Reunion (and Play-Pretend)

As the trains start moving, slowly, then, gaining momentum, then, speeding off, a poem translated…

The Night, Spread Out, the Leather

with the Granule Salts Rubbed in

A Sort of a Smoke, Unwilling to Get Put Out

Still Lived Inside it

I’d Once See that Frosted Smile

on Your Face, Like the Birth of the First Sunlight at the Crack of Dawn

Touching the Hands, Readied to Become Softened

I’d Once Heard, the Iron Plates

Grown Out of Your Palms

Slicing Through Me, Coming from an Opposite Direction

Those Scales Slowly, Mystically, Expanding

At This Moment, Cautious, and Estranged

Surrounded Others

now we’re going somewhere here…not my photograph…

Passing Those Whispers, and Wine Glasses Too

Electricity is Silent

The Air, Mildly Numbed

Add in a Bit More Logs for Fuel

The Small Hell Had, Casted All the Ghosts to Flee

As the Smokes Flowed Freely Out

My Heart Became, Cramped Tight Like Cloves of Garlic

So, this, is how the train operates, from that first sound of the whistle, then you see the smoke coming from the top of the train, then, the train slowly starts off………

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All the Way Southbound

A poem, translated…

On the Plains, Farther Off Still

The Tinier People are Pushing Along Their Tills

Taming the Fires to Even More Mildly Tempered than the Livestock

Drying Those Furs Turning to a Yellow Glow

查看來源圖片like this???  Not my photograph…

The Birds Stitched a Slanted Series of Uneven Claws

into an Undependable Stairway Up to Heaven, Look

the Sun is Falling Down

After Counting All the Enclaves

The Weeds that Filled Up the Windows Came & Receded Away

Sometimes, We’re Closer to the Cemeteries

That the Dead Can Read My Name Aloud

the various landscapes…not my photograph still…

Sometimes, that Ruin Suddenly Appeared

The Dirt and Mud from a Decade Before

Gave Life to the Newly Blooming Flowers

What Does the South Keep Still

The Young Father, the Younger Sister, a Cat,

a Dock, the Oil-Stained mast of a Ship————

The Trains are about to Arrive Now

the world, flashing by outside, photo from online…

and I will Be a Fitting Student

Coloring in the Slots of Time

Slot, by Slot

So, this, is just sitting by the sidelines, watching life blow by, there’s that sense of displacing the self, not participating in the goings on of the world, being a mere observer of the goings-on around you…

Poetry & Alcohol

Poetry on a beer bottle, that’s something odd, isn’t it???  Translated…

There are a lot of poets who owned bookstores, but, they’d all sold the general books or the literary works that are in.  I’d heard, that there was, a female poet from Hong Kong who’d opened up a shop that sold only books on poetry, and hosted discussions on poetry, I was shocked.  Currently, there is only, a reduced number of folks who still read poetry, making it even harder, to sell the volumes of poetry, and how can her small shop survive?

王岫/攝影from the papers online…

I’d found the address, and paid the shop a visit.  Mmmmmmmmmmm, poetry DOES sell here, there were line of poems plastered on the walls of the store, there’s also verses by Neruda in the restrooms as well.  But, the shop had also sold notebooks with poems as the cover, the handmade books, the decorations, the stationeries, the postcards, along with the small satchels and what not, it’s, I suppose, a grocery place for poetry fanatics.  The shop also helps place orders for poetry in Taiwan for the Macau and Hong Kong regions as well, and, it’d sold coffees, teas, and all of these, are ways so the small shop can keep on surviving.

See the source imagelike this, except it’s a real beer bottle, made of glass, photo from onilne…

After my wife and I bought two volumes of poetry, the shopowner asked us if we’d wanted some drinks, because we’d just had coffee at lunch, we’d wanted no more caffeine, we were both stressing, and the woman said, “Come, there’s also beers served here, and, with the stanzas on them too!”

