Missed the fireworks in Shanghai as the Year of the Rabbit hit. Instead, Malacca, staying first in a hostel just down the street from a 18th century Kampung Kling mosque and a riot of Chinese temples full of incense and oranges. Malaysian tourists everywhere for the New Year holiday. Checked the situation in Egypt daily on my Kindle. Got back to Shanghai and the Internet censors had tightened the screws. A week or two after returning, Monika and I found myself unexpectedly having a spicy Hunan dinner with Michael Palmer, in town with his wife Cathy. They were being shown about town by our Shanghainese friend Miranda, who has toured the US and China as an interpreter for Margaret Jenkins’ dance company. Michael Palmer was en route to Hong Kong and Kowloon, to visit Bei Dao, read and launch a collection of translations of his poems. One day, “the police” called and asked me whether a Lin Yao Ming lived at my house. That’s Monika’s Chinese name, but it’s not on any documents, it’s not her legal name. I ask, “Oh, you mean my wife, Monika?” It’s a second name her father gave her. There’s no way the police should know that. He asks more questions, then tells me to register ourselves as foreign residents at the station. But we did, just a few months ago. We’re registered. He says we’re not. I go the next day and re-register. No questions about “Lin Yao Ming,” no problem. We were already registered. I’m quite paranoid. Was the “police” guy asking all the questions not a regular cop? Was he from the Cultural Bureau? Maybe, since Monika’s shown art in two group shows at the OV Gallery that were shut down for a few days, and from which individual works were removed, like Wu Ming’s pieces about cover-ups of sexual assaults on women by the Party to protect their own. And when I ask Monika she says the only time she’s used “Lin Yao Ming” has been in art shows, in catalog copy. See? Paranoid? I’m going to edit and publish slowboat. North American-resident poets vs. Chinese poets. Poets writing in English vs. poets writing in Chinese. All translated facing. And organized around the simple prompt to respond to either the word “China” (for the North Americans) or “America” (for the Chinese). Anything goes. Also some short reviews and essays, including one by OV Gallery curator Rebecca Catching on the experience of being hassled by the Cultural Bureau. Rebecca also edits the art magazine and website Ran Dian (“Flashpoint”). I’ve started writing art reviews for them. I’m working on some science fiction, too, but what about poetry. Starting a new blog, Pyramid News Scheme, about art, Shanghai, music. But what about poetry. I like what Eileen Myles writes in her Inferno: “Being an art critic is an easy life for a poet. People are always glad to support a big copycat.” Is that right?