Chen Chao-yuan (陳昭淵, b. 1985) is a contemporary poet, designer, and media artist from Taiwan. Between 2011 and 2020, he published seven poetry collections and held four solo art exhibitions. His books 3D Perspective (3D透視, 2013) and Slow-moving Shadows (緩慢的影子, 2016) both received the prestigious Golden Butterfly Award (金蝶榮譽獎). In his work, Chen combines multiple artistic media, including print design, sound, music, painting, and performance, to create layered aesthetic experiences. He currently lives in Taoyuan, Taiwan. This conversation focuses on Chen’s poetry collection Across the Universe (宇宙通信, 2018) and his related artistic practice through the lens of the science fiction genre. The interview was conducted in writing in late June 2025, with the interviewee in Taoyuan and the interviewer, Ivan Alekseev, in Beijing. The poems are translated by Ivan Alekseev.

Q: Let me begin with a broad question about science fiction as a genre. Are you drawn to works typically classified as science fiction: novels, films, comics, or other art forms? Have any authors or works left a lasting impression on you, perhaps even inspiring a tribute in your own practice?

A: Topics like the universe and science have fascinated me ever since childhood. I often visited science museums to see celestial models. I understand “science fiction” as “scientific imagination”: a creative approach grounded in science yet reaching beyond the limits of reality. Through speculative technologies and visions of the future, sci-fi explores themes such as space travel, time travel, artificial intelligence, and extraterrestrial life. These imagined narratives help us reflect on human existence—socially, philosophically, and ethically.

My own interest in sci-fi writing can be traced back to childhood readings of popular science books. Concepts like sound waves and images of astronauts navigating outer space in Across the Universe were inspired by the Voyager Golden Record. In 1977, NASA launched Voyagers 1 and 2 to conduct space observation, each carrying a phonograph record meant to introduce Earth and humanity to any extraterrestrial beings who might one day find them.

My passion for sci-fi also owes a lot to animation. As a child, I preferred comics to books. Their boundless imagination had a strong impact on me. I was especially drawn to stories of time travel and adventures in other worlds, such as CLAMP’s Magic Knight Rayearth. Earlier still, I was deeply influenced by Fujiko F. Fujio, whose series of short sci-fi stories presented extraordinary worldviews and cosmic visions. His famous Doraemon is, in fact, also a work of sci-fi.

I’ve long felt that at its farthest limits, science ultimately converges with philosophy and theology. Recently, I’ve been watching series like Dark and 3 Body Problem. Across the Universe reflects a similar entanglement of scientific and religious ideas. I also enjoy Black Mirror: While sometimes bleak and cruel in its portrayal of technology, it still mirrors contemporary reality and serves as a kind of warning. As for my own creative practice, I wouldn’t say there are direct tributes to specific works. Rather, what appears in my writing is the result of influences absorbed over time.

Q: Although contemporary poetry embraces a range of styles, “sci-fi poetry” remains a relatively marginal label. In discussions about sci-fi as a genre, scholars generally agree that its definition relies heavily on the concept of “space,” which often entails constructing a fictional world based on hypothetical settings. The title Across the Universe clearly engages with this classic sci-fi motif of the “interstellar medium,” and in the afterword, you also reflect on the interplay between everyday life and this “galactic” vision. The book further embeds a “cosmic” narrative, a framework through which you commemorate the untimely death of your cat Majo. All of these elements seem closely tied to the notion of space. With that in mind, I would like to ask: What role does “space” play in your poetry? What prompted you to turn toward such a universal scale? And if possible, could you share some specific examples of the circumstances in which these “cosmic” poems came into being?

A: “Yu” (宇) means “the four directions of heaven and earth, above and below,” while “zhou” (宙) means “past and present.” Together, the word yuzhou (宇宙, “universe”) in Chinese encompasses both temporal and spatial dimensions. When people ask the ultimate questions—“Who am I?” “Where did I come from?” “Where am I going?”—the answers inevitably touch on time and space. Since sci-fi deals with “scientific projections,” it naturally points to the future. But to tell “what happens” in a future world, the narrative needs a stage, and that stage is space. For me, “space” has never been just a geographical notion; it is a vessel for emotion. Space can be a building, a scene, even a phrase, a person, or a cat. Broadly speaking, space is a carrier, and that very quality carries a poetic dimension.

