8th Time Nominated for Pushcart

today, i just received an email from editor Gerard NeCastro about my poem “Natural Confrontations” nominated on december 1, 2013 by the Binnacle (http://machias.edu/binnacle) for a Pushcart Prize. this is the 3rd nomination i received for pushcart for 2013, and 8th time i have ever been nominated for it since 2009. while i do not really care whether i will eventually win the prize (i have never had such good luck), i feel surer about my poetic creativity each time i am nominated. 

last year, i was also nominated by a chinese poetry magazine World Poetry 【《世界诗刊》】as one of its 'best' poets in 2013. i suppose this was more a political than a poetic nomination. (interestingly, my poems written in or translated into chinese have had little luck with chinese editors; in other words, i have had much difficulty in getting my poems publish in chinese.)

despite such international recognition, i have not been able to find a single canadian publisher willing enough to publish my poetry in the book form. i have tried very hard for almost a whole decade (since i began to write poetry in engish in aug 2004), but never without success. the only way i have learned to deal with this failure psychologically is to explore my inborn chinese 'Ah Q Spirit': indeed, there is so much well-known canadian mediocrity that i can never distinguish myself as a truly talented poetry scribbler in my own chosen country. 

in fact, i never call myself a 'poet,' not to mention a canadian one.  
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since mid-2009, i have been receiving at least 12 poetry acceptances each calendar month. 

[archived]: nature poems-2 by Changming Yuan ©

13feb14-landscaping

On Osler Street, Vancouver West

somewhere down my neighborhood

as if the sun and moon were melting

all the cherry twigs tinged with spring

like morning glows fallen in the wood

beside the freshly mown lawns I jog

both my steps and breaths in keeping

with every little bare cluster humming

such a sweet tune in the silvery fog

is my residence here but a day dream

or is the day dream my residence here?

Appointment

come, sunlight

let us sit tight

    side by side

let us have

    a chat or tete-a-tete

        beside silences sliced

you know quite a few

    idiomatic phrases

        of my night-coded dialect

and i understand some

    basic syntax

        of your seven coloured speech

we do not have

    a common language

we do not need

    a common language

on a quiet corner

        of private afternoon

we can set up a dialogue

    without the god

        as our interpreter

Hasty Come, Hasty Go

in haste

    you came

        on one of those

    dull and desperate days

    like a summer shower

        catching me in the open

        without an umbrella:

            my heart swept afar

            my soul rain-drenched

            and my bored body

                left standing alone

    among isolating pools

as you leave

            in a hurry too

Rain Clouds

Close to the bold borderline

Between the sky and the sea

You rise, together with the sun

Below giggling morning glows

Above sour songs, loud lights

Hot hopes in the humanscape 

You keep drifting around, slowly

Summoning each salty heart

Beyond the shadow of dream

Beyond the dream of summer

You grow ripe and ready to fall

To myriads of lucent oval tunes

Mid-Autumn Moon

a rounded rainbow trout

shining bright and lively

until it is cast afar

onto the bank of my dream                  

Withered Twig

definitely invisible

      to the human eye

            looking casually afar

hardly noticeable

      even by my neighbour

            at a close range

the whole cypress tree

      filled with green spirits

except me, the only badge

      faded, getting rusty

yet refusing to fall

            onto the grassy ground

maybe it is a worm

      that has burrowed

            into my flat body

and bite by bite

      gnawing at my heart

i am dying, and

      dead will i be

please do not say

      i am a martyr

      for i hate

            my embarrassing fate

but just break me off

and see my stained soul

      a hidden birthmark

            rather than

      an unfading scar

            of my immortal mother

                                   

