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Tu Miao-yi / 凃妙沂

Tu Miao-yi / 凃妙沂

Tu Miao-yi(b. 1961) is a poet, writer, screenwriter, editor and artist. She received her bachelor degree in Chinese Literature from National Chung Hsing University, Taiwan, Master of Art course of Buddist Cativation from Dharma Realm Buddhist University, USA . She was a literature page editor of several newspapers for 8 years and currently is a committee member of Taiwanese Literature Battlefront Magazine and also the congregant of Taiwan Literature Society. The major task of the Society is to promote and generalize the Taiwanese literature to the world by translating the works to other languages. She devotes herself to poetry and shot story writing in Taiwanese, English and Chinese, resulting to make her as the prize winner in poetry of several literature awards, such as Tayouan Literary Award, Taipei Literary Award, Lin Rung-san Literary Award, Nan-ying Literary Award, Ye-hong  Female Poetry Award etc. Her collected essay “Ground is still the Garden” was published in 2006 and  won the first prize of Fu-cheng Literature Award in 2007. In addition, she won the first prize of Wu Cho Liu Shot Story Award in 2011. Her screen of entry film Matsu’s Golden Bats was nominated to Green Image Global Environmental Film Festival (2013). Her Joint Oil Painting Exhibition “The temperature” was held in Kaohsiung Cultural Center(2014).



        Driftwood / 漂流木       


Desperately clinging to the earth that ancient tree on the edge of a cliff,

fears not the flood that washes away the foundation of its live,

still holding its head high up searching for sunlight.


They cover their ears, people of that tranquil island

avoiding learning to be their own masters,

their minds buried in the flourishing dust.


To the far corner of the river bed,

the flood brings the wakening old tree ;

a piece of driftwood it becomes,

still sings the song of mother earth

to the deathbed.


The tidal brings the decaying island that once flourished;

a boneless corpse it becomes

even forgets how to speak its thoughts.


once a piece of driftwood

picked by someone

now worshipped as a drained  spirit tablet.


Translated by Liu Shu-yu



        Shoaling Fish / 群魚


Swollen, anxious, terrified, schools of fish gather,

mouths full of sinful water, capable to say no words,

still they leave not;

dissipating, rootless, drowning, overturned they are,

still they do not want to let go,

the image of once so beautiful home.


Schools of fish disappear,

the water is no longer clear,

resolves then reforms the image of home,

time keeps silent.


The shoaling fish loses no companions,

in school, fish swims up and down in ease, stretching their bodies;

again, the sun scatters sparkling beams of light as it shines on the river,

mother earth repairs the once broken embankment;

with the sea weed, the shoaling fish swims into the deep and dark base of sea,

they still won’t give up.


Remarkable the shoaling fish is for they give up no companions,

thus swim into stream of history.


Translated by Liu Shu-yu


        Accompanied the night by poetry / 佐以詩歌的夜晚



Being alone at night, accompanied with poetry

Cold the solitude can be known by the cat on roof

Followed the feathery mood with the fallen lotus leaves

Send away the sleepless wind to the waterfront


The packed memory is like the night in tranquility

Curling to its least 

A small comma slept in my poem


The vast waterfront in foggy smoke

The reeds bending as your eyes no longer in pride

The words untold shed in its flow

Like the rain drops choose to fall on lotus leaves

Like the flying eagle takes solitude and isolation

Without love the night is doomed to be lonely

You cannot elude the loneliness strung by the purple garlic vines in the window

Written once again on the withered leaves

Sad the mood


Translated by Catherine Yen





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