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Anna’s chapbooks

Beyong My Knowing( ISBN 0-9739148-0-7)

Iskov’s review:

Anna Yin’s delicate, sensitive and haunting poetry will sweep you off your feet, carry you to exciting, exotic places and land you right in your own backyard. From her carefully crafted Haiku, to her sorrowful, melodic, sweet verses, you will not be able to put this chapbook down, nor will you be able to read these beautiful poems only once. You will want to read them over and over again.
———I.B. Iskov, Founder, The Ontario Poetry Society and Poetry Editor

Jasmine Star Light (ISBN 0-9739100-2-X)

In James Deahl’s recent translation of ancient Chinese poet, Tu Fu’s poem, “Brief Spring,” he writes, “I watch butterflies andraid deep blossoms,/ Watch dragonflies skim the water’s surface.” and though Tu Fu speaks of this activity as “aimless” we realize thatbeneath the surface of such imagery the poet is engaged in important work.What is it then to preserve the history of ephemeral things, but to suggest the presense of the eternal in such studied attentiveness. So too, in the poems of Chinese Canadian poet Anna Yin, wherein dreams, desires, shadows, moonlight,memories find their qualities as interior and eternal in the presence of seen things.Butterflies. Fireflies. Lilies. Dewdrops. Spider webs. Winds. Breezes. Mists. Footprints. Snowflakes. Pinecones. All curve backwards into permanence. We know the quality of love is apprehended in loss. Exile need not lead to alienation. As she writes in her poem, “The Family Tree,”–“I wander this involute city,wish a wilted leaf blown back home.” That curious word “involute” with its double denotation meaning curling backwards and disappearing, and that noun/verb ”wish” remind us that this living poet’s captured moment is contemporary with the centuries old concerns and observations of Tu Fu. Poetry writing is important work. The hand may be a butterfly, but it leaves a permanent record of that which has always concerned us. If we leave a trace of what we are, we honour life.
 
 –John B. Lee, Poet Laureate of the City of Brantford
 

Farewell to Sunflowers (ISBN 0-9739148-1-5) 

 
Anna Yin is one of the bravest poets I have read. The reason I say that is because she dares to straddle the line between two languages, two very different cultures and strives to find an acceptable service to both. She learns as she works and surprisingly she has achieved success, translating poetry and writing poems with a unique mix of the oriental and occidental. She works through the real events of life in a Western Canadian city using a quiet meditative style.” life there/has no trace of a spring;/I bring it back /and water it with my heart,” I often find bits of poetry in her writing that are like small Chinese miniatures, bits of meditation where her mind makes lovely images around the commonplace. “I halt and listen–/to each thin leaf/and falling dewdrops.” These pieces contribute a soft freshness to the sarcasm of many Canadian and American poets.
 
                     — Don Schaeffer 
 
2007 Update (Copy right by Anna Yin)
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My first CBC Radio Interview -Toronto, No More Weeping

Anna Yin was interviewed by Alan Neal. CBC Radio 1. It played on Ontario Today program at noon on Dec 06 2005.

Chinese version is here

Toronto, No More Weepingcandle

(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!”