The Revelations of Lichens

On barren rocks

In sun-baked desert soils

At the depth of Antarctic

Anywhere but a civilized centre

Of population and pollution

These pioneer plants grow robust

In the most unassuming manner

Like a tide of faded gossamer

Conquering and colonizing

All earthly surfaces

While living peacefully

In a loving relationship

Between fungi and algae

Never discernable

To the naked human eye

Those Gliding Geese

Little clouds of fossilized sunshine

Now flying mute

And leaving behind their shadows

All the songs of the morning

Until they are shot down

Like flute dots

The last calls they make

Their only songs

Autumn Rain

The drizzle has finally stopped

All the wet has swarmed into raindrops

And fallen flat on the ground

Except this one that continues traveling along

Lingering

Soon it will slip out the twig’s desperate hold

Like a gold coin between a dying miser’s fingers

The last leaf of a naked tree

The last dew of a forgotten season

Orange

The swirling light of a setting sun

Turns every pip of summer

Into a halfmoon-shaped dreamer

Dreaming

About a full and golden wheel

Keep running towards another season

Wrapped within the rind are ten fleshy carpels

Ten thousand juicy associations

Still Chrysanthemum

You are always amazed

Why chrysanthemums bloom

Without feeling

At their spots of growth

While they are identified by color

White, yellow, pink, red, orange, blue, purple

Tender-textured

Petals powdered

With the coolest rays

Of the mid-autumn moon

You are stricken by their very graciousness

Each hiding behind its jade-veined fingers

Yet each refusing to budge against the chiseling frost

Still and proud

Bamboo

With your hair-like roots

Holding the earth so tightly

You stand straight

Even during a summer storm

Thin as your body

You keep an open mind

For all secrets of growth

Between your heart-ringed joints

Despite your slim leaves

You are full of spirits

Ever so clean

Ever so green

Wild Wild West Wind

you deep breath

            of last spring

        long held in summer

now letting out against light

        your most hidden fears

                    of fall

as if to raise

        a silent name call

or blowing away

    all the withered words

            (including mine)

        from every tree

            non-evergreen

    to a distant wasteland

            frozen forever

            with winter together

Snow White

So white

Swirlingly and spirallingly white

Billions of butterflies

Beating their wings white

The sky

The land

The wind so high

Blowing the whole hard afternoon

Into scraps of confetti white

So softly and tenderly white

Even the spirits of night

The dark

The darker

The darkest corners of human minds

All become so deafening white

Except a crow in flight beyond this worldly sight

Elegy of Snow

once upon a time

christmas used to be all in white

although the winter was colder

and more or less longer

snow has long disappeared from here

since it melted into seawater

of tears and sweat

both so thickly salty

instead of piling chubby snowmen

and playing snow fights with our children

now we recall summer clouds, reed flowers

bursting cotton or rolling dandelions

they are no less fluffy or white than the snow

but in here we have white christmas no more

Pine Tree

Sitting on a boulder

Like Thousand-Hand Thousand-Eye Guanyin

You reach out all your deeply tanned arms

Pointing all your evergreen fingers up to the sky

Not to take in moisture from the surrounding mists

But to give out the freshest air you could

With eyes held in as many hands

You are witnessing the sounds of the world

Still, in spirited stillness

The Last Snowflake of Last Winter

Fell as if a whole century ago

To the heart of all hardened shadows

But it has never melted there

With the least lukewarm dream

Even when summer is arriving

Is it simply because it is white as wish

Rather than red as blood

Or because its name is not writ in water?

Canadian Winter

unlike the proud Prometheus

you stole from an unknown paradise

the white seeds of pure peace

sowing them tender and graceful

with softly solid stillness

in a dry and dreaming land

are you blessings bountiful from high above

or just muted wishes deep in our hearts?

Horticulture

With its whim-bladed diaphanous scissors

The west wind arrives simply too early

Trimming the edges of late summer

Pruning the few overgrown branches

Of frenzy afternoons, like an artful hairstylist

Eager to enhance her patron’s charisma

Next year, when the season returns

It will grow greener, with stronger boughs

More tender buds, like the lilac tree

Trembling with muted laugher

In the front yard of my mind                    

Here at the Seashore

All roads and trails

Have come to a hasty end

All hills and mountains

Have sunk into the bottom

And all trees and flowers

Have retreated themselves

Except a solitary seagull

                        Soaring high above

His blue call resonates

      With the foamy song of the sea

At Yoho’s Natural Bridge

among the mighty massive roars

full of wild wonders and deep awe

    i come to worship this bridge-like rock

    carved with icy chisels of glacier water

            powerfully pounding

            constantly cutting

           

a masterpiece out of the primitive

    with no sense of design or purpose

    nor intended expression of any feelings

    nor embodiment of scientific principles

            totally ignorant of my humble presence

            under my feet is a wooden bridge

    simple, but solid as a superb set

            of symmetries, a perfect human artifact

    where i stop and then step down

            to overhear God's whispers

                                                                                          

