Living Up in the Mountains, a Poem

Ahh, the peace, the quiet, the solitude, makes me want to stay longer…translated…

Early Morn, We Drove Up the Mountains as a Family

the Wufeng County Already Hiked Up, without Any Shortness of Breath

However, Our Car, It’d, Seemed, a Bit, Limp

Seeing the Mountains from Behind Us

Chasing the Ones Before

Wuji Mountain, Xia Mountain, Maibarlai Mountain

They’d, Chased it Up in a Relay Race

The Rows of Cherry Blossoms Bloomed in Synchrony

Like a Dozen Peacocks, Showing Off Their Feathers at Once

Peacocks, Fireflies, Parrots, Pheasants

Cherry Blossoms, Peaches, Tea Trees, Plum Trees

Already, Moved in to This 1,200 Feet Above Sea Level

They are the Ones, Who, Lived Here

This Place

with the Nature Scenes, Offering the

Winds, the Forests, the Sunshine as the Meals

Melt in Our Mouths

The Fogs and Clouds, They Loved to Stay on Our Tongues

Turned Our Stomachs Over

In the Evenings

Nobody Wants to Get Off

Not the Teas, Nor the Coffees

Nor the Tourists’ Cars

Not the Clouds

Nor the Mountains

Let Alone, This Sense of Solitude & Quiet

Because, this, is such a peaceful place, nobody wants to get off of it, because we all want to stay peaceful, as the world down below the mountains, offered us a ton of chaos, of our daily life routines, that, is why we all, want to stay a bit, longer…

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Allowing the Moonlight on the Seas, to Soothe Our Fatigue

How this woman found that sense of peace she’d longed for, without, going anywhere physically, translated…

Since Strong was born, our lives became, like full glasses of water, with the smallest bumps, our emotions, ran haywire, spilled out, getting all over each other, making us both, defeated.

We’d not only needed to take Strong to exercise regularly, games, walks, massages, meals, baths, sleeping with him, we’d also needed to, keep our small bookshop tidy and clean, to set up the events in and out of the shop, to deal with the returned orders, make the drinks, act as ushers for our guests, to prepare for our classes, the lectures, along with cleaning up the beaches, and other duties that we had, and, we’d had to wait until nine or ten at night, after we’d, put Strong down for bed, can we finally breathe for ourselves, to read or to watch television for an hour, to chat with each other, then, we’d, needed to, sort through the e-mails, the maintain our websites until around one in the morn, are we able to, finally, get to bed, and sometimes, when we get too busy, the two of us, didn’t even share a meaningful conversation.

And, this sort of a busyness of scheduling, it’s easy, to miscommunicate. We’d, often wear that soured expression with each other, take a bad tone of voice when we spoke to one another, getting loud, or, started, nagging. When this happened, we’d, both fallen silent, and get through to one another using the internet, to let the emotions, stay for a bit, around our fingertips, so, the words we’d, lashed out at each other, won’t be so harsh.

If the weather’s all right, I would push Strong in his stroller home by foot, that way, I got to look around the streets, to see the stars up in the skies, and, after I’d gone home, put Strong to bed, I could take a very slow bath, and massage my aching muscles, thinking about, whether or not, I should, keep giving Daddy Strong the silent treatment, or to, break the ice.

Recently, because both our workloads were, increased, Strong’s energy level increased, we’d, gotten into more and bigger conflicts with each other, on adjusting the workload, we’d gotten, easily angered with each other. This day, after we fought, I’d, needed to, take an even slower pace, to walk myself home, lifting my head, saw the round moon, and, it’d, reminded of the book by Ryoji Arai, “The Moon is Full Tonight”.

I’d recalled how whatever he drew, adults, children, or animals, they’re all, watched over by the full moon at night, and, the moonlight made the sky looked like the oceans, cause the waves, in every set of eyes that lifted upward to look, and, it’d, massaged every single life that’s, ended, another hard day’s work, allowing the fatigue mind to rest, the imaginations, run wild. I wanted to be like that whale in the book too, take Strong out on the waves in the moonlight!

