Xiang Yang (Hsiang Yang, “facing the sun”) is the pen name of Lin Qiyang, who was born in Nantou in central Taiwan. He received a B.A. in Japanese and an M.A. in journalism from Chinese Culture University. He worked as chief editor of China Times Weekly and of the literary supplement of the Independence Evening Post before becoming executive editor of the latter publication. In 1997 Xiang Yang left the media to pursue a Ph.D. in journalism at National Zhengzhi University. He has taught at Jingyi University in recent years and is now Deputy Publisher and Executive Editor of the Independence Evening Post.
Since the mid-1970s Xiang Yang has been active on the poetry scene. He cofounded A Gathering in the Sunshine Poetry Society in 1979 and was among the first in Taiwan to write modern poetry in Hokkien, of which “Nine to Five” is an example. He attended the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa in 1986, helped establish the Taiwanese PEN in 1987, and served as its vice president in 1990. A prolific writer, he has published five books of poetry, two English translations of selected poems (see the bibliography), five volumes of essays, another five of literary criticism and social commentaries, and children’s stories.
Isn’t it like
That small red flower
Standing timidly in the deep gloom
Under the golden gingko grove of home
Soaked in the rain last autumn?
Away from home this spring, from the train at dusk
I see an egret
Flap its ash-white wings
Soar among crimson clouds
And disappear!
(1976)
(translated by John Balcom)
Floating clouds sink their gloomy faces
In a small pond reflecting verdant trees and blue sky
And the pond sends the circling ripples with the wind
To swimming fish
My cares are the willows pacing around the shore
Departing night urges tomorrow to stay
Leaves flutter down through the mist
But joy and sorrow remain silent forever
There, in the reflection of the bridge railing
The surprise encounter of the fish and the leaves
(1978)
(translated by John Balcom)
I’ll just stoop, listening as the twigs and branches wither
Unless I resolutely break from this beautiful and reliant corolla
As all the fragrances, the bees, the butterflies, and the yesterdays
are
Scattered by the wind. Only by rejecting the protective
camouflage of green leaves
Will I be able to wait for the soil’s fearsome blast
But if I choose to dwell on a mountain slope,
then the open wilds will be closed to me
If I settle at the seashore, then I’ll lose the cleansing stream
Between heaven and earth, so broad yet so narrow
I drift, I fly, I float to find a suitable place
To settle, take root, and be fruitful
(1978)
(translated by John Balcom)
No longer can the leaves cling to the withered limbs
Falling in droves they speed to the heart of the cold lake at dawn
Someone with an umbrella walks the dew-drenched shore
From the forest all that is heard is a falling
Pine cone, a startled cry
Is this how you come? Ripples
And echoes linger over the quiet water
The duckweed suddenly parts
Leaving the mountain’s reflection kissing
The blue rain-washed sky, and autumn is deeper
(1979)
(translated by John Balcom)
This job has got me down
Up early to stand in the cold
Waiting for the bus, shake your head
Stamp your feet, look at your watch
Wait, wait, wait
The bus so crowded, nearly makes you faint
This job is a pain
Working hard every day
Gotta watch the boss’s moods
Don’t dare cross him
Just work, work, work
Killing yourself for
a few bucks each month
This job has got me down
Sometimes you’ve gotta work
till late at night
Listening to the clock, counting
the minutes
Time just drags on and on and on
When the sun comes up you’re ready for bed
(1982)
(translated by John Balcom)
They all wear the same uniform, their arms
All swing in unison, they all march to the same
step
On a road of lush spring grass; they are satisfied
To close ranks, their eyebrows, mouths, and
shoulders
Forming a line to carefully measure the silent plain
Even the wind dares not cough. They
Chop down the conceited trees, prune away
Leafy branches and flowers; finally they all
Look up and shake their heads, for naturally, as
keepers of this earthly garden, they
Cannot force uniformity on the clouds in the sky.
