Lin Yu (Lin Yü) is the pen name of Lin Yuxi, who was born in Deer Valley in Nantou County and is the younger brother of Xiang Yang. He graduated from World Journalism University and has worked as a journalist and editor for many years. Currently he is deputy chief editor of China Times Weekly.
To date Lin has published four books of poetry and two books of prose.
—SEEING A FRIEND OFF FOR HONG KONG
My dream is taking a trip
Leaving me at home alone
My dream said: I’m going far away
Where songs blossom in place of
Flowers; where flowers take the place of
Young girls’ gazes; only young girls
Sitting at windows think of home
So, gently stand by your mailbox
Cautiously break each sunbeam
Into a bright zincograph
Carefully carve each inch of sea swell
Into a white dove’s wing
And watch to your heart’s content
Watch the grass grow, green shoots sprout
Cicadas chirr in empty courtyards
Dragonflies try to find a way out of your study
Boldly you write
Like a gardener, laboring and sweating
Sowing our faith, our hopes
And our love in lines
Pray frequently, calm and composed
That all people might leave this gloomy station
And with joy make their way to the bright bay
Later, my dream said: I’ll be back soon
Very, very soon, to rest in your mailbox
When the snow comes
And I am a pure white letter, don’t mistake me
For a snowflake from the sky, but remember
My stamp is a bright red peach petal
My dream is taking a trip, it says:
When I return, release the doves
Let their wings beat the frozen clouds
Until they ring
(1981)
(translated by John Balcom)
Who lifts the rain’s gauze skirt and enters the corridor of March?
Who hurls lightning from the jet-black forest? Who
Proofreads the land’s manuscript, marked everywhere in red and green? Who
Who was it last night that trod softly on the blue tiles of my
heart? Who lifts the door of my lashes and
Stirs up waves on the pools of my eyes? He
Doesn’t give me a glass of wine to drink, but makes me drunk all the same
Arbitrarily he demands I fly but without preparing
A pair of silver wings for me; in the sky now bright, now dark
He weeps and laughs, making my moods change
Like an umbrella now opened now closed
He likes to throw parties and send out invitations far and wide
On the sidewalk, in the park, in the square
On the shores of a slowly awakening stream
Under the cold moonlight, he slips into my veins
In my soon-to-brim blood, he rows a boat
Beats a drum, strums the rusty strings of my heart
Oh, an intruder named Spring
Spring sings in my veins
(1982)
(translated by John Balcom)
Some people are already snoring like thunder
Some people are still in the bar, others
Are kicking empty cans under the dim streetlights
People here. People there, here and
There, people are perhaps
Making their way up a narrow rickety staircase
with great effort
On a rainy night after a banquet, I
Organize the many different name cards
And softly intone those short poetic names
Suddenly, I forget their
Faces, voices, how they were dressed, and
The reason for exchanging name cards
Do they know who I am?
Here and there, I hear the sound
Of countless I’s being torn
(1982)
(translated by John Balcom)
In a heavy rain I crossed the street
Picked up the red receiver, but just stood there
I forgot the number, but I remembered his
Nickname, cough, and facial expression
I chose from among the ten basic numbers
Each one collided in my brain
Each number echoed the pitter-patter of the cold rain
Seven, my lucky number
Zero, the beginning and end of all problems
Eight, the number of reference letters for employment
They fell, each number held a memory
They fell in combinations
Like partners exchanged at a dance forming memories
A snatch of song, the price of a stereo
Date of birth, address, ID card number …
But I didn’t have the phone number to call in for the day off
I dialed seven digits, I talked happily
A girl I didn’t know laughed in the receiver
She didn’t know my name, face, or identity
When she asked me where I lived, I’d forgotten
(1982)
(translated by John Balcom)
He changes into his nightshirt, facing a bottle of wine
He lights a cigarette. The couple upstairs
Has already turned in; downstairs
The musician is tuning his cello
Who knows who is who, the stars move
The bottle’s empty, knocked over
Bullfrogs croak on the outskirts of town
The musician is still tuning his instrument
He takes off his nightshirt, and walks out into the
moonlit lane
He kicks an empty can; it clangs
Hollowly, perhaps it contained fruit or
Caviar, once it was full and now it’s
Empty. Everything’s been eaten up
Only my nerves are still tightly strung
Everybody’s full, only I am hungry
Hungry and squeezed into a can with others. He thinks.
(1982)
(translated by John Balcom)
Reading Dostoyevsky’s
The Idiot, complacently
I take up my pen
To inscribe a poem
In the bookstore I pace
Before the crowded shelves, pretending
To be the most loyal of
Dostoyevsky’s readers
Actually, I just want to see
My own book of poetry
Its pretty cover
And all those words laughing heartily
But, a row of
Idiots, idiots, idiot…
Only after a row of idiots, do I see
Myself standing shamefacedly at the far end of the shelves
(1982)
(translated by John Balcom)
Some have just left, others are slowly
Coming this way. Who among them
Will sit down? I’m a chair
I feel people’s bodily warmth; I listen to
Their talk; I remember
Their looks; and I think
They too, all of them, must be
Chairs
I sit properly on a wooden bench
in the maple grove in the park
Could the person who just left be the
Girlfriend I broke up with last year?
Could someone I love or hate
Have sat here at another time?
They are not chairs, only I am
Empty, welcoming them and seeing them off
Waiting for them as they take turns coming and going
Yes, only I am a
Chair, enduring all
Shapes, weights, temperatures, and events
(1982)
(translated by John Balcom)
| 01:30 | Dreamed I saw a warship carrying the stars away in the fog |
| 03:30 | A friend on the other side of the Earth trudged through the snow to mail a letter |
| 05:30 | Someone called; wrong number. He forgot to apologize |
| 07:30 | Tears on the rim of a milk glass; the bread moldy |
| 09:30 | A car accident occurred silently below the office building |
| 11:30 | The pencils and notebooks were all left in the deathly silent conference room |
| 13:30 | A plane flew low overhead; the Persian cat napped in the garden |
| 15:30 | The bank teller changed her hairstyle again |
| 17:30 | I guess the evening paper has no news about a drop in stock prices |
| 19:30 | Where to? After the bright neon lights was the hospital |
| 21:30 | The dull-witted pupil of the television |
| A promiscuous chest exposed in the closet | |
| A beer can with an unsatisfied mouth | |
| A black receiver waiting for a voice in the ear | |
| 23:30 | Binoculars; the lights in windows of the opposite building were going out, one by one |
| 00:00 | Rolled over on my wound; my wound cried it hurts |
| 00:29 | Rolled over on my wound; my mouth cried it hurts |
| 00:59 | Rolled over on my wound; my heart cried it hurts |
| 01:30 | Dreamed I saw a wooden ship glide silently across the cavernous black sky |
(1984)
(translated by John Balcom)