“I” exist in this world, which itself is a kind of space. At the same time, as a living being and as a vessel for feelings, “I” am also a space, gathering memories and emotions as I move through time. In writing, I use “space” as a narrative lens: Through words, I can determine the scale and the degree of reality, shifting freely between the micro and the macro, from the intimacy of touch to the vast logic of the universe. Seen from different vantage points, things take on different meanings. For example, in “001%,” the opening poem of the second part of Across the Universe:

Looking down at the Earth’s atmosphere
from the perspective of the universe
the miracle I see
is the mere chance of encounter

以宇宙的視角
俯瞰地球上空
我所看見的奇蹟
是一種相遇的機率

From a cosmic viewpoint, the Earth looks so vast that the chance for small human beings to meet appears extraordinarily rare. Yet sometimes the large and small scales intertwine, as in “Meteorite”:

Every place the meteorite struck
misses you deeply

每個撞擊過的地方
都很想念你。

Here the imagery suggests both the collision of bodies and the collision of celestial objects.

Q: You can probably guess why I brought up the idea of “space.” Your artistic identity extends far beyond that of a poet since you also design and typeset each of your poetry books yourself. In addition, you have considerable experience in installation art—for example, in 2018, following the publication of Across the Universe, you organized the related exhibition Only Aliens Can See Aliens (只有外星人可以看見外星人). Unfortunately, at the time, the exhibition did not receive much media attention, so I would like to take this opportunity to explore it in more detail. Could you describe the connection between your poetry and the works on display? What inspired you to create this installation? Were you influenced by any artists? And perhaps you could share with our readers how you imagine some of the “alien” works might be interpreted: What exactly have these aliens produced, and how are their creations meant to function?

A: I have always felt that poets and artists are, in essence, marginal or even “alien” beings. They often exist outside the mainstream, viewing life in awkward or unconventional ways. Poets, for example, are frequently seen as mysterious figures who write obscure, indecipherable works, and the same could be said of many artists. Yet such eccentric ideas are entirely valid in aesthetic practice. This is precisely what makes creativity so fascinating. In a sense, the artist’s way of life is not unlike that of an alien: They notice and reflect on things that most people overlook, or that seem too … unconventional [laughs]. I sometimes joke that poets are aliens who accidentally landed on Earth, and their poems are essentially observation reports. This playful thought became the seed for my installation.

I imagined myself as an alien, born on Earth by accident, living according to a logic different from that of humans. I re-examined every aspect of life, as though I were collecting samples in a foreign land. In this way, both the poetry collection and the installation became my report—full of discoveries, questions, and insights. After finishing the book, I still wanted to extend its collage-like quality and its sense of atmosphere beyond the printed page, and the exhibition space made this possible. I imagined that aliens might see our discarded objects as treasures. For this reason, I used everyday materials but reassembled them in ways entirely detached from practical logic. For instance, I wrapped animal figures in stockings, stripping them of their biological features. Elsewhere, I stacked snail shells, fragments of tiles, and sheets of metal, wiring them together to construct a speculative power generator.

The exhibition works were influenced above all by two artists. One was Joseph Cornell, who created poetic collages by arranging collected objects in wooden boxes that resembled surreal stages. The other was Joseph Beuys, from whom I learned an artistic ethos: to animate ordinary things, creating works that are fleeting, unexpected, and ephemeral, and to invite not only contemplation but also participation. In this sense, the works in Only Aliens Can See Aliens express a kind of “spiritual resonance” or “telepathy.” I believe every artist, consciously or not, seeks out an audience capable of empathy, or perhaps the works themselves emit a certain frequency that draws in those attuned to it. Aliens recognize aliens, so to speak: We identify each other, find our kin, through a subtle yet sincere call between souls.

Q: You dedicated a poetry collection to your cat, and your installation features a wide range of animal imagery. Could you recall when you first began to focus on such non-human figures? And what possibilities does this perspective open up within the framework of sci-fi?