Confession of a Cat

like a pile of compressed fog

caught on a twig at the mountainwaist

the cat hunches on the sofa's shoulder

where i see the whole house of life

genetically domesticated behind the doors

that most hateful human invention

yes, i am a bimental being

as my feline friend has revealed

i can readily detect the moods

of my human family members

often switching my personality

with my drifting kittenhood

as i tease or avoid them behind doors

who know i enjoy solitary stalking

and respect my rented privacy

but none of them was born in the year of my day

since my ancestor was cheated shamefully

out of a ridiculous race in chinese zodiac

the inside doors are ajar or unlocked

but the one facing the free spirits of nature

is always tightly closed, separating me

from my other self born to prefer

to stroll in the wild than sit in the house

once i sneak out of the threshold

i will never give a backward glance

yet I will keep my grooming habit

by using my long tongue to clean the dirtiest

and most private parts of my authentic being

somewhere in the wildness

The Dove

never does the dove remember his ancestor

      who once by chance brought back a fresh twig

thus saving an aged man after a universal flood

nor is the dove aware he is the white flying creature

     the subject painted with piety and prayers

devoted to a great but difficult human cause

as we admire or worship his invented virtues

he is busy cooing or beaking on the ground

      no larger or smaller than another common pigeon

      sometimes even like an unknowing wanton

who cannot help fighting with his playmate

over a blue spot tinged with human blood

Song of Salmons

deep in ever deafening waters

of the pacific never really pacific

you speak a highly salty dialogue

too unique to be readily translatable

painted with shiny eloquence

your language has no tattooed taboos

under every spot of your silver skin

is hidden a richly pink secret

within your little body half of a meter

spurts out a strength of three thousand kilo

you keep swimming in bluish solitudes

against the waves of an entire ocean

your heroic journey back to your birth stream

is nothing less than a pilgrim to immortality

along your single long line writ in water

you have striven, for a tiny egg of after-life

Primavera

Now another ice age is coming

Everyone knows how and why

Snail and Grass

Snail:   without this big mountain

on my humble back

i could also travel

with grace and glory

Grass:  you manage to stand up

            each time after you are

            trodden down under a dirty

            and heavy human foot

Winds

There are winds to lead and winds to avoid

There are winds to sweep like a million unseen brooms

Winds to break every head on the bare land

Winds to caress or flirt with the tenderest spring petals

Winds to uproot century old oak or willow trees

Winds like heavy sighs of history blowing out every light

Winds of leaves, flowers, rains, snows, sand and dust

Winds that whisper, winds that whistle like screaming monsters

Winds that you can never walk against, pushing buildings and cities

Winds that swirl around and make the whole world dizzy

Winds that drive waves upon beaches like stampeding horses

Winds that send roofs, beds and pigs up above dark clouds

There are winds that blow all golden sunshine into white winter

Winds that strike human hearts like bells ringing fiercely

Winds that never stop waving, wallowing and warring

Even if you long for just one damned moment of peace

At the Top of Grouse Mountain  

Dark green waves dancing

    Hippy-hoppy-happy hornpipes

        Up and down the slopes

As the drift and the dream

The weave and the wave

The fume and foam

            Of the sea of trees

      Turn my mind into a drifting buoy

Farther out, the great graceful breakers

      Moved like kings into court

Trailing the peacock-

      Patterned forest behind them

At my feet the mists stroked the grasses

        With soft little paws

Floating right amidst the green spirits

Can I see the true face of the closest tree?