(1984)
(translated by John Balcom)
Splash! A frog jumps in the pond
Startling the drowsy crows in the trees
The water lily pads tremble
Ripples ring outward over the water
Spreading the tranquility
Alone sits the lotus
On this stifling summer afternoon
Even the clouds are loath to appear
In a column, ants carry bread crumbs
Walking rhythmically over the bumpy ground
Walking rhythmically over the bumpy ground
In a column, ants carry bread crumbs
Even the clouds are loathe to appear
On this stifling summer afternoon
Alone sits the lotus
Spreading the tranquility
Ripples ring outward over the water
The water lily pads tremble
Startling the drowsy crows in the trees
Splash! A frog jumps in the pond
(1985)
(translated by John Balcom)
| Heat out of cold | Cold into heat |
| The city clamors | On a slowly cooling night |
| Under a solitary lamp | Longing like fire |
| Love buried carelessly | Pain enters the heart |
| Discarded by an oath | Already ice cold |
| Skyful of stars in the window | Sky full of stars |
| Glowing fully | Calls out |
| The sighs that summer | Your name and figure |
| Pass hotly | Before my eyes |
| In a stifling wind | A star falls |
| A star falls | In a stifling wind |
| Before my eyes | Pass hotly |
| Your name and figure | The sighs that summer |
| Calls out | Glowing fully |
| Sky full of stars | Skyful of stars in the window |
| Already ice cold | Discarded by an oath |
| Pain enters the heart | Love buried carelessly |
| Longing like fire | Under a solitary lamp |
| On a slowly cooling night | The city clamors |
| Cold into heat | Heat out of cold |
(1985)
(translated by John Balcom)
Last night the cold began its slow retreat
This morning bird song invades the forest
Scaled to match the light and shadow at dawn
The sunlight breaks through the window
To visit long-damp corners, silently
Warming shovels and plows. The north wind
Turns westward, surging
Clouds in the sky.
Hibernating insects prepare to emerge from the soil
I wander in the garden, following butterflies
Like last year, the plows are busy turning earth
Sweat and blood are worked into the new soil
Egrets perch lightly on the backs of buffalos,
earthworms wriggle
I plow and sow the fields
Of joy and sadness cultivated for generations
The distant green hills and nearby trees fill my eyes
It was cold last night, but the mountain stream is flowing
I plow this lovely land
Waiting for peach tree blossoms to echo
As thunder shakes down from the sky
(1986)
(translated by John Balcom)
The frost spreads from north to south
Along the shining black rails, an illusion
It drifts over cities, poor and remote places
Circles a railroad crossing
Then nestles on a shop sign at a little railway station,
Illumined by cars passing in the night
Snatches of “Buy My Dumplings” are heard
“Mending Broken Nets” is on the radio
Taiwan at the end of the eighties
Playing and singing songs of the early forties
That’s the way homesickness is, up north
Crying for mom and pop in a karaoke bar
Beer cans and wine bottles lie scattered under the tables
Head of white foam rises and falls like frost on the table
So-called culture is the eastern replacing the western
Historic sites are just demolished walls
Folk customs ride a flowery float, and sightseeing
Is a young woman’s thigh that everyone enjoys together
The middle class discusses the world and the future
Frost falls on the hair of those concerned about the world
(1986)
(translated by John Balcom)
After the red leaves have dropped, a light snow falls
Covering the Iowa hillsides in early winter
Like falling leaves, it drifts without letting up
Past the window of my temporary abode
It pauses to rest
In the swift wind, in a place
Not of my choosing, I
Heave a sigh as the other half of
The ashen sky watches
My home on the other side of the sea
Sometimes longing is like a light snow. Sometimes
It’s more like the falling leaves that don’t melt
But just slowly rot away
The fine snow on a morning in this foreign land
Can it be the bad dream from last night? In which my late father
Came and stood before my window
And pointing to the snow falling all around
He said: “The snow is too cold, let’s go
Home where the fallen leaves carpet the ground.”
(1986)
(translated by John Balcom)
By this time they should all be asleep
The lamp on the nightstand slowly goes out
The drawn curtains hang motionless
The streets are silent among the silent trees
The bridge pier is hidden beneath the spans
By this time they should all be asleep
The island curls up in a bedding of sea
The mainland lies covered on a desert pillow
Together Asia and America seek warmth
The North and South Poles exchange looks
By this time they should all be dreaming
The Earth quickly leaves its rails
Nebulae appear in space
Particles continue to war Substances begin to merge
By this time they should all be asleep
Abandoned, I look up at the night sky
In a sea of stars that slithers like a giant snake
I cannot find the solar system of their dreams
Nor can I see the Earth where they sleep
(1986)
(translated by John Balcom)
1 The ancient Chinese solar calendar is divided into 24 seasonal periods, each about 15.21 days in length. The names are: Beginning of Spring, The Rains, Waking of Insects, Vernal Equinox, Tomb Sweeping, Grain Rain, Beginning of Summer, Lesser Fullness of Grain, Grain in Ear, Summer Solstice, Lesser Heat, Great Heat, Beginning of Autumn, The Limit of Heat, White Dew, Autumn Equinox, Cold Dew, Hoarfrost, Beginning of Winter, Lesser Snow, Great Snow, Winter Solstice, Lesser Cold, and Great Cold. This and the next five poems are all selected from Xiang Yang’s The Four Seasons, a collection of 24 poems for the 24 solar periods. “Lesser Fullness of Grain” begins on May 22.
2 “Great Heat” begins on July 23.
3 “Waking of Insects” begins on March 6.
4 “Hoarfrost” begins on October 23.
5 “Lesser Snow” begins on November 22.
6 “Great Cold” begins on January 20.