A Life inTransition and Translation

by Chen-ou Liu

A Life in Transition and Translation

by

Chen-ou Liu

Honorable Mention, Turtle Light Press Haiku Chapbook Competition, 2014

NeverEnding Story 2014

First published in Canada in 2014 by NeverEnding Story

at http://neverendingstoryhaikutanka.blogspot.ca/

Copyright © Chen-ou Liu 2014

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Preface

Following the Moon to the Maple Land

for my first Canada Day, July 1, 2003

Name: Chen-ou Liu (phonic);

Country of Birth: R.O.C.;

(Cross out R.O.C. and fill in Taiwan) 1

Place of Birth; Date of Birth; Sex;

simply more technocratic questions

the Immigration Officer needs to pin down my borders.

He is always looking for shortcuts,

more interested in the roadside signposts

than in the landscape that has made me.

The line he wants me confined to

is an analytically recognizable category:

immigrant. My history is meticulously stamped.

Now, you're legally a landed immigrant.

Take a copy of A Newcomer’s Introduction to Canada.

from Lake Ontario

I scoop the Taiwan moon

distant sirens

Contemporary Haibun Online, 10:2, July 2014

Note: "The Republic of China (ROC)” was established in China in 1912. At

the end of World War II in 1945, Japan surrendered Taiwan to ROC military

forces on behalf of the Allies. Following the Chinese civil war, the

Communist Party of China took full control of mainland China and founded

the People's Republic of China (PRC) in 1949. The ROC relocated its

government to Taiwan, and its jurisdiction became limited to Taiwan and its

surrounding islands. In 1971, the PRC assumed China's seat at the United

Nations, which the ROC originally occupied. International recognition of the

ROC has gradually eroded as most countries switched recognition to the

PRC. Only 21 UN member states and the Holy See currently maintain

formal diplomatic relations with the ROC, though it has informal ties with

most other states via its representative offices." -- excerpted from the

Wikipedia entry, “Taiwan,” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taiwan

Canada geese

under the rainbow

a new immigrant

im-mi-grant . . .

the way English tastes

on my tongue

job hunting...

a yellow leaf drifts

from branch to branch

first autumn ...

tonight's moon not like

the one back home

Christmas Eve

my dog and I run

out of topics

winter rain

I fall asleep

holding myself

thoughts of home...

I rake last year's leaves

for compost

Lunar New Year

I become a Chinese

once again

budding lotus --

when did I become

who I am

midsummer night

I photoshop

my immigrant dream

job interview

falling leaves

with every step

elliptical thoughts

of what could have happened ...

winter drizzle

job interview

just enough snow to bend

the maple branch

to leave or to stay...

the light and dark

of a spring wind

July First fireworks

the smell of solitude

lingering

maple leaves

falling by ones, by twos --

the smell of mooncakes

this urge

to look back on my life ...

a wedge of geese

a fleeting dream

in winter moonlight

notes of an erhu

my dog and I

in a patch of sunlight

New Year's morning

budding blossoms…

a love poem for no one

in particular

drifting petals ...

a monarch butterfly

completes my dream

something old

that is always new

summer stars

alone

walking the house all night --

moon festival

blizzard on the way

my immigrant past

withering

hometown memories...

spring water

against my legs

Pacific shore . . .

I speak to the chestnut moon

in my mother tongue

first homecoming...

the silence lengthened

tree by tree

mother squeezing

the side of my belly

first hometown visit

from Lake Ontario

I scoop the Taiwan moon

distant sirens

October snowflakes ...

thoughts of home whirling

in my mind

winter

rain

drops

my

reflection

first sunrise

the silver strand

in my hair

budding cherry petals ...

three blue-eyed teens greet me

with middle fingers

last cherry petals

drift to the ground

I miss myself

offshoring jobs...

the last glow of sunset

at the horizon

harvest moon rising ....

a tremble

in the migrant's voice

writing haiku...

autumn sunlight breaks

through a wall of gray

oh, so, you're a poet

the aftertaste

of her words

drifting snowflakes...

your poem, a bit of this

and a bit of that

the porridge

on my coffee-stained desk

rewriting haiku

(for Jack Kerouac)

lunar eclipse

can my words map the contour

of a void?

shades of winter light

I tune in

to the silence

Silent Night

drifting in from the neighbors --

I relearn Chinese

a full moon

between mother and me

the Pacific

Postface

To Liv(e)

My Dear:

Upon reading your ground-floor comment regarding my decision to emigrate

to Canada, “you're a dreamer with your head in the clouds, paying little

attention to the reality on the ground,” I laugh… to tears.

