Born 1928, Lo Fu graduated from the English department of Tamkang University, and had been professor of English at Soochow University (Also called Tungwu University) in Taiwan. Together with Chang Mo, and Ya-Xian, he founded the Epoch Poetry Quarterly, and served aschief editor in 1954. The publication has created lasting impact on the development of modern poetry in Taiwan. He writes, edits, translates, and teaches poetry for over forty years, and has been a very productive writer. His thirty eight poetry publication includes Wounds of Time, etc., and he has published seven prose collations, and five essay collections, and eight translated works, including Biography of Hugo. Lou Fu has won many literary awards. He was a surrealistic poet in his early years, and his presentation has an aura of magic, thus earning him the nickname of “magic poet”.
T. C. Lee
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.
With dusk almost gone, lighter are the steps in the yard.
The hollow wine carafe under the lamp
Is singing a duet with the wind.
I hastily walk towards the basin burner, its flame fading.
Beyond the window are mountains, misty rain,
And April. Further out is No one.
One pine strives to hold up the sky,
While reverberating in my ears
The sound of the reeling tree rings.
Here is a forbidden garden, mist rising gently.
As your cheek color merges with the twilight.
Begin to weep
The falling leaves, holding services for fruit.
Calling you across the thundering waves, but your name
Is beyond the farthest sails
The tide comes and goes
The left shoe imprints the afternoon
Before the right shoe marks the dusk
June is a sad book
The ending woeful yet beautiful
—the sun setting in the west
I am still gazing at
The pure white displayed in your eyes
I kneel toward you
Toward that cloud so beautiful all afternoon
Dear sea, why do you illuminate,
Among all lamps, that soulfully misty one
What can it obtain?
Your pupils once called snow
Some now call
When twilight adorns a window after-the-rain
I probe herewith the depths of the distant mountains.
I breathe a cloud against
the window pane, and draw with my finger
a long, long, slender road
and at its end
Someone has left with the rain.