
Escape
Author: Yu-Hsuan Wu
Publisher: Self-published
Year: 2018
Language: Bilingual (Chinese-English)
Pages: 88
【About the Book】
Escape is the fifth book by Taiwanese poet Yu-Hsuan Wu. It is dedicated to the child who led her into the sea: her son, Chuan. In the earliest days of pregnancy, Wu’s body felt like the number five: uncertain whether growing a child meant a swelling outward or a collapse inward. Gradually, she came to understand that the child born in water was guiding her—not merely in flight from life, but back toward it.
Blending poetic prose and lived experience, Escape serves as a mother’s notebook, tracing the intimate process of a gentle home birth and a rebirth of perception. Through her son, Wu rediscovers the earth, the sky, and love itself.
【Author’s Note】
Before the next contraction arrived, I crouched in the bathtub, gathering seventeen hours of weakness and frustration, and accepted that I had nothing to hold on to. With that next wave of pain, he slid into the water and let out a cry. I placed him on my bare belly. He pushed himself up and crawled toward my breast. He latched on and began to suck—with nothing, he would live. Since then, I have been swimming in his eyes, stepping across stones made of words, until I reached the ripple’s heart and saw the river of life still meandering and transforming. Just like his name—Chuan, meaning "river"—he drowned out all the words I thought I knew. Every word I can still recall now carries the echo of his gaze.
【Selected Works】
Escaping
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—He wakes, and I lift off. Floating in outer space—weightless, echoless. When he sinks into deep sleep, I tuck away my breasts and drag my limp body to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, I stare at a puddle on the tiles, wishing I could evaporate no slower than water. I call my lover in a whisper. Look—light moving across the water. That used to be my life. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5—He wakes again. My lover walks to him. I flush the toilet, pick up the soap, scrub until the lather swallows the lines of every knuckle. I turn on the tap, watching the foam spin into the drain, disappear into pipes, into filth. Before I vanish completely, I escape into sweeping, into cooking, into laundry—into tasks that cannot shatter me. 10, 9, 8, 7—He wakes crying. My lover soothes him gently. I wait outside the door, listening as he calms. Then I open it and lie down beside them. Here—don’t let him go hungry. For you, I will care for him. I will bear the bleeding nipples, the stone-hard breasts, the piercing pain in my neck and back, the sleeplessness, the frustration of being unable to understand or be understood. He and I lie face to face on our sides, as if embracing. He suckles with ferocity. I remain still—on the brink—and without realizing it, I begin to sing David Bowie’s “Space Oddity.” I take a long breath: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—A countdown for myself. A silent farewell. I drift 100,000 miles above Earth. The planet is blue. And I can do nothing. In the darkness, I absorb his breaths as he nurses, the soft sound of milk being swallowed. An hour later, he releases my nipple and falls asleep, a drop of milk leaking from his mouth. Then—suddenly—he startles awake, flailing his arms. Where has he been roaming? Even awake, he does not stop. Perhaps he is the true astronaut, not I. He lives not for anyone—not even himself—but simply rides the raw cycle of hunger, sleep, and release. He floats, without the will to call for rescue. For him, escape means neither moving toward life nor running away from it. The word “escape” is something he’s cast aside—like all words—stripped of echo and gravity. I want to draw near to him. It’s time to leave the space capsule—if only I am brave enough.
【Reviews & Reflections】
“Yu-Hsuan Wu’s fifth poetry collection, reads like a diary. It is a gentle riverbed, recording the arrival of her newborn, Chuan, and her life with her partner on the Dulan coast. The book launch was held at Ciamusuhan Bay—'Ciamusuhan' in the Amis language means 'to grasp, to receive.' The words and photographs in the book resemble a newborn’s simplest gestures—not fantastical, not embellished, but grounded.”
—Liberty Times Literary Supplement
“Stepping down from the literary pyramid without falling into populist fervor, Yu-Hsuan Wu retains a clear and steady gaze toward the world—a vast and unnameable world. She walks fearlessly through life, descending dark staircases to witness things beyond language. In both her poetry and her prose, she persistently explores the poetic possibilities of daily life. Each of her books seems to inscribe a complete chapter of her story. Though she may now seldom write in traditional poetic form, her poetic essence remains undiminished. On the contrary, it grows sharper—revealing a singular power to unearth the sacred from the shadows.”
—Shen Mian, “Walking Down the Dark Staircase: On Yu-Hsuan Wu’s Escape and The Forgetting of Form”
【Book Launch & Performance】
The launch of Escape took place at Ciamusuhan Bay in Taitung—a coastal inlet named “Ciamusuhan,” meaning “to grasp” or “to receive” in the Amis language. It was the same year Yu-Hsuan Wu and her partner had moved to Dulan, where the sea was always in motion. This time, she returned with her son, Chuan. When the waves approached, she read a few lines aloud. When the waves approached, she read a few lines aloud. When they receded, she listened—still, with both ears and heart open.