She’d handed me a bottle of beer, and a book called, “Fanatic about Love”, and told us, “look, the labels of this bottle had the passages from the poem in this volume.”

It was hot and we’re both, thirsty, and that was the very first time we’d encountered poems printed on the beer bottles, we were both quite impressed, and so, I’d ordered a bottle.  I’d looked closely at the lines on the bottle, and, it was a poem by a homosexual American poet, Richard Siken, and surely, I’d found the corresponding lines.

I don’t really know poetry, and, even after I drank down this beer, I’d still felt that I’d lacked the poeticism.  But, after I had the bottle, I’d, washed the bottle, took it home, and my wife placed a stem of yellow orchid into it, and, it’d, made our supper table looked, a bit poetic.

And so, this, is how unexpected literature can come into our lives, even when we’re not looking for it, when we least expected it, it’d, found its ways to us, it everywhere in our lives, we just need to, pay attention to our surrounding environments to see and to notice it.

The Dusk in Venice

Going abroad, to heal your broken heart, and, it had, just not in the way you thought it would work before you left home, translated…

The people made their ways away from the piazza, reminding me of the times I’d failed, professing my love to people.what it’d looked like, dusk in Venice, photo from online…

Actually, after puberty, I’d known, that it’s a gamble, professing my love to someone.  And those without hopes are the ones who gambled, to wait for that, already-known, but unaccepted answer.  As I passed through, or entered into the lives of more and more others, I wouldn’t fail to understand, that as the timing presented itself, we’d, hold hands, or that I’d, gently, kissed her on the forehead, asking about this and that, with so many things we can, talk about.

I’d felt that people are, scattering away around me.  The door of that church can finally, gaze upon the openings of the canal.  It was, nine in the evening.

The street artists put up their guitars and music stands, without the music accompanying, there’s, only, the wind that migrated with the gulls, what floated the boats was, the sound of the running water.  You, are what’s, left me, you, you all.  Then, becoming, a group of unrelated people, with the sun, setting in-between you, it’s, the dusk now.

Professions of love is like so: I know I needed to proclaim it, and yet, as I’d blurted it all out, it was, time for parting.  And, we’d, turned our backs toward the times we’d once shared, knowing that we won’t be, traveling together again.  My future, and yours, are still on the same side of the river, but, we’d, walked back-to-back, toward the seas now.  So, I wasn’t, willing to let you go.  That was why, I’d, dragged it out until the very last second, so I can, experience these, final moments, the skies turned dark, I couldn’t, keep you any longer, then, I’d, said I love you, so I can, leave finally.

when we can no longer hold on to each other…not my photo…

After I’d left, I’d passed that bridge between the edifices, the alleys between the residences, still holding on to the thought, of the square at the beginning of dusk.  Kept looking back, at the notes and people who still hung on, laughing, applauding, it all seemed to, stay, right there.  Until I’d gone far off, the street light glowed, then, I’d, put up my delusions, and finally, accepted: that the wonderful gathering, that closeness, wasn’t from the love, but due to serendipity.

As I returned back to my hotel, the skies are already, the deepest shade of blue.  The man standing at the check-in counter and I acknowledged one another, I’d turned to face the large window.  There were, drops appearing on the window now, and, in no more than a moment’s time, the rain poured down.  And I saw myself, the body so clean, and clear.  Recalling the past, it seemed to, take me onto that parallel plane.  Everything became, so far away now.  It all becomes, something so far away.  This time and then, you, or you, both well?

The rain continued in my mind, but, there were, moments, where the rain didn’t get to me, and there were, those couple of instances of love, and loss too.

I wasn’t rained down on, because I was lucky back then, and, as we broke up, I’d say, “Thank you”, with my tears falling from my face, I do, cherish, this lost love you’d, allowed me to experience with you.

