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://worldpoetry.ca/?p=7447 - 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

Awaiting

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]

親情︰寫給袁宏啟

沒錯，你我確系父子，不過我常常
懷疑這一簡單的生物學事實︰
每次相聚，我們難能說完三句短話
而一年到頭我們見面也不過三次
那還是我在世界的另一邊
逃避你千里萬里之前

像其他中國父親，你從未說過
你愛我，擁抱過觸摸過我
除非是深掐臂膀
或痛打屁股，（總是冷不及防）
當我的同伴大聲吹噓
他們的爸爸爺爺如何了得，我卻
瞧不起你，不是因為
你身量矮小，而是因為
你性格怯弱。我時時（在你背後）說你
‘在外是活菩薩，在家是活閻王’
因為這，我深深內疚，唯恐不能像個
真正的儒家孝子在你離世時為你落淚

不像我和我的兒子，總有許多共同往事
分享回憶，我你乃天生對頭
前世注定，一如你向我母親訴說的
那樣。（每當我倆相見
她總是擰著個大桶， 隨時在你我之間的
高牆上填縫補隙）

可是，自從2012年年初你撒手人寰
你的形象一直追纏著我，慈愛的
微笑，每每使我泣不成聲
昨夜還夢見︰你在麼，爸？

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

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

Step

Stop

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

Step

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.

Annversary: More Poems for Yuan Hongqi

jan 2 is the second anniversary of my father's death. here are a few more poems i have written for him, most of which have already appeared in literary outlets, such as Far Enough East, the Germ, Eskimo Pie, Black Petals and Malaysia Poetic Chronicles::
-----------------------

parcenary

                        my destination was preset

you will receive a parcel

            by express.  It turns out

all too expressly, and

the sender was my parents

        who had wrapped themselves

                        inside already

------------------

My Photo

Tightly embedded

Within a metal frame

Is my colored soul

Sitting high 

Against the wall

Like a stuffed owl

I know how I will be spending days and nights

Of my posthumous life there

Watching my children walking

Into their little rented room

Or out of it

-------------------

Father’s Soliloquy: For YCM

The other night, before the cock crowed, or

The crow cocked out of darkness, a yellowish

Shape stalked in vision, as in blank verse

‘Mark me,’ it says, sounding almost exactly

Like my late father. ‘Lend thy very serious

Hearing to what I shall unfold.’ Suddenly alerted

I got up among figures, between dream and sleep

‘When you were a teenager, I hated you so much

For looking at me always with your eye whites

Giving me an ugly face each time I talked to you

So much so that I cursed you numerous times in

My dream for being such an unworthy son; I often

Doubted if you were my own flesh until you grew

Into a normal loving adult, making me feel guilty

All my life; also, I was suspicious of your mom

Betraying me, not only in heart but also in body

I almost caught her making love with some guy

On our own bed - -You still remember that small

Apartment we used to live in? Among all my dadly

Secrets, these two I want to reveal to you first

Next time, I will tell you more about the limbo

Between hell and heaven, with the lightest word

Which might harrow up thy spirit, burn up thy

Blood…’ now the cock crows, and I must vanish

------------------------

Walking with Father: For Yuan Hongqi

One thing I forgot to mention, Dad

Is I intentionally moved either before

Or behind you, each time we happened

To be walking together. That way, you could

Neither pinch my arm not slap my face

So readily; otherwise, you would have to

Embarrass yourself if you ran forward

Or waited to do so, as you tried to

Educate me in anger. Since my departure

From my home town beyond the pacific

How often have I hoped to walk again, just once

Side by side with you, getting or offering support

Whenever either of us needed it

But now I could only follow your footprints behind

Step by step, while you wait to beat me in heaven, smiling

 ----------------------

Inviting My Father’s Spirit

Rarely did we get along, Dad, before

You gave us all up, and seldom

Did we even talk, so you never

Knew how I really felt about you

As a father, in particular, about your

Grooming habits: each time you

Returned from your office or trips

You skinned us off and washed all

Our clothes, sheets, towels, mops

Cleaning furniture (including

Every foot’s bottom), polishing

Lamp covers and cooking utensils

Though you often forgot to put them

Back in good and tidy order; true

I learned to love your cleanness

But never the way you were so busy

Doing all this like an old woman

Now you are taking a long break

Up there, (where everything is

Supposed to be perfectly clean); do

You enjoy watching me doing

Such things down here to keep

My home and heart both dust-free

--------------------- 

A Lost Memoir

One more thing I never told you, Dad

Was I always believed you to be an

Extra-ordinary father, but in a highly

Embarrassing way: each time you saw

Me hanging around with my buddies 

You kept saying this like a big broken

Gramophone: “Follow Chairman Mao’s

Teachings; Follow the Party’s

Lead,” just as you drove me crazy

By trying to convert me into a true

Communist like yourself, even

When we happened to be eating

At the same table. Still remember?

You once forced me to kneel down

On the hard ground until I finished

Reciting Mao Zedong’s “Three Old

Essays.” It was then I began to defy

You blindly, to follow no other than

My own heart, in a boyish rebellion

Against your fatherly dictatorship

Against any other form of tyranny

--------------------

Twilight: for Liu Yu

My heart muscle contracts, excruciatingly

Like an overly-wound spring, ready to break

Each time I imagine my mom walking alone

Towards the dusty evening, while she used to

Go downstairs first, waiting aloud for my dad:

‘Grandpa, what are you still busy doing there?

It’s time to take a walk outside, along the moat!’

Now without a companion, my mother does not

Have to wait or hurry for anyone, but how she

Just misses the days when her shadow and my

Father’s became longer and longer, side by side

As they strolled slowly, until the sun set lower

And lower above the blurred horizon of autumn
----------------------

My Father Yuan Hongqi's Tomb in Lianhuadang, the village where I grew up

In the summer of 2007, my parents, my younger son and I went to my father's
native village to pay tributes to my grandparents

in the summer of 2007, my father and my younger brother stood beside my
Grandma's tomb in Shisanbao Village, where my father was born

in the summer of 2007, my father and i visited the Three Gorges Dam in Yichang

my Father, my poet son and i visited the Yangtze River at the Yichang, 2007