Calling Me Home…

There’s, something that’s, calling me home, and, that something sounded, so enticing, to this, wanderer, who desperately searched, for a place of stay…

Calling me home, as I drove, closer and closer, the memories of old, they all, came back, hit me like tons of bricks, entered, into my wandering mind, telling me, this, is where, I ought to be, but, I drove, right PAST that exit sign!home, is where again???  Not my photograph…

Calling me home, there’s, that constant yearning that’s there, telling me, to stay, and yet, there’s, an equally strong, force of sorts, pulling me away, telling me, I need, to leave, and, I’m in this, constant, state of tug of war with my mind, and, slowly, I’d become, so totally, drained.

Calling me home, I’ll, simply just, IGNORE that small voice, and, KICK it to the back of my mind, because, the last time I’d listened, that, was how I’d, ended up, where I currently am, and hell will overcome, if I listen to it again that’s for sure!!!

Calling me home, do you not hear it???  Of course not, this is just, me, having it hard, with this, unknown source of, AUDITORY HALLUCINATION here………

Advertisements

Train Staton, a Poem

Translated…

Our Realms

Is Right Inside This Quarter

Right on the Boundaries of the Self

Where He and He Used to Sit

The Remaining Picture Frame and Weed

are Both Quite Spirited

something that looked like this, with the tracks of time, written all over it…not my photo…

Like the Wooden Materials of the Japanese Era

The Picture of the Half-Risen Sun

And the Color Represented the Hesitations of that Era in Time

The Spotted Blue Was Our Hometown

The Evenly Spread Dust, is Loving Him

To How the Tracks Had Lost the Evenness of the Wooden Frames

On the Message Board of the Adolescent Girl

parting ways, not my photo still…

Only the Traces of the Moon Who’d Cried Left Behind

Everything Else, Anything Else that’s, Happened

Close to Seven Kilometers’ Distances of Even Closer

As I’d Left Once

Time Became, the Rod that Disciplined the Chaotic Times

The Artist Needed to Use His Straightened Spine

to Line the Tracks Which are Stubborn Straight

So in this, there’s, the changes in the times, and, you can see the tracks of time through visiting the old stations that were set up long ago, and get into the historical tales of how they come about…

The Ballet Classes After School

Amateurs, performing a classic in ballet, entertaining the audience who were, your students, translated…

That year, it was the hundredth anniversary of the school I worked for, the school, in order to get the celebration to become more active, they’d hoped that the school teachers also got involved in the activities.  And so, the quieter teachers chosen to perform with the choirs, and eleven other female teachers and I were in the dancing troupes.

At first, we’d thought we were line-dancing on stage, and someone said, that it was, the hundredth anniversary of the school, so why not do something memorable, and so, after everybody voted, we’d decided on performing “Swan Lake”.

like this???  Photo from online…

Back then, it was only two short months away from the festivities, and none of us were trained as professional dancers, and so, we’d hired a teacher from outside the schools to teach us ballet.  Every day after school, we’d gathered in the jazzercise, from the stretching as warm-up, to becoming hand-leg coordinated, to standing in ballet poses, we’d followed the oral instructions of the ballet instructor and practiced hard in class, then, we’d gone home, after a tired day, and still practiced our dance moves in front of the mirrors.

After working hard for a while, finally, we looked semi-trained, so the dance instructor suggested that the students from the clothes designs major to design the tutus for us, and had the students from the cosmetics major to put the makeup on us.  And, as it came time to perform, we’d thought, we’d, awed everybody who was watching.  Without knowing, that as the curtains were pulled up, as the students saw us, instructors of various shapes and sizes, they’d started applauding, and laughing loudly, and, no matter what the announcers said, they just, wouldn’t calm back down.  All of us, swans who stood ready to dance, couldn’t hear the beats, and so, we could only, count them ourselves.

stretching to loosen the body a bit, for the more difficult moves that comes afterwards, not my photograph…

As you imagine, what must’ve happened next, from when we practiced with the music, we were all very scared as we were, and now, we couldn’t, hear the music at all, and we all flew into panic, and just, danced around out of turn, and bumped into one another on stage, and the students were laughing loudly, and, the roof of the auditorium was about, to get raised UP by the laughter.

Just as we’d expected, the two short months’ worth of cram sessions of ballet lessons gave us something to remember forever.  Up until today, thirty years had passed, every time there was a reunion, this “laughed until our jaws dropped” incident was still being mentioned, every single time.