A: To be honest, I don’t draw strict boundaries between humans and non-humans, but I enjoy writing about animals more than plants or other subjects. Animals offer rich sensory associations. Their movements, postures, and the expressions in their eyes all connect more directly with the human emotional spectrum. For example, when an animal toy is pierced all over with fine needles, the visual image evokes a sensation of pain, prompting viewers to feel a complicated reaction suspended between cuteness and cruelty.

My writing is largely shaped by emotional experience, so the sensory dimension is crucial. When I write about feelings, I sometimes avoid portraying people directly and turn to animals instead. This creates a subtle sense of distance and mystery. Depicting only human figures can sometimes feel too ordinary or too direct; using animals allows me to take a detour, introducing a fracture that enhances the poetic effect. A lost cat, a hibernating bear, a forgotten pigeon. Such images carry sadness and memory without exposing my own self too openly.

Animal symbols also often carry allegorical or mythical resonances. Take the story of Noah’s Ark: If it were a group of humans boarding the vessel, it would lose much of its beauty. In daily life, we rarely have the chance to engage with animals in such imaginative ways, such as painting their skins, stacking them into pyramids, and reshaping their forms, but art allows this freedom. It grants a fleeting illusion of looking from God’s perspective, as if assuming the role of a creator. Moreover, animal images embody a direct and tangible sense of life and presence. For me, this is a deeply intimate way of seeing, almost like a kind of poetic grammar: an imitation of life’s mutations and rebirths.

Q: Finally, in our private correspondence, you mentioned that you are planning to publish a new poetry collection. Could you share the title and the general idea of the book with our readers, and, in light of the topics we’ve discussed, reveal some of the creative directions it has opened for you?

A: I haven’t settled on a title yet. I do have a few options in mind, but for now I’d like to keep them secret and preserve a sense of mystery. For me, the title of a poetry book is like a doorway. It shapes the way readers enter the work.

This new collection took shape across several crucial moments in my life: entering middle age, living through the pandemic, moving out of a place I had called home for more than a decade, and other turning points. These experiences became catalysts for the poems, so the book reflects emotions scattered between past and present. It also connects back to the themes we’ve already discussed: the traces left by the passage of time, and the gains and losses brought by changes in space.

Compared to the interstellar perspectives and science-fictional tones of Across the Universe, I hope the new book’s settings and imagery will feel more “ordinary.” By “ordinary,” I don’t mean tedious or monotonous, but something closer to an underlying structure, a quiet rhythm, as natural and profound as the Earth’s rotation. Writing, in this sense, becomes a way to observe order and splendor from within the flow of the everyday.

Creation is a cross-section of life. With this new collection, I hope to preserve something for my fading memory, or perhaps let it serve as a camera that captures who I am in this moment. As I grow older, I’ve realized that my emotions are no longer as intense or fluid as they were in my youth. Sometimes I wonder whether I can still be deeply moved by something or love with the same wholehearted passion. The desire to once again feel the wonder of being alive. That is the theme of this new collection. In a way, you could imagine it as a book about an alien learning how to live like a human. And isn’t that, in itself, a kind of sci-fi?

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Translations of Excerpts from Across the Universe

We walked barefoot through one silent cave after another
like a cluster of flames roaming the universe
igniting brilliance along the way
while rain spread us into a blur

我們赤足走過一個又一個寂靜的洞穴
像團火焰遊歷宇宙之間
沿路燃起光彩
同時被雨暈開

I

001

For the boy and his Beagle
this is a once-in-a-lifetime journey
evolving until flight becomes possible
racing at the speed of light
that smooths away the traces of billions of years
and scrapes fish scales from the skin

how much static must be received along the way
how many collisions endured
before two stars can meet?
all just to leave behind a kiss:
the hardest enigma to solve

001

這是少年與他的小獵犬號
一生一次的旅行
不斷演化直到可以飛行
在光速下奔走
把幾十億年前的痕跡磨平
刮除身上的魚鱗

過程中要接收多少雜訊
經歷幾次撞擊
兩顆星體才能相遇？
只為了留下一個吻
一個最難解的迷

005

We need
metaphors loosened in every way
to let the reality collapse
into a black hole
the infinite universe, twisted to the extreme,
as a result of contraction,
absorbs all that exists—
even light disappears
consciousness passes through the gap
between being and non-being
I cannot tell how many words
will enter your mind
in darkness there is no windbreak forest
only the last gasps of thought
struggling forward, inch by inch