I’d also, recalled how when we weren’t so busy, whenever Daddy Strong or I discovered a full moon, whether or not we’re, next to each other, we’d, felt, compelled, to tell it to each other: lifting our heads, we see, the same moon. Remembering how we’d, once driven to the seaside, to see the moon shine on the water.

The moon’s so full tonight, I’m not here, I’m, drifting, floating, on the shiny seas.

And so, this, is this woman’s way of finding her peace, she’d, needed that place she can go, to retreat, and, she’s able to, find it, that sense of calm she’d, desperately needed, in her own mind…

Writing Each Novel Was Like Destroying My Own Body, and Building it Back Up Again

How getting ill was this writer’s realizing that he needed to change his way of writing, on discovering the self, from the Front Page Sections, translated…

From his twenties, to now, the writer Yi-Jun Luo had weathered through depression and long-term insomnia, in the past three years, he was overcome with three serious illnesses, and last year, he thought he didn’t have long to live. As he was called that he’d own the writing awards, he said it was, “shocking” and “confusing and moving”, “This was the never-before happening moments in literature, with the good novels coming out one by one, I’m glad, to be in this time of literary growth, I hope to melt like a cube of sugar into the era, to share my knowledge with those who shared my love for writing.”

Lo who is an Aries, described himself as a Neanderthal, with the primal instincts, starting at age twenty, he’d started to worship the trends of western modern novels since the 80s and 90s. And yet, those who’d, “grown up drinking the poisonous western modern novels”, a lot of his generation had, committed suicide, or died with illnesses, like his best friends, Yuan, Huang, and Chiu, and many others.

Lo said, in recent years, he’d fallen ill many times, and slowly, come to understand, that he’d needed to prepare the materials from outside his own areas of expertise in writing of the novels, it’s like how the athletes, being engaged in long-term extreme sports, it would be, damaging to the physical health. And yet, he’d, burned out his brain repeatedly, and, causing his nervous system to be in a feverish state.

As he’d spoken on the highly remarked “Western Summer Hotel”, he’d admitted that half way into writing it, he had a relapse of his depression, and when he returned, he’d forgotten, the structures of the story, and as the volume became a book, there were, regrets. For the decade that followed, he’d been taking sleeping pills to help him rest, and felt, “I think my I.Q. is a lot lower compared to ten years ago.”

Last year, Lo suddenly passed out while walking, after being taken to the hospital, he’d learned there were, damages to his cardiac muscles, and, other than thinking about his own loved ones when he fell, he thought, “I still owe myself a very good long novel.” Later on, his instructor, Yang suggested he look at some eastern paintings, to see how they’d, kept themselves steady, when their world is collapsing, to find that method, to keep himself steady. And now, as Lo looked at the paintings, the chinas from the Song Dynasty, touching the rock with the natural marks, he’d felt, at ease and calm, and found, that “the eastern of what he’d, ignored, was like the roots of the soul”, and stopped battling death using the western methods anymore.

Lo said, the three novels that the critic, Wang commended on, each one he’d written it with the mind of destroying himself, then rebuilding himself back up again. And now, he’d hoped, to find a milder method of writing, and continued laboring in literature using the heartfelt, genuine ways, to bring back the terms that modern day man overlooked, such as “respect” and “forgiveness”.

And so, that, is this writer’s journey, to finding a better way to write, in the past, he’d, written using that brute force, which worked, back when he was younger, because he had too much energy to burn out, but, he couldn’t, write like that anymore, as he’s, older, and, it’d, tried his mind, made him sick, and so, he’s, slowly, learning a brand new way, to write…

Memories, Four Poems

The philosophies of this earthly life, translated…

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  1. Memories are Like Moss

The Mountains Used the Bird Calls to Name it

My Time Became a Spore

Asleep, Deep Inside

The Evening Fogs Wrapped the Roses in Flames

The Drizzles Fell Endlessly

You are, My Stay

a Small Pathway

in that Shoreside without the Lights

This, is how much, you’d, relied on that certain someone, to keep you steady, to have that place where your hearts can go, to find that safe place in the world…