So, you’re, a group of amateurs, who attempted to perform something that even trained professionals may have difficulties doing, and, because you all didn’t calculate in the risks (Murphy’s law, anybody???), that, is why everything that CAN go wrong, went WRONG, but, on the bright side, you all had, entertained your students, and that was, a memorable celebration of the school’s birth…

The Wide-Eyed Indian Scops Owl

With illustration, translated…

Your Wide and Shiny Eyes

Like a Mysterious Black Hole

Drew Me in

And I, without Any Way of Fighting Off the Temptations 

illustration from the papers…圖.鄭鈴

Your Wide and Shiny Eyes

Turning Repeatedly

Searching Toward Where the Sounds Came From

In My Eyes

You Looked, So Very, Cute

Your Wide and Shiny Eyes

what this bird actually looks like…in captivity…photo from online…

As They Looked Upon Me

They’d, Blinked, Again, and Again

And My Heart

Already, Fluttered, with Each Blink of Your Eyes

So, this, is how attractive the critters of nature can be to a person, because this species is really hard to catch, anybody who sees it is more than lucky, to have, captured the moments, in its company…

 

 

 

 

Carving Stamps

Finding that box of old stuff that you’d made, and that scent of, nostalgia, surfaces, translated…

I’d sold of our old home in Kaohsiung before the year.  As I was sorting through the collections, I’d found, that it’s, this enormous task.  Who was it that said, “The precious thing about memories, it’d allowed us to live twice.”  I’d enjoyed this sweating it from day to day, keep on living my life.  Specially, the lost books of calligraphy practice books of my youthful years, I’d found once more.  And, it’d given that sense of gladness, that I’d had to, sell my home.

the various types of scripts, from online…

The stamps were kept in a small fist-size wooden box, it was originally for my mother’s ginseng powders, I’d treated it as a treasure, took it home with me to Hsinchu, and put it inside the bookshelves on the back of my study, to accompany me continually, through the years.

One evening, I was fatigued from working, rose up, and saw that wooden box, and wanted to see what was kept, concealed, inside that box through the years.  But the moment I’d opened it up, the wooden casing collapsed and broke to pieces, like it’d done its duties, of protecting the seals, collapsed.

In a panic, I’d quickly used the books from around it, to keep it in place, then, with tapes, carefully, put it back together again, then, it’d returned, to its, original shapes, barely.  Tears started, circling around in my eyes then.

I’d taken up the stamps within the box one by one, asked them, “how have you been lately?”

I’d stamped a few using the stones, thankfully, there’s, still that carving that’s, in place.

like this…photo from online…

As I read the words of “Happy New Year’s”, for the blessings of a new year, I’d found one with the line of “I am, one of the rarest” in the midst of the bunch.  I’d started wondering: what sort of an expectation was that?  Had the me back then see the me now today, and still couldn’t manage to drink too much, and still stumbled, not moving forward in my poetry, will I still have that passion for what I’m doing like I had in my younger years?

But, years had gone by, things, altered completely.  I’d already, forgotten, when, did I develop this joy in carving.  My friend inquired, “Do you still do it?”, I shook my head, sighed, and felt that although I hoped to continue, but I just, don’t have it in me.  Thankfully, there’s still, this box full of my stamps from the past, as I patted those dents in the carvings, it’s like, I’d traveled back in time, with each call, I get to, return back to my past again.

And, this, is the sense of nostalgia that someone has, upon discovering that box of old things that one had made, and, it drew the writer back to how he got started, with the carvings, and it’d brought back that state of mind he had as he’d carved each of the stamps…

Bidding Farewell to Childhood

A rite of passage, for a child, entering into the teenage years, translated…

As I rode on the bus, passed by the Taipei’s New Children’s Amusement Park, I’d recalled how in two days, it would be my grandson’s twelfth birthday, and I’d asked him if he wanted to go to the amusement parks a final time, as a ritual of bidding farewell to his own childhood years.

