Chiao Lin / 喬林

Chiao Lin (b.1943), as a civil engineer, had participated a lot of important construction projects before retired from the position of Deputy Director, Business & Engineering Dept., RESA Engineering Corporation and started writing around 1959. His works dig deeply into the life experiences of those living in Taiwan and used to have a vast imagination to make two-dimensional images into three dimensional, like a dramatic performance with a style quite unique. He has published five poetry collections including The Face of Christ.

e-mail：chyaulin@gmail.com 

         Hunting / 狩獵

A sika deer darts over there like an arrow

An Atayal youth darts over there like an arrow

A thin black mountain dog darts over there like an arrow

An Atayal youth darts over there like an arrow

I am a pine tree observing quietly

A sika deer dasher over here like mad

An Atayal youth dasher over here like mad

A thin black mountain dog dasher over here like mad

An Atayal youth dasher over here like mad

The pine tree is gazing at me

         The Face of Christ / 基督的臉                       

In my eyes

there's no tears

In my sweat

there's no water

In my beards and moustache

there's no flesh nor skin 

In my nostrils

there's no breath

In my lips

there's no language

         The Space in Taipei / 台北的空間

The space in Taipei

is full of dust

in a flurry

some rise up

some fall down

? Which particle of dust is a face shrunk

? Which face is a blown up particle of dust

          The Cemetery of Soldiers / 戰士墓園

In a vast land of tombstones of soldiers

Shortly after the Downpour

Emerged the shouting of killing

Seemingly the skeleton wanted to charge forward

         Walled Streetwalker / 站壁的妓女

A boundless wasteland where time and space stop, quiet and lonely

The place of her banishment

She loves to deck herself out in the

Categorical time and space of philosophy

She waits for a kind of

Purposeful existence and event

Alas！A person

A thing cut into countless pieces

Walking the street, blown along by the wind

Whose eyes have no expression

Who is without sexual desire

She is pasted on that vertical wasteland

To face reality, without bound of limit

All alone