The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experiences. –Emily Dickinson
April is poetry month, and today is a very special day for Shakespeare. On CBC Radio Fresh Air we will talk and discuss about this great playwright and poet’s works! Glad to be with poets laureate: John B. Lee, George Elliott Clarke and host Mary Ito.
Click here to listen to the interview and read my poem: Haiku In Shakespeare on Fresh Air.
This week, several friends email me that they heard my Rain poem on CBC radio Metro Morning.(March 22, 6:20am)
It was an early program, so I was surprised and glad that they had listened to it. During the radio interview, the host Karen asked me to read one poem and tell her what inspired me to write this poem and why it was so special to me.
So for friends who missed the program, here is our conversation.
The Rain poem seems very simple. But it has a good philosophy inside. It can be easily understood and connected to our daily life. That is why I chose it to be the first poem for my new book “Wings toward Sunlight”. It also matches the opening quote from Emily Dickinson “the soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”
I wrote it in 2007 when we were camping. It rained a lot. We were not happy and missed home.
One early morning, when rain stopped, I took a walk and felt the freshness and quietness after rain.
I felt peaceful. Then the poem came to me naturally. So I learnt when our attitude changed, we could appreciate the world better.
Each time when I read this poem, I will think of myself like the rain to accept and enjoy the life cycle, longing for home with a delightful mood. At the end of the poem, I wrote “Let go” to add a surprise turn because I thought sometimes we thought letting go was not easy, but just look at our nature, these letting goes became such an amazing experience.
Here is the Rain Poem…
Rain
You don’t pray for rain in mountains.
It comes and goes as if to home—
sometimes wandering in clouds,
other times running into rising streams.
The soil is forever soft.
Leaves unfold to hold each drop.
At the end of each cycle,
you always hear it singing
all the way home—
kissing leaves,
tapping trees.
Some drops stay longer on tall branches.
All of a sudden, a wind blows;
they let go—
a light shower
surprises you
sitting motionless under a phoenix tree.
In the interview, Karen asked how I started to write poems as I was IT professional. I told her that in 2004, after I read the story “The Emperor’s New Clothes”. It awakened the Child inside me. I became a girl having dreams like Alice in wonderland…
I also said, I read a story about Picasso.
Once Picasso said: “I used to draw like Raphael. But it has taken me a lifetime to draw like a child.”
Picasso was a competent artist when he drew like Raphael. He became a great artist only when he awakened the child in him and started drawing without any pre-determined technique.
I believe everyone has a child inside himself. Sadly, as we grow up, we loss him. I hope we all find the child inside us to allow ourselves explore the world with open mind.
_________________
Anna Yin was interviewed by Alan Neal. CBC Radio 1. It played on Ontario Today program at noon on Dec 06 2005.
(in memory of Cecilia Zhang)
By Anna Yin
I dream of you in crimson,
morning sun blazing in its glory,
maple leaves flaming on the skyline;
Through silvery threads you are sailing,
sheer wings gliding upon the crescent,
with drizzle drifting in its glowing.
The city below railed off by yellow ribbons,
streets inside muted in cold reminiscence.
The slim buildings huddle in silence,
as crowds hunt for evidence.
They spin their wheels to chase you,
plough shadows of each angle.
Your smiling posters traverse the entire city
carried by the heartbroken.
The coming spring is very cold,
even as chilly as the breaking news.
Candles and cards confide our yearning
wish for you to reside in peace in heaven.
You ride on a rainbow to my dream,
pour soft light upon my poem.
Starlets gleaming in your eyes,
rise up in primal unison.
Whirlwinds brush away my tear,
streams moisten my tone.
The angel, a presence very near,
walks you into the eternal heaven.
Breezes wave their rustle.
Beaches cradle their ocean.
Where you lay shall burst into rich blossoms.
Whom you suffered by, shall pay for the crime.
May winds bring in your fragrance.
May birds sing in your tune.
May loved ones weave your dreams.
May the homeless find your lantern.
I paint my dream with each line,
and hone the blues off my mind.
My voices echo with tsunami howling,
“Toronto, no more weeping!”