anna.yin coviews.com -北美 英文诗歌中文诗歌中外诗歌北美文学北美生活

Anna's Star Light

Poetry Alive

/Chinese

anna.yin coviews.com -北美 英文诗歌中文诗歌中外诗歌北美文学北美生活
|Biography |Photos |Books |Ebooks|Publish|Translation| Awards| Blog | Events

Contents

I Want To Dance

Love is Deluxe

The Family Tree

Once

I Have a Song to Dance

Firefly

Beyond My Knowing

Facets of Marriage

For Sale

Snow

What a Treat

Web, Spider and Wind

About Love

Love (Acrostic)

Icicles

When Desire Awakens

There Must Be Something

Moon Night

Whisper

Tell Me How to Cleanse

Dream of Pond Lily

Lotus

Sealed Fossil

Wait

Jasmine Star Light

This collection is in the theme of love

  ISBN 0-9739100-2-X       

Review of Jasmine Star Light

In James Deahl's recent translation of ancient Chinese poet,

Tu Fu's poem, "Brief Spring," he writes, "I watch butterflies and

raid deep blossoms,/ Watch dragonflies skim the water's surface."

and though Tu Fu speaks of this activity as "aimless" we realize that

beneath the surface of such imagery the poet is engaged in important work.

What is it then to preserve the history of ephemeral things, but to suggest

the presense of the eternal in such studied attentiveness. So too, in the poems

of Chinese Canadian poet Anna Yin, wherein dreams, desires, shadows, moonlight,

memories find their qualities as interior and eternal in the presence of seen things.

Butterflies. Fireflies. Lilies. Dewdrops. Spider webs. Winds. Breezes. Mists.

Footprints. Snowflakes. Pinecones. All curve backwards into permanence. We know

the quality of love is apprehended in loss. Exile need not lead to alienation.

As she writes in her poem, "The Family Tree,"--"I wander this involute city,

wish a wilted leaf blown back home." That curious word "involute" with its double

denotation meaning curling backwards and disappearing, and that noun/verb ''wish''

remind us that this living poet's captured moment is contemporary with the centuries

old concerns and observations of Tu Fu. Poetry writing is important work.

The hand may be a butterfly, but it leaves a permanent record of that

which has always concerned us. If we leave a trace of what we are, we honour life.

--John B. Lee, Poet Laureate of the City of Brantford