Stacy Innerst, Post-Gazette Click illustration for larger version.

One year ago this month, Huang Xiang, a highly regarded Chinese poet who is often compared to Walt Whitman, moved to Pittsburgh's North Side. Mr. Huang, 63, fled China in 1997 after being jailed six times and spending more than 10 years in confinement for his political views and ardent defense of free expression.

Mr. Huang and his wife, Zhang Ling, were brought to Pittsburgh last October by a newly formed local chapter of Cities of Asylum, an organization launched by Salman Rushdie and other authors in 1994 to provide housing, medical care and other support for writers who have been forced into exile by political conditions in their native countries. The program now operates in 34 cities worldwide and was founded in Pittsburgh by Ralph Henry Reese and his wife, artist Diane Samuels.

Mr. Reese and Ms. Samuels renovated a row house for Mr. Huang and Zhang on Sampsonia Way in the Mexican War Streets neighborhood. It is situated between their own home and the contemporary art museum Mattress Factory, which has an educational partnership with Cities of Asylum. Upon arrival, Mr. Huang painted poems in Chinese calligraphy all over his new wood-shingled residence and labeled it "Poet's House" and "Dream Nest."

Huang Xiang has spent much of the past year writing poems and essays, reciting his work at public and school forums, telling his story of repression and renewal, and reading the poetry of writers and children that gets slipped through the mail slot of his "Poet's House."

His first collection of works written in Pittsburgh have just been published in Chinese under the title "Pittsburgh Dream Nest Jotting: A Journal of Our Lives in America" (Cozy House Publishers, 308 pages, $28.50). It is dedicated to the people of Pittsburgh, and the Post-Gazette has arranged to have the following excerpts translated into English.

Pittsburgh, My Pittsburgh

Lake Fong, Post-Gazette Huang Xiang and his handiwork on Sampsonia Way in the Mexican War Streets. Click photo for larger image. More information For more information about the Pittsburgh Cities of Asylum Program, see www.mattress.org. The home page of the North American Network of Cities of Asylum is www.cityofasylum.org. And nine poems by Huang Xiang, translated by Andrew Emerson, are available online at mclc.osu.edu.

Huang Xiang and Zhang Ling had recently moved to Pittsburgh from a friend's home in New Jersey and were getting settled into their newly renovated house at 408 Sampsonia Way. Written late at night, Dec. 5, 2004.

Upon the invitation of the City of Asylum for me to be a residential writer-in-exile, Ling and I were moving to Pittsburgh. Traveling together should be a happy experience, but we felt empty along the way. The farther we traveled, the stranger we felt, the lonelier we were. [Through much of Pennsylvania] there was no sign of people along the road, no trace of humanity. Ling and I seemed the only two people alive in the universe.

The thick fog took us back to the Guizhou table land [of southwestern China, where Huang was raised]. Finally the fog and cloud dispersed, the sunshine spread, the suburban houses of Pittsburgh appeared, and there seemed to be life all around us again. We passed more and more houses, we arrived Downtown, we arrived on Sampsonia Way. It is an alley just big enough for cars; our new house sits at the side of it. As soon as we entered we felt suddenly home, warm. Ling and I love this house, including its quiet backyard.

It was late at night, and Ling was on the phone with our old friend Ya Mo [the two Chinese characters stand for "mute" and "silence"]. The conversation brought good news. Ya Mo not only had a young spouse, but also a new baby girl. She was born on Nov. 26, 2004, not long after we had arrived in Pittsburgh! Ya Mo and his wife accepted my suggestion that their new daughter should have a beautiful name: Pittsburgh!

Oh, Pittsburgh! Pittsburgh! My Pittsburgh!

For me, you are not only a city, you are also a new life!

The Sun Rises at Dusk

Started in late November; completed Nov. 28, 2004.

I have traveled a long, dark road. Not until my journey neared its end did the sun of life rise at dusk. Today is Nov. 21, 2004, the day declared to be Huang Xiang Day in the city of Pittsburgh. A ceremony was held.

