Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Liqing Yu


Liqing Yu (originally Eileen Tang) was a licensed pharmacist in Taiwan. She moved to California in 1978. She has authored more than 40 books in Taiwan and China. She is also a cofounder and actively involved in volunteering work for Evergreen Education Foundation for years. Her works have been included in anthologies, and textbooks throughout Taiwan, China and abroad. She has been awarded numerous prizes for her essays, proses, poems and stories for children. Currently, she lives in Berkeley, CA.


T. C. Lee

李作昌,1936 年生于江西南昌市。1957年毕业于台大电机系,1964年于斯坦佛大学电机系获博士学位。之后在美国高科技工业界从事研发工作长达三十八年。退休以后,重拾年轻时对诗的喜爱,开始写作发表。

T. C. Lee was born in Nanchang, Kiangsi, China 1936. He graduated with B. S. degree from National Taiwan University and from Stanford University with Ph. D in 1964, both in Electrical Engineering. Then he worked in R&D with the high tech industry in US for thirty eight years. After retirement he devoted his long hobby and love in poetry and starting writing poems for several magazines.


Father Tree

父亲 走了 扔下他孤独的手杖 我在梦里看见拐杖变成了树 长在我儿时嬉闹的庭院 父亲走时是冬天 我到春天才悲从衷来 如春雨般纷纷落下 拥抱着树根哭泣著 哭泣著匍伏到树下 晨起我看到窗前的梅花开满一树 一朵朵如我怀念与感恩的回报 父亲的厚爱深深植入土中 无论春夏 无论秋冬


My father, he is gone Lonely is the cane he left behind In my dream the cane becomes a tree in the courtyard I used to play there in my childhood years He died in the winter My grief did not swell up until the spring My tears flowed like the spring shower I hugged the tree while I was crying Till I prostrated at its roots In the morning I saw over the window The plum flowers had blossomed all over the tree Each and every flower was a wish granted for me Of loving memory and thanksgiving Father's love is planted deep in the earth Whether in spring or summer Autumn or winter


An Eulogy After Reading Chou Moon-Diey Poems

终于 向襁褓般温暖的未来走去 或许 是向未必需要完成的过去走去 花雨落向恆河 一切之一的那个渡口 那人大隐于街角 寂寞得很广大 历八风*而不动 车如水 人如月 风雨如诗 岁月入定 不论是他的灵魂想要外出 或者世界向他的灵魂扣门 有一扇大门终于要在他身后徐徐打开 除了尘归尘土归土 除了美丽而无用的逻辑 只余诗意微寒 香远而益清 (*八风者,利衰苦乐毁誉称讥。)


At the end He treads toward the future, warm as a baby in mother's embrace Or Toward the unfinished past, which is likely unnecessary The flowers and the rain fall into the Ganga river The port of transport to the unlimited That man is a recluse at the street corner His vast solitude spreads far and wide The eight winds of carnal vices and virtues move him not Cars meander like a stream He is like the moon The wind and the rain are poems Time returns to Nirvana It matters not if his soul wants to exit Or the world keeps knocking on his soul A door finally opens after his departure, slowly The dust returns to dust, the soil returns to soil Logic is pretty but of no use here What remains is the feel of that little poetic cool The fragrance radiating afar yet fresher than ever. ( The eight winds are profit, loss, suffering, pleasure, ruin, name, praise, and derision)

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