Poem: "Translation of a Fisherman"

I. The Ferrymen’s Son (A False Start)

我父亲是个渔夫。

My father was a fisherman.

他的父亲也是。

His father too.

钱塘江是我们的家。

The Qiantang was our field.

我们继承了一条木船。一张证。

We inherited a wooden boat. A license.

潮汐的节奏。

The rhythm of the tide.

(This is not how it begins. This is the story they expect. Start with the water.)

II. Official Transmission // 钱塘江渔业资源管理通告

Zhejiang Provincial Notice 2019

RE: Seasonal Fishing Moratorium

Article 1: To protect the sustainable development of fishery resources and the ecological environment of the Qiantang River...

Article 2: The annual closed season shall be from 00:00 hours on March 1st to 24:00 hours on June 30th.

Article 3: All productive fishing activities are prohibited during this period. Recreational fishing is permitted.

Definition of “Productive”: Any activity aimed at obtaining aquatic products for sale or trade.

Definition of “Recreational”: Any activity aimed at leisure, entertainment, with a limited number of hooks.

我的翻译 (My Translation): For four months, your hands must be still. Your hunger is not “Recreational.” Your history is not “Recreational.” The river is closed for repairs. You are a malfunction.

III. The Sand Years: A Dream in Two Parts

Part A: The Fever Dream

I piloted a mountain of sand.

The real estate dream.

We fed the city’s hunger.

Fuyang to Shanghai.

Huzhou.

The river was a highway of grit.

I was not a fisherman.

I was a courier of dust.

Part B: The Hangover

The dream ended.

The mountain grew smaller.

The voyages longer (10 days, 20 days).

The pay, a shrinking number.

I slept in a bunk, not a bed.

I was a ghost on a concrete sea.

My father's river called me home, a faint signal.

IV. Apparatus of the Shore (Present Tense)

I came back.

Now, I am a driver for an app.

I ferry people, not fish. I navigate by algorithm—

the city’s arteries, not the river’s veins.

But. My body 

remembers the river’s tilt. My hands 

remember the weight of a wet net.

So.

Sometimes, I return to the bank. To my small boat.

I lower the cages (shrimp, crab).

This is not ‘Productive.’

This is 'Recreational.'

This is a language only the river and I understand.

A habit.

The catch is small. I sell it to a restaurant by the water.

This is not “Trade.”This is “Memory.”

My ritual.

V. Notes for a Future Archivist

1. The pollution has a color, but no one can agree on its name.

2. The dams have a purpose: power. The fish have a purpose: to return. These purposes are at war.

3. My license is in a drawer. It is sleeping. Or it is dead. I do not check.

4. I am fifty years old. I am a fisherman who drives a car. I am a son of the Qiantang, living in the long pause between the Ban and the next high tide.