Lee Ruo-ying （Lily Lee, 1950）was bestowed with Doctor degree in Literature from National Kaohsiung Normal University, then served as a professor in the same university until retirement. Now, she is Chief-editor of "Literature of the Saline Land " bimonthly. She published a collection of poetry “The Sketch” as well as academic books including “Genera ...
Lee Ruo-ying （Lily Lee, 1950）was bestowed with Doctor degree in Literature from National Kaohsiung Normal University, then served as a professor in the same university until retirement. Now, she is Chief-editor of "Literature of the Saline Land " bimonthly. She published a collection of poetry “The Sketch” as well as academic books including “General Introduction on the Poetry in Tang and Sung Dynasties” and “An analysis and Study on Rhetoric of Taiwanese Modern Poetry”.
Poems by Lily Lee
Happiness
Happiness is a photograph
On the moment the flash light goes off
Every blooming faces behind a camera
Puppet
Cold roses
After thawing arrives the fast fading
A summer love affair
was no more than a impromptu skit
We both were
puppets that hesitate about what move to make
Black Hole of life
Life has had too much sweets
and suffers from a black hole of its decay
A decomposed heart that soaked in the sugar syrup
Could no longer find itself a wrapping Band-Aid
THE HATCHED DREAM COMES TRUE
It was the wish of a young girl
like her grandma and great-grandma and great-great-grandma...
embroider their future dowry in their boudoirs
under the light of an oil lamp, the shimming candlelight
stitch one by one, to make a colorful tapestry of life.
I have such a dream:
A carpenter\'s workshop is my boudoir
use a saw to cut out the forms of tomorrow
use a plane to cut off the encumbrance of life
use sandpapers to rub off the roughness of character
use glue to put together the glowing sky.
In the music of tinkling by the carpenter\'s tools
my closet, my bookshelf, my table and chair, my bed.....
all dance in my young dream.
But I put away my dream.
Like the girl of my neighbor, I went into the hall of literature.
Forty years in exotic landscapes
only the aromatic dream stayed young
I always wondering in the middle of the night
listen to the deafening sound of time passing
The others\' closets, bookshelves, tables and chairs, beds....
all around, sighing as outsiders.
The should-be callused hands are now soft for writing and keying only
These soft and helpless hands always make me uneasy.
Looking back along the fragrance of the wood for the shadow of the young girl
Now in orchard I use the driftwood of time to built the boudoir from memory
The day may come to an end
yet the evening is more beautiful
In the twilight lights appear from distant night
announce that another dawn will soon
come brightly here.
The sad song for Formosa
When the police waved the stick to the people
Hit me on my body
Let me know that the damaged mortal flesh tattoo mark of honor
Hit me on the knee
Let me go down on my knees to kiss lands with all my heart
Hit me on the eyes
I\'d rather be blind than seeing those humble slave shamelessly mug
Hit me on the ear
I\'d rather be deaf than hear those flattering words of blackmail
Hit me on the nose,
I wish to turbulent blood spilled on the island out of the suffering of a wild azalea
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