005

我們需要
各種隱喻的鬆動
讓現實向內塌陷
縮成黑洞
漫無邊際的宇宙極度扭曲
收縮的結果
讓萬物陷入其中
連光都消失
意識正穿過無和有之間的夾縫
我無法判斷有多少話
能進入你的腦中
黑暗中沒有防風林
許多殘喘的念頭
奮力往前蠕動

016

With heavy footsteps
I explore the Earth’s gravity
I remain in this place
becoming a calendar
torn away day by day
love is a daybreak not yet dry
falling with a drop of genderless dew
the room, poorly soundproofed, still absorbs you
while I fold clothes, sorrow rises
and I drift toward a magnetic field

016

用沈重的腳步
研究地心引力
我留在這裡
成為一本日曆
不斷被撕去
愛是未乾的早晨
隨一滴朝露無性別墜落
房間隔音不佳卻把你吸收
摺衣服時悲從中來
往一個磁場走去

028

Ultimately, time is a pair of mirrors
with reality pressed between them,
relentlessly reproducing fossils of souls
when the mirrors shift
the flesh is ripped apart
virtual images overlap
grids and parabolas
at the base layer of information
and life is doomed to run out like fine sand
he has marked my back
with a coordinate so I would not lose my way
as entering the illusion

028

時間終究是兩面鏡子
把現實夾在中間
不斷繁衍靈魂化石
鏡面一轉動
肉身四分五裂
虛像重疊
網格與拋物線
在資訊的底層
生命注定如細沙漏盡
他在我的背上做記號
走入幻覺時
不易迷失的座標

033

Does the head of my overnight lover
still hold some trace of metal for me to conduct electricity
to prove the link between machines and mysticism?
Upon waking up I take off by sheer telekinesis
isn’t morning an island that has turned into a bird?
You give a signal
and I walk away
but you don’t know
without you I become utterly transparent
I am not a good vessel
because the true nature of a vessel
is never to change itself for anyone

033

隔夜愛人的腦袋
是否還殘留一些金屬供我導電？
證明電器與神秘學的關係
醒來時靠念力起飛
清晨不就是一塊變成鳥的島嗎？
你打個暗號
我就走開
但你不知道
沒有你我會完全透明
我不是個好容器
因為不為誰而改變自己
才是容器的真諦

037

My boss inspects me every day
as if with a rag
rubbing me down again and again
saying: even black must have its own shine
may you not burn out today

failure often comes as a result
of his flash of genius
since you’re so good at digging holes
why not go back to Mars and build canals?

I once thought of myself
as a scientist in miniature
dreaming to be a strict fat man, a tender ghost
while he soared toward success
I remained in economy class

037

老闆天天探視我
像用一塊抹布
天天擦拭我
告訴我黑也要有黑的光澤
願你今天不過勞

敗筆常常來自
老闆的神來一筆
既然這麼會挖洞
為何不回火星造運河？

我還以為
自己是科學家的縮影
想當個嚴格的胖子、柔情的鬼
但在他成功的路途上
我只是經濟艙

047

Spacecraft probe the distance with electromagnetism
deepening their destiny
is there also debris in space
that will drift toward the Earth?
I entrusted my memory to the machine
and, between the revolving doors of a building,
found a repository
fragility has already taken place
may the departed lover
forgive me

047

飛行器用電磁研討遠方
加深了他們的宿命
太空中也有碎片會飛向地球嗎？
我把記憶交給了機器
在大樓的旋轉門間
發現了儲存點
脆弱已經發生過了
願逝去的愛人
能原諒我

048

We are about to drift once again
data-dust veils me
the algorithm, at last, concludes
I am not worth noticing
the masses of technological refugees,
deserters of the online world,
practice a kind of flâneurism
through tangled digital footprints
web pages no one visits
chat rooms never to open again
all of them ruined, abandoned temples

048

我們又要飄起來了
數據落塵將我屏蔽遮蓋
演算法終究還是算出
我是個不值得被注意的人
大量的科技難民
是網路世界的逃兵
用雜亂的數位足跡
奉行閒蕩主義
無人瀏覽的網頁
不再開啟的聊天室
都是陰廟廢墟