  •  

The Memories are Like the Running Streams

Washing at the Rocks in the Midst

I’m that Foam that Turned Repeatedly

Adding to the Fishes that Swam in the Streams

The Night, in the Sounds of the Streams

Journey in Secret on My Own

Passed Through that Wild Forest

Becoming the Clouds Up in the Mountains

You are, the Starry Night Skies of the Open Plains

with the Eyes, Hidden

The Plains Became the Illuminated Bosoms

Brought the Air of You in the Dawn

And so, waiting for someone, to return, is what this felt like, and, everything is still, very much alive in your memories, the love you and that someone special had, shared from before, it’s, still, right there, inside your heart and your mind!

  •  

The Memories Like the Sand

Filled with the Scars of Autumn

Your Bones, Turned into Smaller Hills

Your Skins, Became the Rivers

Leading the Way for the Tears

Spread Out the Wrinkles of Time

The Wind Blew Through a Decade

and Another

Your Bones Like the Hills

Skin, Like the Rivers

Memories, Like the Sands

Even as the Wind Stopped, the Needles from the Pines Still, Fell All Over the Places

And so, no matter what, memories will be lost, there’s, just NO way, to stop the progressions of time, and, as we are all older, things are, lost, the memories, slowly, gone by the day…

  •  

The Memories are, Like the Gates, into the Mountains

Swaying Between, the First, the Second, and the Third Doors

Looking into the Greens

Finding that Monastery

The Memories are like the Dojos

After the Morning Chants, come the Noon Chants, then the Evening Chants

After the Chants, the Repentance

Came the Chimes from the Bell

The Wind, the Rain Raged on, Turning the World Dark

The World Became, an Endless Wetland

Something, Hidden Deep, into the Waters

Something, Buried, Deep, in the Earth

And so, this, is where we all end up, as dusts and dirt, and, the memories we have of this world that we’d, carried with us up until we pass away, will all be buried, with our bodies that had, stopped working…

I’ll Try, by the Coast of Amalfi, a Poem

Visiting a foreign place, and, the things that you’d, encountered, on this trip, translated…

In Order, to Prevent from Hearing

the Lowered Whispers of the Lovebirds Underneath the Trees

The Pines All Reached the Consensus

to Lift Their Heads Up, Higher, Just, a Bit, Higher Up

In Order, to Not Get Stuck in Traffic

the place that looked like paradise on earth, photo from online…查看來源圖片

All the Motors Got into a Slurred Argument

And All the Seagulls Had Agreed

that They Shall, Spread Their Wings Upward—to, Fly, Higher Up, into, the Skies

In Order to Not Get Cramped in by the Houses Sitting at the Foot of the Hills

That Chateau, Standing, at the Top of the Hill Had

Decided to Tip Its Toes Up Higher—to, Look Farther, into the Distance

Try Getting Taller, Fly, Just a Bit, Higher

driving down that one-lane freeway, with the sea, right beside you like this???  Photo found online…查看來源圖片very leisurely, wouldn’t you say???

Try, Looking Farther Off, into the Distance, and, Don’t Forget

to Try to, Keep Your Voices, to a Bare Minimum

Reduced, to a Light Whisper

by the

Amalfi Shores

So, this, is a soliloquy of sorts, I suppose, and, the poet had, painted, this picture of this ancient small township, filled, with the tracks of the people who came before her/him.

Winning, is Being Happy

The philosophy of this visually impaired street performer’s life, translated…

She said, “I have flexible schedule, we can go out for coffee anytime you want to……”

We’d arrived at a café she loved, and, we were careless, spilled the coffees, the owner of the shop quickly went to get the dishrags, “no, it’s not necessary, I’ll wipe it myself!” the two of us were like in a race, before the shop owner got back, we’d, wiped the table off with the napkin, she was so happy she’d, won, she’d, let out a hooray!