I was forced to leave China, but for me, China is everywhere. China is in my poems, China is in my calligraphy, China is in my loud poetry reading and my theatrical body language. I write Chinese writing and read the Chinese language in front of Americans, and what they see and hear is China, China in Asian voice and living lines! China was swaying when I was swaying, China was moving when I was moving!

What a wonderful poem the city offered me on the night of Huang Xiang Day! It was written on bright red paper and fell through the mail slot in our door like a maple leaf falling to the earth. I don't know who inserted this piece into my door, but I know it is beautiful Pittsburgh who delivered it.
The Moment When the Sun Disappears

On a winter afternoon, a group of middle school students visited Mr. Huang to hear him read some of the poems he had painted on his "Poet's House." Undated.

Their questions focused on the following topics:

You don't speak English, so do you feel lonely living in an English-speaking country? Why you were sent to jail when you did nothing wrong? Why did you write your poems on the front of your house? Compared with China, do you think people in America have more freedom of expression? Would you go back to China if you would be permitted to do so some day when China becomes more open?

Surrounded by children, facing question after question, I said I am a person who sings with his heart. For me, hearts can communicate with each other -- not only by writing, or by speaking, but also by appearance, by tone of voice, by body language. My voice is a flying bird; it is falling water. Everyone can understand it, no matter their language or nation.

I put my poems on the wall because I like three-dimensional writing. Using both the calligraphy and the house, my poems can reach out beyond the limitation of paper or a small space.

I am a poet. Freedom of expression is criminal in a dictatorship. Compared with America, China is a country whose government limits people's freedom of expression; it persecutes dissent, more and more harshly.

To go back China or not? It would not be a problem for me to return to China if it became more tolerant of dissent and different opinions. Otherwise, I would choose the freedom of exile. The Earth is my home; China is my home. I miss her, but I also have a feeling of home in Pittsburgh. As a poet, I feel Pittsburgh is the home of my soul and my heart, the home of my poems and my art.

Dentist Owen

Dr. Owen Cantor is providing Mr. Huang and Ms. Zhang free dental care in Pittsburgh. Dr. Cantor had to reconstruct Mr. Huang's mouth because he had been beaten in the face and provided little medical care during his years of confinement in China. Written Dec. 8, 2004.

To see a dentist is far from easy. After checking my mouth, Dr. Owen asked his assistant to take pictures. I couldn't recognize the tools he was using, but I was told to stick my head in a piece of special equipment, with something moving around in my mouth taking photographs.

For me, it was like acting, as if my head were part of the metal instrument. The round thing moved through an entire circle in my mouth, making me worry that it might take off my head!

Fortunately, it stopped when it reached almost to my ears. Without clicking a button or making a flash, a picture was taken of half of my head. I was astonished when Dr. Owen showed me the negative. A skeleton! The human head is as ugly as that? Disgusting!

Beyond being moved, I was thinking, what is the relationship between Dr. Owen and me? Why did he do so much for me? I benefited from the check-up; he did not. He had to spend time and energy and even lost money to do it. It is hard for a Chinese to understand this, let alone to do it. We often want everybody to know that we did something for others, we always want to get something when we provide something; it is anything but pure kindness that drives us to do something for others. Americans have some quality that Chinese lack.

I talked about this with my friend Ya Mo in mainland China and he replied that maybe the dentist had used me as an advertisement.

NO! my dear friend, you are wrong! I believe Dr. Owen did it just because of his nature and because he was told to do it by God.

At the Jazz Bar

At the James Street Tavern on the North Side. Written March 17.

The African-American young man and the white girl sit together, closely. The music in the bar is loud and boiling, but it does not exist for the young man and the girl. He is not listening, just caressing her back gently, as if playing his own music, a different rhythm flying between his fingers and her back and neck. They have more harmony than all of the rest of the bar put together.

Their eyes meet, they kiss each other gently, quickly.

Ah, it is the music of Pittsburgh! The youth of Pittsburgh!