It reminds me that Ingmar Bergman once commented on Elliot Gould, “It

was the impatience of a soul to find out things about reality and himself, and

that is one thing that always makes me touched almost to tears, that

impatience of the soul.”

I miss you, miss the conversations we used to have inside and outside the

theater, and miss your favorite actress Liv Ullmann and our dream.

autumn twilight

a butterfly darts in and out

of my shadow

It’s true that my immigrant life here is much tougher than I thought. It can

easily thrust me into troubling circumstances that threaten to undo my

“mastery” over those things that matter most.

Thanks for your advice: “don't let life make your heart hard; sometimes, you

need to keep one of your eyes open and the other closed.” You told me that

you've long found yourself mesmerized by Pablo Picasso’s painting, “The

Head of a Medical Student,” a face in the form of an African mask with one

eye open, and the other closed. I can generalize about the provocative

poignancy of this painting: most people live their lives with one of their eyes

keenly open to the dangers of the world and the uncertainty of the human

condition; their other eye is closed so they do not see or feel too many of

these things, so they can get on with their lives.

fight after fight

against loneliness --

waning moon

I don’t want to drag you into our decade-old debate again. But, is this the

kind of life we’re going to pursue after spending years together reading,

seeing, and discussing so many artistic works on life and death? Your

Ullmann once quoted Bergman as saying, “Perhaps there’s no reality; reality

exists only as a longing.” For me, my longing is reality.

falling off a dream I become a butterfly

Love,

Chen-ou

Frogpond, 34:3, Fall 2011

Appendix

Commentary by the Judge, Penny Harter

In this collection we enter the life of being an immigrant, feel the loneliness

of being between worlds, and the questions and challenges that arise from

that experience. One must learn a new language, a new landscape, and a new

culture. The immigrant is at first cast adrift, never really at home, but never

really in exile, either.

winter rain

I fall asleep

holding myself

We don’t have to be a stranger in a strange land to feel this degree of

loneliness, but being one makes it all the more poignant.

budding lotus

when did I become

who I am

When any of us have experienced a shift from one land to another, whether

chosen or forced upon us, this is a question we find ourselves asking more

than once. I know I have been asking it often since my husband died and I

only moved from north to south Jersey.

first homecoming . . .

the silence lengthened

tree by tree

And when we try to go home, we are changed, so home is changed. The

silence, the trees . . . how do we bridge the gap? And what self are we

bringing home again?

last cherry petals

drift to the ground

I miss myself

As we are becoming, day by day, our “new” selves, we miss the old, but

can’t go back. And that’s the way it is. But we go on! This is a collection

that makes us recognize the changes we must make—and, if we are

immigrants, the changes are even more profound.

-- excerpted from "2014 TLP Haiku Chapbook Contest: Overall Comments"

Acknowledgements

Thanks are due to the editors and publishers of the following publications in

which these poems first appeared:

A Hundred Gourds, Acorn, Ardea, cattails, Chrysanthemum, Frogpond,

Haiku Canada Review, Haiku Pix Review, Kokako, Lynx, Lyrical Passion

Poetry E-Zine, Modern Haiku, NeverEnding Story, Notes From the Gean,

Presence, Shamrock, Simply Haiku, Sketchbook, The Heron's Nest,

Tinywords, Turtle Light Press, VerseWrights, Wednesday Haiku. Whispers,

and World Haiku Review.

For more information about publication credits, please visit Poetry in the

Moment, http://chenouliu.blogspot.ca/

A Life in Transition and Translation

Honorable Mention, Turtle Light Press Haiku Chapbook Competition, 2014

Biographical Sketch

Born in Taipei, Taiwan, Chen-ou Liu was a college teacher and two-time

winner of the national Best Book Review Radio Program Award. In 2002,

he emigrated to Canada and settled in Ajax, a suburb of Toronto. He is

currently Editor and Translator of NeverEnding Story, First English-Chinese

Haiku and Tanka Blog, http://neverendingstoryhaikutanka.blogspot.ca/, and

the author of five books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land

(First Prize Winner of the 2011 Haiku Pix Review Chapbook Contest). His

tanka and haiku have been honored with 68 awards. Read more of his poems

at Poetry in the Moment, http://chenouliu.blogspot.com/

NeverEnding Story 2014