Yesterday following the riverbank

Strolling slowly I came upon a place

Where reeds stooped to drink

In passing, I asked a chimney

To write for me a long letter in the sky

Though carelessly written

My heart's intent

Is bright as the candlelight at your window

Still somewhat obscure

That cannot be helped

Because of the wind

Whether you understand this letter is unimportant

What matters is

You must, before the daisies wither

Quickly lose your temper, or laugh

Quickly find that thin shirt of mine in the trunk

Quickly face the mirror, combing your soft black charm

Then light a lamp

With a lifetime of love

I am a flame

To be extinguished any moment

Because of the wind

Mailing a Pair of Shoes

From one-thousand miles away

I've mailed you a pair of cotton shoes

A letter

With no words

Containing more than forty years of things to say

That were only thought but never said

One sentence after another

Closely stitched into the soles

What I have to say I've kept hidden for so long

Some of it hidden beside the well

Some of it hidden in the kitchen

Some of it hidden beneath my pillow

Some of it hidden in the flickering lamp at midnight

Some of it has been dried by the wind

Some of it has grown moldy

Some of it has lost its teeth

Some of it has sprouted moss

Now I gather it all together

And closely stitch it into the soles

The shoes may perhaps be too small

I measured them with my heart, with our childhood

With dreams deep in the night

Whether they fit or not is another matter

Keep them by all means

Even if they wear out

Forty years of thought

Forty years of loneliness

Are all stitched into the soles

(Translated by John Balcom)

Note: My friend Chang T'o-wu and Miss Ch'en Lian-tzu were engaged when very young, but because of the war they parted and were separated by a great distance, unable to communicate with one another for more than forty years. Recently a friend managed to deliver a pair of cotton shoes sewn and sent by Miss Ch'en. T'o-wu received them as if receiving a wordless letter full of words from home. He wept and sighed, unable to stop. Today T'o-wu and Miss Ch'en are both grown old, but their love is without end. This poem is written from the point of view of Miss Ch'en, therefore the language has been kept simple and clear.

Lo Fu, born in Hunan, China, 1928, is a renowned senior poet being widely read and acclaimed by the critics in Taiwan, mainland China and overseas Chinese regions. He has exerted immense influence on modern Chinese poetry as a chief editor of the Epoch Poetry Quarterly, which was founded by him and two other poets in 1954. His works have been translated into English, French, Japanese and Korean, and included in many poetry anthologies, including An Anthology of Ten Major Contemporary Poets.

A graduate from the English Department of Tamkang University, he lectured at Soochow University from 1974-1977. He has served on the panels of judges for many literary contests in Taiwan. He has published 11 books of poetry, 2 books of prose, 4 books of criticism and 8 books of translation, including The Life of Samuel Johnson. His most controversial book of poetry, Death in the Stone Cell, has been the focus of criticism over the past 20 years, a number of stanzas of which have been selected by Prof. Cyril Birch for his Anthology of Chinese Literature. A new edition of the book will be published recently by Han Kwang Press Inc.

In 1982, his long poem A Reprint of Blood won him a prestigious China Times Literary Award. The same year he also won the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Literary Award for his poetic achievement in the book Wounds of Time. Again he received an Award from the Wu San-lien Literary and Art Award in 1986.

Lo Fu is a surrealistic poet and has been named "a magician in poetry" for his presentation of varying and always unique images. His poetry traces the moods of sensuous and passionate love lyrics, surrealistic themes with their startling imagery, and the sharp clarity and spontaneity of his war experiences in Vietnam. Without being confessionally personal, he tries to bear witness to the predicament of modern man through controlled language and rhythms.

[Picture]