Being completely blind, she’s a street performer, and only worked on the two days of the weekend, just like she’d told me, work wasn’t busy one bit, there would be five days of the week that belonged to just her, “I loved to sing, not to be famous, just hoped, that I have the chance to perform for someone is all.”

As she’d started performing, she’d only sung her favorite songs, later, she’d told her audience, “You can make a request, and see if I know it”, this small turn was like how the chef hated chopping the onions, but for the sake of his guests, he’d still needed to do it.

There would be the period of time when she’d just talked before she’d performed, completely matched her character, her mode of work was she’d sung a song, then started a monologue, sometimes, she’d struck up a conversation with a member of the audience.

“Do you like your job?”

She’d raised up her pitch, “I love it, I’m very happy, I can be, free as I wish!”

She’d worked hard singing, at least, keeping this lifestyle going. Although it’s quite hard for someone who’s visually impaired to live, but it’d not, troubled her one bit.

Actually, I’d come into contact with a lot of street performers, on the sunny days, it was all right, but on the rainy, it was, like going to war, “Yeah, happened a couple of times.” If it were a sudden downpour, it’d, made the performers panic, especially when the equipment are expensive, but there would always be the kind souls, that came to help. And her cart, containing all of her necessities, electric keyboard, microphone, electric bottle, a set of stereos………over thirty kilograms in weight. Naturally, she couldn’t, possibly haul it all out on one try by herself, so she’d, split the items up into six, seven trips, and as she’d moved the equipment, she’d, hollered aloud, “Excuse me, excuse me”, walked to about ten minutes away to take a cab, and, after she got out of the cab, she’d moved the equipment onto the trolley, with the cane, moved to her spot, set the items up. As for the route she took, she’d learned from a visually impaired professor, it wasn’t hard for her. After she was done performing, she’d put up all her equipment, the placed them onto the cart, then, went to the place where the cabs were waiting in shifts……………I’d become dizzy, just hearing her tell of it, but, she’d stated, with that steady tone, “Although it’s hard, but I love it.”

查看來源圖片here’s a photo of a street performer, from online…

She kept stressing, that this, was her ideal job, although she’d only worked two days per week, and not made quite enough money, but she really, loved it. “I look forward to the weekends everyday, that way, I can, head out happy, to sing for others……” Her voice was infectious, and, she’d not just carried that lifted tone when she said “happy”, her face was, smiling too.

That was, enough, being happy, is winning in life.

And so, this, is how easily satisfied this woman is, she’d needed very little, just to do what she enjoyed, performing in front of others, for what little money she could make. Job satisfaction is EVERYTHING, if you don’t enjoy what you’re doing, no matter how well it pays, it’s, still a DRAG!!!

Found a Piece of Sunset

A memorabilia you’d found, at random, translated…

I’d arrived in the deserts in the early evenings.

I’d also, found a coin here. Toward the items I’d found, I’m not used, to taking them as mine, if it’s valuable, I’d sent it into the lost and found, if I figured that someone might come back to look for it, then, I’d, leave it right where I’d, found it. For instance, I’d found an iPhone on the benches of the park, and I’d imagined, that the owner may come back to look for it.

photo from UDN.com…the coin the woman found…

But this time was special, I’d found a coin in the desert, I knew that it didn’t have high value, and so, I’d felt, at ease. I’d, picked it up, kept it with me, and now, it’s, on my desk. This was, a coin with, an unknown history, there were three lions on one side, on the other, the number 10, with ten teardrop shapes. I don’t know where this coin came from, nor its face value, but none of that mattered. I’d, intentionally, not found out. I’d, kept it, because of a memory, a memory, about the deserts. OF that day, I’d, arrived in the desert in the early evenings, the first time, I saw the sunset in the desert.

I looked at this coin I’d picked up in the desert, and felt, that I’d taken the sunset from the desert home with me.

And so, you’d, kept this coin you’d found as a sort of a souvenir, a memory, of you being in the deserts, seeing that sunset, and sometimes, things are like that, you’d, assigned some sentimental value to something so miniscule because there’s, a memory attached to the item that you’d, found.