My grandson thought for a while, then told me, “I’d gone there three times already, and I’d ridden on all the rides already.  Grandma, did you ever go there?  Do you want me to take you guys there instead?”

going to the amusement parks with the grandparents 的圖片結果back to being a kid again…photo from online…

Then, there’s, that moment of awkwardness.  It wasn’t, but twenty-nine summers ago, as I took along my mother, my son who’s going on into the second year of middle school, and my daughter who’s entering the fifth grade, to California, we’d gone on rides in Disneyland, Universal Studio, along with the amusement park in Los Angeles, and, only the rollercoasters and the freefall rides, I’d gone on, with my eyes shut all the way through it, it was, quite memorable.

As I heard my grandson told me, “The freefall ride here is only two stories high, and it’s, quite slow too, it’s, more than safe!  Grandma, grandpa, would you both like the experiences of riding it?”, such a reminder of the past!  It seems, that we won’t be saying goodbye to childhood after all, instead, we’re, celebrating Grandparents’ Day this time.

the ride that’ll get your blood pumping all right!  Photo from online

So, this, is a rite of passage, I suppose, as a child gets to twelve years old, and the next year, he’s entering into the middle school years, on his way to entering his teens, and the grandparents wanted to make it a special and a memorable occasion for the child, but the child has another idea………

Those Days of Stepping on the Pebble Floors

Brings back those memories of old, inside this old-style floored house you’d visited, translated…

I’d learned that the 207 Museum of Dihua Street had the grinded pebbles art exhibitions, I went there immediately, only because my first home, the floors were paved with these smaller pebbles, and, I’d spent many years of my youthful years on top, that unforgettable joy, called out to me, to reexperience my childhood times again.

The moment I entered the museum, and stepped onto that white pebbled, gray backdrop floor, it’d felt, like I was, at my old home once more, it’d felt so very, familiar, and I’d, gone around the display area twice.  The colorful patterns on the floor separated by the brass frames, gave it a sort of an elegant look.  The floors in my first home was, plainer, with the brass strips to the sides, back then, we’d, enjoyed walking that line paved with brass in and out of the house, and we’d, competed on how straight we’d walked the lines, which one of us never bumped into the walls.  There was that same circular brass pattern on the stairs, making it especially cooler in the summers, we’d often, put our faces to it, held out to it, to keep ourselves cooler.

what the pebble floor looked like…photo from online…

with the temperatures lower in the summers because of the material it’s made out of …

The grinded down pebbles, after being mopped, still had to get waxed, but my mother was allergic to the wax, and can only start mopping the floors daily, and waxing the floors once every six months, to keep it up.  Daily, my mother shouldered up the grueling task of cleaning, and when the summer vacations and winter breaks rolled around, this work naturally, came to the four of us, and, if we don’t mop the floors well, we’d gotten scolded too!

My older brother usually took up mopping, he’d loved singing while mopping, the notes went high and low, as his moods would go, and he’d won the title of “King of Off-Pitch”.  Every time he’d sung off-key, my younger brother would splash water onto him, and, he’d not minded at all, still continued his singing off-pitch.  I was in charge of the faucets, filling up the buckets to eighty-percent, then, gave the buckets to my younger brother to quickly give it to my eldest brother.  These two brats thought I was too slow in filling up the buckets, and, hurried, “quickly, faster”, and they’d, fought over the same bucket of water too, and, splashed the water all over themselves as well as the floors too, and, I’d gotten wet in the process.  As we were still in school, we’d spent many nights of the summers, pouring water onto one another, horse-playing, working and playing at the same time, and managed to get through this homework assignment of our household chores.  Ahh, such a period of time, filled with our wetter selves, and laughter that was!

Just like my old home, this houses had the railings on the stairs, as I looked at it, it’s as if, I caught a glimpse of my grandma in her rough black cloth pants and shirt, slowly, coming down those grayed stairs; and saw how thirty years ago, with me in my wedding gown, how my tears blurred out the path as I bid my parents goodbye as I was marrying out, and, I’d dragged my feet, hoped, that the floors can extend indefinitely, and the stairs, longer………

獲悉迪化街二○七博物館有磨石子藝術展,我迫不及待地前往參觀,只因老家的地板就是以...illustration from the papers…

I’d touched that cooled surface, and, looked closely, at that delicate print on the walls, and, suddenly, those white grinded down pebbles somehow, illuminated, all parts of my past I’d seemed to have, forgotten already.

So, this place with the old styled pebbled floors brought back all those memories of your younger years that you’d, forgotten already, and, being in this place, it gave you a sort of a nostalgia, doesn’t it?  Made you missed those long lost years of your childhood days…