Yang Hua is the pen name of Yang Xianda (Yang Hsien-ta), who was born into a poor family in Pingdong County in southern Taiwan and earned a living by teaching at private schools.
Yang’s first poems were published in Taiwanese People’s Journal in 1926 and his “Petit Poems” and “Lamplight” received prizes from that newspaper. During his lifetime he published three books of poetry and fiction. He was arrested in 1927 for violating the “public security law” imposed by the Japanese colonial government. While in prison, he wrote Black Tide, which contains fifty-three short poems in Chinese, under the pen name Yang Qiren. Out of work and money, Yang lived in a slum and became ill. Before a call for help to the literary community appeared in New Taiwanese Literature, he hanged himself in 1936.
9 Iron window!
We have met too late!
When we first met, a few moments of silence,
Filled with endless sorrow.
15 Great wind!
Don’t scare people with your rustling,
My little brother wants to sleep.
20 The narcissus is cherished,
Planted as an offering in a porcelain pot of clear water;
Yet she wipes her mouth and sneers
At the lotus blossom thriving on its own in the mud.
25 Toyed with.
Humiliated.
How many times now?
Though I cannot well remember,
Of what use is it to remember well?
30 Each tragic wail of people harried by life—
Are they bramble thorns
Or sharp points of a snowflake-like sword?—
Pierces my heart.
47 The flying eagle is hungry,
Pacing the sky, it wants to swallow the stars and planets.
51 I want to free my soul from sorrow, to awaken with tears
People’s sweet dreams of love!
I want to squeeze out my heart from the clutches of despair, to fill up
The breasts of those youths who have lost their hearts.
(1927)
(translated by Kirk A. Denton)
34 A bee dies drunk on the flowered path,
Falling petals flutter and bury his “shell”—
Ah, what a fine tomb of love.
45 How frightening!
The moonlight envelops the thin shadow of the old willow,
In the middle of the night, raindrops on broken lotus pads.
(1932)
(translated by Kirk A. Denton)
Dogs bark at guests
Mother hens call the chicks
Two or three tawny cottages
Four or five green weeping willows
Unadorned
Simple and bare
A classical painting
A verse of modern poetry
(published 1932)
(translated by Michelle Yeh)
Stars sparse, winds light,
Limpid moonlight shining upon her,
She rubs her face and wipes her eyes,
Thinking the day has dawned.
Daylight is work time
Don’t delay, be quick, put on your coat.
Go! go! go!
She hurries to the textile factory,
But the iron gate is locked tight and she can’t get in,
And now she knows the moon tricked her.
To return—the moon is sinking in the west, she’s afraid she’ll be late;
To stay—no breakfast for her, an empty stomach is all she’ll have.
All is quiet, no one walks the road.
Cold and desolate, swaying wild grass,
Rustling wind, piercing her limbs,
Sparse trees, the moon hangs in the treetops.
She waits and waits, but the iron gate won’t open,
Gusts of frosty wind like icy water,
Oh, cold, so cold!
She hunches herself, unable to bear it much longer,
Weary and tired from waiting,
Waiting till the moon falls and the rooster crows.
(1932)
(translated by Kirk A. Denton)