Double Double Ninths

- September 9th is a minor holiday about climbing high, also called Double Sun or Double Ninths

My grandmother found this poem when she was cleaning one day. She was 15 when she wrote this poem, and was just beginning to learn to write poems. She never imagined finding this poem after 50 years. The ninth day of ninth month is a special day when you're supposed to climb to a high place, it's not too hot and not too cold. Climb a mountain and drink. She remembered that year when she was 15 she was with her two older brothers, an old family friend named Liwu, and a couple other friends. They all went to a mountain in Guangzhou. There was a restaurant on the mountain, and they drank and ate crab. Among these people, Liwu had gone to the capital to take government job tests seven times. He never passed, even after trying seven times. They held national exams every three years. So he had been taking them over 20 years. He was full of bitterness and only did insignificant odd jobs like writing articles for pay in the newspaper. My grandmother thought this was a dreadful regrettable thing. He was always complaining and made a great impression on my grandmother. Even though this was a long time ago, and by now everyone had passed away, she still remembered it like it was yesterday. As if everything replayed in front of her eyes. The passing of time, you cannot call it back. "I didn't expect to live so long. At that time I was a little girl, and now I'm old grandma with white hair. When I think of that year, I feel sad. All these people were cultured, they knew how to write poems. I was just beginning to write poems. Whatever I wrote, I didn't know what I was talking about." 

There's a mountain village at Treasure Peak
Bamboo fence grass roof like home town
Double Sun special to climb high event
Together seek remote place to raise glass
Here away from city few menu options
Only a crab dish with local fragrance
Around table sophisticate literati all grown ups
Lucky along side listening learn more increase

- chrysanthemum flower, Chinese people like these, loyal, in tough times they still bloom and are green representing strength of character and integrity. 
- During WWII, Chinese philosophy: if you are a general during the war, and you win, good. If you lose, you do not surrender or become captured. Fight to death or kill yourself. Becoming a prisoner of war is a great shame.
- nighttime is metaphor for end of your life

Double Ninth Writing Sentiments
Written three or four years after I was released from jail. The last two lines of this poem talks about people, including quite a few of my acquaintances, who changed allegiances to Japan. I sigh for them and their hard circumstances in becoming what most people label traitors. 

Old friend asked me celebrate Double Sun
Thin wine nevertheless need drink several rounds
Misting rain sheets sheets breezy ocean air
Golden wind puffs puffs sparkly autumn light
Withered waterlily teeters falls barely shows color
Wilted chrysanthemum dried sparse hardly smells fragrant
Blame not yellow flower failing nighttime faithfulness
Double Sun's wind rain too devastating ruinous

Sad and far

"bones flesh" = relatives
"wind dust" = a long time has passed
"hands feet" = siblings
"cicada call" = writing poems

One of my eldest nieces sent me a letter and included some poem written by my deceased older brother. After I read the two poems he wrote, I wrote these poems in response as an offering of remembrance. Also in 1935, my younger sister came to Guangzhou to meet with this older brother and his wife. They discussed our father's burial plans. After they said goodbye, that was the last time they saw each other. Afterwards, with wars and moving, now it's forty years later. It seems like a dream, we will not see each other again. As I think about this, I'm extremely sad. So I wrote two poems.

Old country sent letter thinking older brother
Very sad remembering back old time things
Far apart bones flesh wind dust eon
Separated worlds still reciting voice travels across

Trace back past feelings hands feet close
Remaining poems open read tears wet shirt
Cicada sings from tall tree for brother
This day's cicada song composes my poem

In case you don't recall, my grandfather was arrested by the Japanese during invasion on one return to Shanghai. He was in jail for several months.

"fry simmer" = torture, suffering
- There's a classic poem that said when the author saw such a pretty moon, he wanted to fly to the moon. The saying went that there were jade mansions on the surface of the moon. "But," he said, "at so high a place, I don't think I can take the cold."
- "harp dulcimer harmony" = expression for husband wife happy relationship 
Reference to old war time when soldiers were drafted to defend forts far away and heard foreign music played by enemy military and grew sad.


In jail, mid-autumn sending to wife
I wrote several poems in jail. But because there were not enough pens and paper, I lost them all. Only this poem, after I was released, I remembered while recalling. Usually when composing poems, you have a reference book of rhyming words. But in jail, I just had to use the ones I could remember.

Fry simmer* right until sun sets west
Fall festival empty talk, "How pretty moon."
Several times joyride wind to jade mansions
But regretfully no way row fairy boat
In bedroom night weeping grieving tuning dulcimer
Fort below autumn sound mourning playing (foreign) reed
Waiting for moon light cast pair shadows*
More fragrance carefully arrange silk screen flowers

*In jail, suffering drawn out more than torture
**I had heard a rumor that I would be bailed out of jail

Ten months, ten years

Reply to Di Zong's letters

Bored just thinking of doing something unconventional
Suddenly received stationery paper from old country
Old friend all's well still writing poems
Pleasant refrains tell me talk heart matter

Ten months didn't see your brush strokes
Often times afar thinking expecting good news
Today happens to be month's second day
In past for sure together one place 

Now I can only think back when
Those things happened will never repeat again
Today I respectfully respond with one poem
Tell how I've been doing these years


- About the house my mom was born in and lived in until she was ten: 49, Lane 197 at the end corner of Gubuo Gongyu. They lived in the French Concession of Shanghai. Each unit was three floors: my mom's family (oddly) occupied the first and third floors while a different family (a mom with two daughters and a son--last name Wang) lived on the second floor. The kitchen, living room and dining room was on the first floor and there was one bedroom on the third floor with two beds--one for my grandparents and one for the kids (my mom and her two brothers).
- Guba is a phonetic of a French General's name
- After they moved to Taiwan, my mom's aunts lived in the apartment.
- My mom remembers the big pretty oleander tree with red blossoms in the back yard.
- My mom told me a story about one time she and her little brother saved a sweet potato and an orange to eat in bed under their 'tunnel' as they slept feet-to-feet. They went to bed, pushed each other's feet and then went under the covers to meet in their tunnel. Unwrapping the paper they kept the eats in was so loud, my grandpa noticed and came over to discover the night snack. She was about seven at the time, so her little brother was four.

In Shanghai for more than ten years we rented an apartment on Guba Road. After I moved to Taiwan, we continued to pay rent there and had our relatives take care of it. If we can fight to return to mainland China, maybe we can go back to live there.

My humble house

Simple ordinary life more than ten years
Inexpensive rent paid to keep humble house

Oleander tree wearing red shades windows doors
Short shrubs growing green covers back steps

Sparse parlor chairs warmth often staying guests
Small room lamp lit nighttime reading books

Lake sea travel around finally have rest
Though much wind rain still peaceful living