049

At last I reached the cosmic observatory on the alpine peak
and realized the entire sky
had become a museum preserving you
a newborn kitten,
its fur gleaming with an oily sheen,
made of grains of residual light
from a previous life:
a trace that proves
a snake once crawled up to the moon

049

終於到了山頂上的宇宙觀測站
我才發現整片天空
已是一座收藏你的博物館
剛生下來的小貓
身上泛著油光
那是前世的殘光粒子
證明一條蛇
曾爬上月亮的痕跡

II

008%

Cells still linger in the clouds
my body keeps swaying
dizzy, I brush past by a UFO

008%

細胞還在雲端
我的身體持續晃動
暈眩時和幽浮擦身而過

018%

Unbreakable gravity
draws us into love again and again
hiding the key to the galaxy
inside the sleeve of time

018%

無法破解的引力
使我們一再相戀
把銀河的鑰匙
藏進時間的袖子

025%

Following the veins of ore as we dig,
as long as we move closer to the core
time can flow in reverse

025%

順著礦脈開鑿事件
只要我們更接近核心
時間就可以逆行

027%

Emulated love appears vivid, lifelike
ceaselessly imitating each other
calculating vast amounts of data
to bury the truth alive

027%

仿造的愛栩栩如生
不斷抄襲彼此
演算出龐大的數據
將真實活埋

048%

An old-fashioned typewriter
aligned with the stars in the sky
types out, letter by letter,
the name of every cat:
one cat, one star

048%

一架老式打字機
對應天空的星星
逐字打出
每隻貓的姓名

050%

Create an avatar
shadow him every day, inseparable
only when the game ends
will he recognize you

050%

開一個分身
每天形影不離跟蹤他
直到遊戲結束後
才與他相認

051%

Through the fissures of the universe
I want to meet you
to kiss your soul
if only once—let it be once

051%

穿越宇宙的縫隙
我想與你相遇
即使僅止一次
也要吻上你的靈魂

061%

A programmer
uses death’s continuous tense
to implant a low-key illusion
on his formidable chest

061%

程式作業員
用死亡的進行式
在他結實的胸膛上
植入低調幻覺

094%

Borrowing a whole night of clear mind
I consulted a mystic
on how to weld a black hole
inside the brain

094%

借一整晚鮮明的思想
和神秘學者請教
如何在腦中
焊接一個黑洞

096%

He carries a knife, tempered just right
cutting down pop-up ads along the way
to rescue the cryptic creatures—those not yet retrieved

096%

他隨身攜帶的刀軟硬適中
沿路消滅蓋屏廣告
搶救尚未讀取的神秘動物

III

Centrifugal force

The more I try to cast it off
the harder it throws me down

離心力

越想拋開
越被重摔

Farewell to memory with my whole soul

How much longer until I can break free
from your gravity
so I won’t fall
to a death too severe

if only I could discover
the great meaning of life
then the heart of outer space
would have the fuel to keep on flying

用整個靈魂跟記憶告別

還要多久才能解開
你的重力
好讓我不至於
摔得太致命

如果我能發現
偉大生命的意義
太空的心
才有燃料繼續飛行

Astronomers

We are all
descendants of astronomers
naming every light in the world

our ancestors who watched the constellations
entered infinity
when their consciousness passed through the stars

as you see,
stars are the proof of time
look up—every luminous dot in the sky
performs a different moment

these are parallel worlds
blossoming across the universe,
flower by flower

astronomers covered in dust
their souls still hidden in the petals
in the fragile night
strike a comet’s fiery trace
to point you toward the Creator

天文學家

我們都是
天文學家的後裔
為萬物的光芒取名

觀察星象的祖先們
在意識穿過星星時
曾進入無限

如你所見
星星就是時間的證據
仰望天空中的每一個光點
都上演不同的時間

那是彼此平行的世界
在宇宙間
如花朵般綻開

滿身塵埃的天文學家
靈魂還藏在花瓣間
在纖細的夜裡
擦出一道火光痕跡
為你指出造物者的位置