly before she left
Others saw his sister gone, asked the nurse:
Will he be discharged tomorrow?
The young nurse shook his head with a heavy look
when the old man turned away
and bent down to
pick up a shuttlecock that
fell on the floor
Every person on the sixth-floor terrace is like a long take
Sometimes I sit on the long stone steps at the edge of the terrace
and two irrelevant strangers sit beside me
They take off their shoes, go barefoot, light a cigarette
using their home dialect to talk about something
Their home dialect is very much like Hokkien
but I can't be sure
And there is an old lady in a wheelchair
who brings her own radio
Rustling sounds come from the radio, and then music
all kinds of old Chinese songs
very much like going back in time
So damn romantic
So damn romantic
Every person on the sixth-floor terrace
is like a long take
7. Untitled
I've realized no truths from poetry
My self-destructive desires so profound, and heavy
never fading
Yet love, creation
love, a returning journey to
our life—right now
this thought surpasses everything else
Editors' Note: This poetry sequence is an earlier work by Xi Nan. The English version has not previously been published in full in any literary magazine.
Author: Xi Nan is a writer and translator working in English, Spanish and Chinese. Her work explores memory, time, displacement and the complexities of human relationships, often drawing on everyday life and personal experience. She currently lives in England with her husband Fish Lu.