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
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?
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？
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.
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