On the Honghu Lake

Among dozens of colonies of lotus

The flowers grow in crowds of colors

            White, pink, red, blue or purple

Except all leaves green, as stems arise

      Straightly from blackish muddy lakebeds

As if to pave a path for a patrolling Buddha 

The most versatile plant in my original country

Lotus is now seen in terms of seeds and roots only

            Both sweet and crisp to its finicky eaters

While the much lauded purity of its big flowers

      Has become a forgotten foreign cliché

Under a cluster of tall and broad leaves

The boatman in straw rain cape suddenly squatted

      Not to hide from the summer shower

            Chasing the giggling seedpod pickers

      But to reveal a secret to me touring from Canada

            Each of those standing tall above the lake

            Has a groom lying flat on the water nearby

In the English Bay

the waves surging towards the seashore
not unlike my spirits

the seashore embracing the waves
not unlike your arms

a whale seems trying to jump above the water
like what is not supposed to be unlike

Night Quiet

in the distance are heard some lonely footsteps

wandering beyond the boundary of wild dreams

a dehydrated lamp suffering alone from insomnia

listens attentively to crickets’ calls outside the walls

the moonlight crunches under the shoes of fall

birch leaves trembling violently like thin thoughts

only still life can still bear such solitude…

Night of Sky

night of sky in the sea, bursting

with clouds and whales and chrysanthemums

night of sky in my mind –flat

when my meditative spirit stays still

among shapes and sounds, like a lotus-eater

night of sky in the sky, deep night

when my imaginings are starfish finding themselves

swimming closer to the carrel tree, to their nests

Day vs Night

The day has no ears

The heart but a myriad

The noises glare

Where life’s grievance begins

The night has no eyes

The mind but a myriad

The shadows collide

When your spirit bites at the light

Table of Contents

1.      Seasonsacape

2.      Beyond the Blue

3.      Sun Setting above the Sea

4.      Ritual

5.      Sea View

6.      Nightscape

7.      Spring Scenery

8.      Tree and Flower

9.      Crow in the Sunlight

10.    Mushroom

11.    Summer Scenery

12.    At Sunrise in Summer

13.    Corn

14.    Sunflower

15.    Autumn Scenery

16.    Stream Moonset in Autumn

17.    Pumpkins

18.    Dandelion

19.    In the Twilight

20.    Sorghum

21.    Poppies

22.    Winter Scenery: The Black Bird

23.    Winter Sleep

24.    Wintry Willow

25.    Ode to Huyang Tree

26.    At Zhangjiajie, A UNESCO Designated Nature Park

27.    Sightseeing at the Harrison Lake

28.    Confucian Gentility: Floral Haiku

29.    Animal Virtue

30.    The Cycle of a Life

31.    The Season

32.    Sea Snapshots: Four Haiku

33.    Sounds of the Ocean

34.    Dialectic Diary (1)

35.    Dialectic Diary (2)

36.    At the Bubbling Beach

37.    Above the Water

38.    Spring Sunlight

39.    In Stanley Park

40.    On Osler Street, Vancouver West

41.    Appointment

42.    Hasty come, Hasty Go

43.    Rain Clouds

44.    Mid-Autumn Moon

45.    Withered Twig

46.    The Revelations of Lichens

47.    Those Gliding Geese

48.    Autumn Rain

49.    Orange

50.    Still Chrysanthemum

51.    Bamboo

52.    Wild Wild West Wind

53.    Snow White

54.    Elegy of Snow

55.    Pine Tree

56.    The Last Snowflake of Last Winter

57.    Canadian Winter

58.    Horticulture

59.    Here at the Sea Shore

60.    At Yoho’s Natural Bridge

61.    Confession of a Cat

62.    The Dove

63.    Song of Salmons

64.    Primavera

65.    Snail and Grass

66.    Winds

67.    At the Top of Grouse Moutain

68.    On the Honghu Lake

69.    In the English Bay

70.    Night Quiet

71.    Night of Sky

72.    Day vs Night