Tears of the earth
Seeing Taiwan's environment harmed by pesticides and industrial pollution, Wu wrote a scathing critique in a poem called "Stop Them" in 1981: "The mountain forests are your bones, / But there are those who ceaselessly swing axes and cut them down, / Slowly, slowly paralyzing you. / Poisons, wastewater and emissions / Dumped without any qualms, unregulated, / Obstructing your breathing, / Wantonly polluting every river, / Wantonly destroying every stretch of land."
Just a few years after the poem was published, two accidents at chemical plants in Taichung County and Hsinchu led to local protests. The plants were shut down, and Taiwanese found the courage to stand up against polluters. In 1986, residents of Lukang demonstrated against a planned DuPont plant, organizing Taiwan's first march for an environmental cause. The protesters won and the plans were scuttled.
But, was real importance attached to environmental issues? Was there really reform of environmental standards? In Wu's 1999 poem "Farewell to My Hometown," he reopens old wounds:
"A broad excavator / Digging up the earth mile by mile / The island's beautiful shoreline / Tenderly carved out by the waves over millions of years / Hastily cut away."-Seashore Morning Glory-Lamenting the West Coast #2, from Farewell to My Hometown.
From the source
Pained, Wu says that in modern times people have thought of land as a material thing to be bought and sold. Furthermore, Taiwan has for years lacked a land policy. Due to economic pressures, the land has suffered again and again. It is only when nature strikes back that we feel the consequences and come to regret. A highway through Nantou in central Taiwan, for example, collapsed so many times that it could no longer be repaired and the mountains it ran through had to be closed off for a hundred years to let the geology resettle. Blind development along the west coast in the form of fish farms and industrial parks has led to soil subsidence and salinity, for which no solution has been found.
"My poems are like the earth," Wu says. "They aren't noisy and they don't cause incidents. They don't grab the media's attention. They're not romantic. But once the environment is harmed, it's nearly impossible to bring it back." Wu sighs that even though he can cry out in his poems, he can never use them to gain mainstream media or official attention.
One year after retiring from Hsichou High in 2000, Wu became a writer in residence for the Nantou County Government. With his wife, Chuang Fang-hua, he traced the Choshui River from its source. They started from Wuling between Mt. Chilai and Mt. Hohuan, and followed it down through the Aboriginal villages of Wanta, Chuping, Wanfeng, and Wuchieh.
Wu set foot in each of them, and described them in words in his Notes on the Choshui River. Whenever there are heavy rains, the Choshui's three main tributaries flood, causing great damage and loss of life. Wu asks:
"Just what is the source of the river? If there is a source in a fixed location upstream, why does the river disappear downstream? Taiwan was once praised as an island of forests-why can't it maintain a spring? How can it let a period of rain throw the flow of the river into chaos, destroying homes? When it's not flooding, it runs dry-how can we call this the 'Mother River'?" -"Water's Place," from Notes on the Choshui.
Leaving a legacy
Wu's always been low-key, but in recent years he's been getting some media attention for a work of another kind.
More than 20 years ago, his then-60-plus mother decided to plant some camphor trees. The neighbors all thought she'd never live to see the trees grow. She lived until shortly before the Puli earthquake in 1999, reaching 85 years of age. She lived to see the camphor trees sway in the wind, and spent her latter years enjoying their shade.
After she died, Wu's brothers wanted to sell off the farm. But to honor his mother's wishes that the trees be protected, Wu and his two sons bought out his brothers' shares. They decided to turn two hectares of farmland into a man-made forest.
In 2003, the Council of Agriculture approved their plan to create a private artificial forest. As of now, Wu has planted nearly 3,000 trees of native species including Taiwan zelkova, mahogany, incense cedar, cinnamon, and Formosan michelia. That makes him one of the few farmers in Taiwan who've been successful at creating an artificial forest in the plains. He named it "Pure Garden" using a character from his mother's name, and he hopes in a hundred years it will be a lush forest of trees.
Wu writes about creating the forest in his poem "Staring at Death," from the collection Meditations from Latter Years: "Thinking of what I can leave behind / Or, what I shouldn't leave behind." He hopes that he can leave future generations a pure and peaceful spot. Though he learned that he is suffering from bladder cancer and began treatment two years ago, he's still writing and working in his forest.
As a writer who is concerned with farmers, the environment, and society, Wu puts his ideals into practice through action. For more than 30 years now, he's recorded the beauty of Taiwan's traditional farming lifestyle through his poems and essays. He's depicted the farmers' life philosophy of determined hard work and contentment, as well as the social upheavals that have been caused by changing economic conditions. His writing is rich because it comes from his own experience. It's emotional, incisive, and positive. To Taiwanese readers, every word and every sentence reflects life's greatest and sweetest burdens.