So here, you’d, gone abroad, to try to heal up your broken heart, and yet, everywhere you are in a foreign country, you’re, reminded of the love the two of you used to share, but, in the end, you were able to, finally, let go of that lost love, because, she’d left those memories in your hearts, and you are, cherishing the experiences of finding, and losing love.

A Wimp’s Tour Across Europe

Journey of one please, I’m, striking out on my own this time, and for the first time too!  Translated…

I’d longed to visit all the landmarks in Europe since I was a young child, but because of my leg injuries, I’d never made the trips; other than heading to the hospital, to get actively involved in my physical therapy, I’d found two treasures awhile ago, that’d finally, helped me fulfill my dreams, I’d gone on a tour of twelve days to Italy, Switzerland, and Belgium.

The first treasure was a folding stool I’d found online, and, it’d looked like a cardboard box as I’d folded it up, and pulling it open, I could sit on it, very convenient to take it with me wherever I go.  Another was the quick-freeze freezing pack that the physical therapist had advised me to get, it’d looked like a heating pack on the outside, but, as you shake it hard, hit it repeatedly, it’d become, an icepack instantly.

the fountain in Rome the writer went to see, photo from online…

The plane arrived in Rome in the morning, I’d gotten on the tour bus from the airport, and headed straight into the city for sightseeing.  The streets in Rome were very narrow, the huge tour busses can’t make their ways in, and the tourists needed to walk to see the sights on foot.

The tour guide that took us from Taiwan, as well as a local tour guide took us unstopped, to see the wishing fountains, Gian Lorenzo Bernini………the beautiful sights were breathtaking, but, I’d felt this sharp pain coming from the soles of my feet, and, it’d become, more and more serious as I trekked on, and I’d become, very anxious over it.

Finally, we’d gotten to the restaurant for lunch, but I’d, left my icepack on the tour bus, and the kind tour guide asked for a pack of ice from the restaurant, and I’d, immediately sat down to ice my feet, and the burning sensation subsided slowly, and, I’d felt, more at ease.

st. peter's basilica 的圖片結果the St. Peter’s Basilica, photo from online…

After lunch, I’d gone with everybody to the shrine of all gods and St. Peter’s Cathedral.  And yet, just like in the morning, my heels felt the pain repeatedly attacking me.  After supper we’d gone into the hotel, the first thing I did was find my ice pack, showed, then, put the anti-sore rubbing ointment on, and, as I went to bed, I’d put on my cask shoes (a kind of shoes to protect myself), to help me stretch while I slept.

And just like that, with my careful manners, I’d gotten able to, continued to travel with the group to Switzerland to see the Jungfrau, and toured the extravagant palace in Paris, and successfully, lasted until the trip was over.

This trip abroad, I’d, passed the cruel test from God, barely, although it was filled with hardships, but, I’d finally, broken free of the bondage of my aching feet, and managed, to fulfill my wishes from years ago.

the pantheon in Rome, photo from online…

So, this is the woman’s will to go on this trip to tour across the sights in Europe, and, she’d faced a ton of trials, physically, but she kept going, and made many beautiful memories, and that just shows, how if you have the heart, you can achieve just about any and everything you set your minds to.

With a Heart, on Filial Relations

The realizations of all the souvenirs you’d bought on the trips you’d gone to together or on your own, translated…

The round-shaped duckling, and the duck egg shaped contact lens case was so cute, that was a souvenir my younger sister brought back from her trip to Korea a while ago.  It’s especially hard, to turn away the souvenirs from abroad, and, my family had set up two empty casings in the transparent displace case in the living room, as a “showroom” for all our souvenirs, there were the penguin postcard from my younger sister’s trip to Antarctica, the flamenco doll I was so intrigued by when I went to Spain, and the memorabilia plate of the photos of mom, my younger sister and I, at the Great Wall of China, every one of them was a precious memory.

illustration from the papers…圓滾滾的小鴨與鴨蛋並連成隱形眼鏡盒,可愛極了,是妹妹日前到韓國帶給我的禮物。到國...

