Small Hours Yu Yan Chen Books
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Yu Yan Chen's debut collection takes us on a wandering across continents. Whether it is a courtyard in rural China, a ferry in Istanbul, or Times Square in New York, each poem is an unbeaten track imbued with poet's at once intense but refreshing insights about family, home, identity and the quest for inner strength. The opening verse asks the readers to imagine guitar legend Djongo Reinhardt's fingers grinding the strings after two of them were badly burned in a fire, and "every nerve aflame" is the prelude to poems that transcend memories and losses into melodies of hope and light. These distilled joys and fears, set against the backdrops of Yu Yan Chen's creative use of language and her cinematic visions, will transport the readers to a passionate conversation about the essence of being alive. SMALL HOURS lights up your sky and brings flowers to your table.
Small Hours Yu Yan Chen Books
I spent a year with on Yu Yan on a Masters Degree in Creative Writing, and she is an extraordinary human being, and one I hope you get to know a little if you decide to purchase her collection.I believe Yu Yan first became interested in haiku once I mentioned this genre after we had concluded our Masters Degree, and she expertly absorbed the nuances of this difficult genre to create none so more as: Tofu Zodiac; and The Hour Glass respectively:
2.
75% liquid you wade
mountains, valleys
plains, volcanoes
12.
the way to Li Po of Dynasty Tang
rice wine circles moonlight
as it is
I turned a deaf ear
to Van Gogh’s moaning flowers
the song of bullfight
red-winged blackbird
sipping moat beer Iowa River
to the point of tears
Yu Yan’s story of her friend who lost his life saving others during The September 11 attacks (also referred to as 9/11) is called Elegy:
Elegy
for Zheng Zhe
All elevators suspended. Racing down
flights of stairs you never looked back,
headed south to the Twin Towers
with the first aid kit you learned to use
as a volunteer medic, into the smoke, debris
and the howls of the emergency vehicles.
The last images of you were captured
on Fox 5 News, tending to an injured woman
on a stretcher, in a white shirt and rubber gloves.
Walking in Chinatown five years later, I stood
in the street named after you, wondered whether
you would still be strolling among the lunch crowd
had you stayed in bed a little longer that morning.
In Columbus Park the old men gathered
to play chess, while the fortune tellers sat on the stools
outside its rim, ogling the passers-by.
A superb collection.
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Tags : Amazon.com: Small Hours (9781935520429): Yu Yan Chen: Books,Yu Yan Chen,Small Hours,NYQ Books,1935520423,American - Asian American,Poetry,Poetry American Asian American,Poetry by individual poets
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Small Hours Yu Yan Chen Books Reviews
Rarely has a book of poetry given me such a visceral positive reaction on the first reading. There is a wildness of spirit and an urban musicality to the language that I would associate with the beats, but without the verbal excesses that the beat genre can at times be prone, and with a wisdom and compassion that the beats aspired to, but never quite grasped.
Ms. Chen zigzags between her early childhood in China, New York City, and the world beyond, and the effect is almost one of narrative, a coming of age. Read as a whole, we understand the arc of her travels as a continuous, sustained inquiry. Read as separate poems, Small Hours reads like newsflashes, like tweets on Twitter should be if people had more to say or the wherewithal to say it better. Well done, Yu Yan!
I spent a year with on Yu Yan on a Masters Degree in Creative Writing, and she is an extraordinary human being, and one I hope you get to know a little if you decide to purchase her collection.
I believe Yu Yan first became interested in haiku once I mentioned this genre after we had concluded our Masters Degree, and she expertly absorbed the nuances of this difficult genre to create none so more as Tofu Zodiac; and The Hour Glass respectively
2.
75% liquid you wade
mountains, valleys
plains, volcanoes
12.
the way to Li Po of Dynasty Tang
rice wine circles moonlight
as it is
I turned a deaf ear
to Van Gogh’s moaning flowers
the song of bullfight
red-winged blackbird
sipping moat beer Iowa River
to the point of tears
Yu Yan’s story of her friend who lost his life saving others during The September 11 attacks (also referred to as 9/11) is called Elegy
Elegy
for Zheng Zhe
All elevators suspended. Racing down
flights of stairs you never looked back,
headed south to the Twin Towers
with the first aid kit you learned to use
as a volunteer medic, into the smoke, debris
and the howls of the emergency vehicles.
The last images of you were captured
on Fox 5 News, tending to an injured woman
on a stretcher, in a white shirt and rubber gloves.
Walking in Chinatown five years later, I stood
in the street named after you, wondered whether
you would still be strolling among the lunch crowd
had you stayed in bed a little longer that morning.
In Columbus Park the old men gathered
to play chess, while the fortune tellers sat on the stools
outside its rim, ogling the passers-by.
A superb collection.
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