Vancouver Overture
When the whole Fraser Valley is Flooded with sunlight Rushing down wildly From the Rocky Mountains Every crack, and every Crevice is filled with Oriental photons In the lower mainland And so is each Dark spot in the soul Each shadow in the heart As each black hole That seems looming At the center of your mind Shortly after another dream Made in the depth of last night About roaming over the Pacific At the Vancouver Harbor Fully loaded with feelings, some Thoughts are approaching, slowly Others waiting at a close range And still others sneaking away gracefully From the seashore All like bulky barges Except a few whims Looking so deplorably Small in figure, but keep creating fierce foamy waves On the windless evening, as they Shuttled around Like tugboats Night Snow in Vancouver In the wee hours of this morning, I noticed A heavy snow falling as forecasted. With The whole world feeling immaculate, I got up & Stood in front of my window, just on this Side of the glass, finding myself lost in the white way All the ugly, dark, dirty, messy as well as hazards Were covered equally, even the night itself had Retreated from dreams, with noises muted, cold Forgotten, all sound & fury compromised as The entire universe buried deep in soft illusions Or fantasies, as if we lived for a moment in True peace and harmony, except a lonely crow Pecking on the roadside, unaware of something That can be sharp or dangerous, right below the landscape Beyond Stanley Park, Behind the Homeless You are a wild cat Never in want of a companion in summer or winter Partying with others is unthinkable, even immoral You prefer to be alone, a state where you can Stretch your solid selfhood into a colored cloud, or Shrink your feline consciousness into a blank dot Loneliness is all the luxury you enjoy. & Here is your personal religion, in which I often hoped to share your forbidden mobility But in your shadow I have been transmuted Before I know it Into a bohemian artist. On a bus stop bench At a street corner, between two protruding walls You tattoo the landscape with humanity You cannot help preaching for freedom, wandering In a parallel between your inner and outer worlds Marpole: My Neighbour across the Street She spends all her visible time Being exquisite in a history with no disturbance Living alone in a quite old bungalow, she has Few visitors year round, except perhaps Her unseen relatives. Her voice never heard Her movements always leisurely, walking in & Out, mowing her slightly slanting lawn, taking Meticulous care of her heathers & other Tender plants. Sometimes dressed in a color Like a bloated blue bell, or a shrunk grizzly Sometimes wearing a high hat reminiscent of An antelope. Our only communication for The past decade has been her old black fit Parked occasionally on our side of the street (& our red civic almost touching her front yard) Observing from my high window, I often cannot Help wondering if she is a metamorphosed mice In some lab, or myself in a segregated zoo While Walking, Helen Observes at Granville St not a single tree begins to branch onot ut until after it rises a certain height above the ground. Perhaps it needs to grow thick, tall or strong enough to stand against storms to enjoy the sunshine, or to greet people like you & me no matter what, all the branches combined remain exactly thick as the trunk itself do you mean there’s more than one law about all green growths? Pine Cones on West 68th Avenue To spare myself the nuisance of mowing, & To give my lawn a unique look, I have covered My whole front yard with pine cones collected From every corner & shade in our Greater neighbourhood. On a rainy day, Helen Observes each has closed itself tightly as if To protect its virginity, or hide Its shyness, but on a sunny day each Re-opens itself wide as a wild blooming flower Sensitive as they are, they are always ready to recall Their evergreenness, while trying to outlive the season During the storm, retaining their living dignity Even when deadly so low on the ground Backwards Day While walking backwards as a physical therapy for my back, I sometimes hear people say… Impressive! Good exercise! Remind you are walking backwards! What’s this for? An other sun-run? New trend, eh? Watch out! On your right! Happy backwards day! Sorry, my dog gets confused! [But I am sure where I am going] Invoking Laozi Close to UBC Hiking along a less trodden trail in the Pacific Spirit Forest, I almost have to stop to find my Way out Because all roads have led me to nowhere But I keep walking until it is almost Laozi himself Pointing his fossilized fingers towards Dao (Which he says is no ordinary Way if it can Be named. Similarly if I can find it on my own It’s not the real or the right one.) Like a tour guide Who seems to know every path to and from the destiny Leading me like a dog, sometimes running well before him Sometimes beside him, more often going astray by myself Among the low bushes. I cannot help but follow him because The leash is getting so tightened I want to protest aloud: you Claim the great Way is no Way, but just follow Nature. Then Why keep me with a rope? Like every other domesticated dog I have a delicious bone right above my mouth, which makes Me keep running to my death, but never allowing me to have a bite To an Evil Tenant Living at 8033 Osler St 1/Notice Hi there, I am publishing this short poem Not because I truly need to bribe you Into moving out of the house of my heart (As you proposed – I am not sure if you Meant what you were saying), but because I want to voice my tribute to the way You have served 2 terms for the country We both love, and kept fighting against Posttraumatic stress disorder we both hate Indeed, by becoming part of my poetry Will you give me more time to focus on My poems as you on your customers’ cars? 2/To End Tenancy Wondering how all little cherry flowers Have changed into large hairy leaves In front of my residence, I felt bitten as if By a vicious viper in the shape of a Handsome human, like a tall mountain Of darkness collapsing, falling upon My slanting shoulders; no, more like A true snake never letting off its teeth On my body and soul, while trying its Very best to strangle me into a slow Death, here in the westside of Vancouver Where neither the 9-1-1 professionals Nor the tenancy arbitrators can, or Even will rescue me as a home owner Juan Changming published monographs on translation before leaving China. Currently, Yuan edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Qing Yuan in Vancouver. Credits include ten Pushcart nominations, eight chapbooks (most recent one being East Idioms [cyberwit.net, 2020]) & publications in Best of the Best Canadian Poetry (2008-17) & BestNewPoemsOnline, among 1639 others across 44 countries. Lotus Image & License: Depositphotos_32738103_s-2015 |
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