Whenever people ask me what Yu-Hsuan Wu is like, the first phrase that always springs to mind is sui generis, the Latin term for “in a class of her own, unique,” which could, I suppose, be applied to Hsia Yu, Amang, and the other poets I translate. But whereas one looks to these poets for the poems they write, one turns to Frida, as she likes to be called in English, for the way her poems illuminate her unflagging effort to compose a life that is grounded, deeply grounded—culturally, geographically, and spiritually—in the here-and-now. Like her namesake and inspiring angel, Frida Kahlo, Yu-Hsuan Wu is enviably creative, empathetic, self-sacrificing, off-the-wall, and down-to-earth. All of which I find immensely and deliciously uplifting.
—Steve Bradbury, American painter and translator
Yu-Hsuan is a giver. Her presence welcomes those around her with immense heart and compassion. She's a listener. When engaged in a conversation with her, time collapses. It slows down. One cannot help but embrace pauses as part of the conversation—the unspoken moments make room for nonverbal gestures to surface. These are Yu-Hsuan's gifts as a poet, artist, mother, and writer. She translates her wanderings, meanderings, and connections with others into words. Words woven together with care and consideration.
—Nuttaphol Ma, Thai artist
When I first saw Yu-Hsuan coming toward me with the fields around her, her hair blowing in the wind, and the serenity on her face, I realized, because I felt it, that this beautiful young woman was powerful and deep. Later, as we became better acquainted, I discovered that these two things were true—and that this was only the beginning. Her thoughtful grace and kindness have taught me, a woman in her mid-60s, that I can rise up toward her level, awakening these qualities in myself. It has been a deeply enriching synchronistic meeting. She has shared with me, along the way, many of her profound writings and exquisite photographs that expose her creativity and her soul—through her art. Ours is a connection that sprung up from an incredibly random intersection in the middle of nowhere, in an obscure location, a pinprick on the map. I feel blessed and awed by our coming together.
—Lana Beatty, American freedom activist
This is Alvaro from Peru. I spent 2022 as an educator at the Democratic School of Huamachuco. That year, I met Yu-Hsuan and her family. Their presence was a breath of fresh air for the school, a source of warmheartedness and inspiration—the definitive proof that language is never a barrier when it comes to compassionate and caring people. Even though technology was helpful in translating each other’s words, the true dialogue was possible via our hearts. From day one, with attention and love, Yu-Hsuan connected with children and adults alike. Her genuine interest in learning from our community and her eagerness to support the school in any way she could showed me the full scope of her humanity. Yu-Hsuan connected with people and applied the arts in the way a bodhisattva would, leaving an indelible mark on Huamachuco and myself, forever. Thank you, Yu-Hsuan!
—Alvaro Puertas, teacher at the Democratic School in Peru
Today I was busy in the garden, while thinking with great joy about our meeting. Thank you for your beautiful thoughts and words regarding the subtle approach to life and love, sharing, and being one together, part of the universe. I feel so grateful for the special link which ties us—as if we were, in this very moment, in the garden.
—Sylvie Stankovitch, French poet
I have written the word distance (lejanía) many times, without much effort to truly think about it. However, when I received the news from Yu-Hsuan about her interest in visiting the school where I work, for the first time I realized what it truly meant. And when I received the second piece of news, I became aware that a word, with its usual meaning, can suddenly acquire another. That word was south, a word, moreover, of my own preference. Then I realized that south is not only the opposite of north, but also that it is located at the end of the world. With those concepts in my head, I looked at my world with different eyes—the blue mountain ranges, the fields, the rugged lands—and I had the deep impression of how far away the south I am part of truly is.
Yu-Hsuan finally arrived at this place in the south from her distant land. And how delightful it was to meet her in person. Perhaps I haven’t heard her say these two words I’ve been focusing on (distance and south)—I imagine they must have the peculiar sound of the other words in her beautiful language. But I did hear others—words born from that admirable intelligence of hers that always inspires in me a longing to possess such brilliance myself.
José Saramago once said that “a single word, sometimes one that doesn’t seem to be worth much, can be the most dangerously revealing.” I agree. And moreover, I believe that, since a word is the property of anyone who wants to use it, it also becomes the property of whoever dares to make it their own. There are many examples of this, at least in Latin America: Grandes precipicios or Cascadas by José María Arguedas; Crepúsculo by Pablo Neruda; Many years later or Fifty-one years, nine months, and four days by Gabriel García Márquez.
I celebrate your word south, Yu-Hsuan, and my word distance.
—Enrique Carbajal, Peruvian novelist and principal of a democratic school