Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Radio Interview with Allen and Changming

between 9:10 - 9:50 pm last night, we father-son comraderie in poetry had the honor to be part of a radio show called "World Reading Series," which is broadcast to 55 countries. here is the link to the site and audio::

htttp:// - World Poetry Cafe Radio Show - CFRO 100.5FM [Canada; 21 Jan 2014] 

although both of us felt very nervous (changming is by nature a very anxious and private person, while Allen has been suffering from bad inflammation of his tonsils these few days), the experience is highly rewarding. the following are the 3 poems we each read during the show::

3 Poems by Changming Yuan


There is a long wait of the passengers
For the detouring and delayed bus
And the wait of the wintry grasses

The wait of the legendary lion king
Before it preys upon a real baby zebra
And the wait of the summer sun deep in the nightmare

The wait of the orchid on the window ledge
The wait of the diamond in an unknown mine
And the wait where you stop and watch

And there is a wait of this darkness
Which you are going to compress into words
A wait that is to spread out thin on the blank paper

Unlike winter stars holding their light in light-years
The wait after you finish writing
And the longer wait then

[Note: first published by several magazines, and later included in Best Canadian Poetry (2012)]

Kinship: For Yuan Hongqi
Yes, we are father and son, but so often
Did I doubt this simple small biofact:
We could never say more than three short
Sentences to each other when we met, nor
Did we meet more than three times per year
Before I managed to flee a thousand miles
Away from you, and later ten thousand away
From your village on this world's other side

Like other Chinese fathers, you never said
You loved me, gave me a hug, or touched me
Unless it was a cutting pinch in the arm
Or a heavy hit on the butt, (always in surprise)
While my peers kept bragging aloud
About their great fathers, grandfathers
I looked down upon you, not because of
Your slight stature, but because of your
Smaller personality, constantly calling you
"A Buddha outside, a Devil at home"
(Of course behind your back), so I used to
Feel guilty, fearing I could never shed
Any teardrops when you die, just as every
True Confucian son is supposed to

Unlike me and my son, with a big store of
Co-memories ready to share, to cherish
We were born enemies, karma-determined
In our former lives, just as you had explained
To my mother, (who would be busy filling
In each new crack on our wall, with a big pail
Of muddy mixture every time we met)

Yet ever since your death at the dawn of 2012
I have been haunted by your image, kindly
Smiling, and even sobbed my heart out
While dreaming last night: are you there, Dad?

[First published in and nominated for the 2012 Pushcart Prize by Mobius: The Poetry Magazine]




她總是擰著個大桶, 隨時在你我之間的



American Free Speech: ‘Kill Everyone in China’

During ABC’s Jimmy Kimmel Live! aired on 29 October 2013, a 6-year-old boy  proposed to ‘kill everyone in China’; in reply to the wide protest against such verbal violence, the White House recently claimed, "the principle of protected free speech is an important part of who we are as a nation." 

Apparently, it is not the tiny guy
But his big parents
Who would very much like
To kill everyone in China

No, it is not even his parents
But his teachers, the picture
Books he reads, the movies he watches
The computer games he plays, and
The media bombs he hears constantly
That encourages him to do so

On the other hand, it is not the yellow-skinned
Yellow-hearted Chinese really
But anyone that has a hue different from a wasp
That may turn out more civilized, less hypocritical
Or as innocent as the little angel sitting at the ABC’s
Round Table that Uncle Sam and his dogs of war
Aim to kill, destroy, wipe out from the earth

Just to get rid of any debts they owe
To you and me

3 Poems by Allen Qing Yuan

Traffic Light

Green, Yellow, Red

Yet again I missed the light
What could have been
What should have been

My chance to burst to
The frontier of the background
Defining the jagged shimmer
Of the tender life force

But I wait, pondering
Is this a pre-carved destiny?
An aim, beyond ambition

Green, Yellow, Red

Banana* Blues

I’m bluer than blue
A branch thicker than the root
A banana unlike any other fruit

But my growth has been severed and burned

Like a scale with weight it cannot measure
The music of my white soul
Is melancholy, oppressed
Singing without words
Confined within black bars

I’m bluer than blue
A composer without compositions
A conductor without a baton
To even guide himself

The song beats away as
I’m singing my blues

Chasing the Pacific Star

Air gyres crowd into the boy
As he dashes through the clouds of hope

Surfing on a wish
He descends to the touchy ocean
A salty breeze gushes from underneath
A spring of refreshing motivation
The flaring sun eagerly follows him like a bright shadow
Intimidating mountains forcibly rise, but are capped
From the serene, misty horizon
Where a bleached bird loudly flaps its wings away

Upgrading his life board,
With exhilarating dreams
As he dashes through the clouds of hope
Chasing the Pacific Star.

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