Poetic Musings: It is always three o'clock in the morning by Chen-ou Liu

It is always three o'clock in the morning

day after day.

the ghostly past

lurking around the corner

of my mind ...

with a scalpel of words

I stab into its heart

However, my immigrant past is never ...dead -- gone and forgotten. It is not even past.

 

Distressed and alone by the bedroom window, in the wake of a dream about a Taiwan blue magpie disappearing into the dark forest, I hear Time passing in the sound of snow.

Ribbons, 19:1, Winter 2023

contemporary haibun, 19, 2024

(annual anthology showcasing a "state-of-the-art selection of haibun, tanka prose, and haiga from journals around the world")

Chen-ou Liu

Commentary (emailed to me by Tanka Prose Editor, Liz Lanigan):

A short and powerful piece of self reflection where the poet seems to be preparing themselves for an intense look-back at family history.

Love the final sentence… “I hear Time passing in the sound of snow”  -- Carole Harrison.

I think you published a little masterpiece: Chen-ou Liu’s  “It is always three o’clock in the morning”. It is the piece I am copying into my journal. I don’t feel like analysis, but it’s haunting and meaningful and I love the format which is innovative I think. -- Gerry Jabobson

Note: The run-on title alludes to the following remark:

But at three o'clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn't work-- and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.

― F. Scott Fitzgerald, "The Crack-Up"

And “The dark night of the soul” was a phrase first used by the Spanish mystic St John of the Cross in 16th century.