Born in Xinzhu in northwestern Taiwan, Du Pan Fangge (Tu P’an Fang-ko) (Du is her husband’s last name, Pan her maiden name) received a Japanese education through high school. A devout Christian and mother of seven, she started writing poetry in the 1960s and joined the Bamboo Hat Poetry Society shortly after it was founded in 1964. In 1992 she became the first recipient of the Chen Xiuxi Poetry Prize. She has published seven books of poetry to date and is among the first in Taiwan to write modern poetry in an ancient dialect spoken by the Hakka people in southeastern China. Among the poems included here, “Paper People” and “Womb” are written in Hakka, the rest in Mandarin.
Yellow silk ribbons
and
black silk ribbons
my death
a rebirth
with a bow tie of
soft, pink silk ribbons
(1967)
(translated by Michelle Yeh)
Everywhere on earth are people made of paper
Swaying to and fro in the autumn wind.
But I am not a woman of paper;
My body is the temple of God,
I entrust my heart to God,
Who fills me with heaven-sent enlightenment
And endows me with abilities and strength.
The island of Taiwan is full of paper people.
I search and search everywhere
For a true human being like me.
(1970)
(translated by Michelle Yeh)
When butterflies perch, their wings close up neatly and upright,
Yet moths spread open their wings, like airplanes.
Legend has it that flying moths are carriers of human souls.
Mulberry twigs covered with saw-toothed leaves,
Through the tiny interstices I gaze at the distant hill.
I see angels in twos and threes smiling brightly.
Papa, I see you smile too.
Death, after all, is not frightening;
It takes you to a better place.
Through the tiny saw-toothed interstices between the mulberry leaves, I gaze
At the high hill far, far away, with the eyes of a seventeen-year-old girl.
(1985)
(translated by Michelle Yeh)
A newly hatched butterfly
Comes from the north riding on a spring horse
Sparkling sunlight bounces off its mane
In the south grows an emerald green pomelo tree
Travelers on earth
How can blood and words truly connect?
Those bluish words that turn pale from fatigue
Those words my ancestors never really heard
Let them bury the lush green pomelo tree
Yes
Butterfly, flap your wings
(published 1990)
(translated by Michelle Yeh)
A womb
Gives birth to myriad forms of life
What is a womb?
It is a transit station.
(published 1990)
(translated by Michelle Yeh)