But, there’s, almost NOTHING of dad’s, because the three women he lived with, had ALL the buying powers, he couldn’t, fight to get enough “territory” for himself, and so, the three of us, dominated the realm of souvenirs at our home.  With the accumulations of time, the space in the display case became, lacking, and, we’d done what those malls had, pushed the older items back, and placed the newer items up front.  And so, for a period of time, there were, “new items” displaying in the display case at our home for a short while.

And yet, still, NO matter how much we’d stacked, how we worked hard, to save up the limited spaces, there came the day, when the display case became, too full, to take in anything else.  Once in our family meetings, we’d agreed, that the display case in the living room are for the most memorable things, and the rest, we’d, needed to, display them back in our own bedrooms; and, our memories started, fighting for the slots, working hard, to make themselves the ones we kept.  I’d contemplated, was the trip of three of us, mother and daughter to Hong Kong for food more memorable, or, was that family trip to Macau that’s more unforgettable?  But actually, all the memories attached to these items were, all very, unique, how can we say which one’s worth more?  And now, we can’t, take any of the souvenirs out.so colorful, so bright, how can we resist???  Not my photograph

In the end, I can only, randomly select a couple of items and carried them back into my bedroom, and, I’d felt bad, placing these memories with all of my books; but, after this “inventory”, I’d realized, how much heart I have, I’d loved, every single one of my things, and can’t throw any of them out.  I can only keep reminding myself, that as I travel, I shall, buy less souvenirs!  If I must buy, then, I shall, buy those practical items like water bottles, so I can, not take up too much space, or, be someone who’s, heartless, and cast the items away one day.  Besides, living in the moment is something I had yet to master, and, the memories the family and I had made, are the most precious kinds of souvenir I will ever own.

So, this, is the problem, you go someplace, you buy some souvenir, thinking that it’s a reminder, of “I visited here”, but, as those things took up too much space, one day, you’d, realized, that hey, I don’t have room to live, and, you’d get into trouble, trying to decide what to throw out, and what not to throw out, and, it’s going to be painful, because, you’d grown so attached to these items (or rather, the memories associated with them???).  And as for me, I no longer buy any forms of souvenirs, because after that garage sale, where I had to, part with many of my own precious things (what I felt bad was not selling the things, but like I was, forced to detached from my memories connected to the items!), I’d stopped, getting so hung up on buying souvenirs anymore.

The Bazars of Bangkok

Let’s go people watching and see what we can discover, as that is, always fun, isn’t it???  Translated…

I really loved the bazaars.  My very first experience of bazaars was in England, every weekend, I’d taken the busses, headed out to the various bazaars to shop around.  The secondhand classic clothes looked just like the drama costumes, each and every one of them cost a lot, back then I’d realized, that the good things really beats out the time, the cottons from the dresses that cost a lot never flurried up, and the color, never fade, with the higher waist lines, very straight, without the rough lines of the shoulders, totally showed off the attractiveness of a woman’s form.

Later I’d gone to Japan, and noticed how the culture never lets anything go to waste, it’d given the preowned furniture pieces new life, I’d gone to Norway saw how the culture was connected with the everyday things, seeing how those items lost their characteristics of being replaced easily.  Later on, no matter where I’d traveled to, I’d made my way to the bazars, I don’t necessarily need to buy anything, but I’d taken a lot of time, observing what the locals were, buying up.

a place that looked like this???  Photo from online…the food section…

The gigantic bazar of Bangkok is very well-known, but it couldn’t captivate my interests, I’d walked past the couture, and gone straight to the furniture section at the back, and in the end, my interests peaked as I got into the food stands that mingled within the shops and stands, as well as the massage booths too.  My friends and I didn’t get anything, we’d ran from the center of the city, all the way to the edge, found a foot massage place, and readied ourselves, for the two-hour sessions.

I’d found a spot close to the windows, lain myself down comfortably.  There’s a beer joint on the street, with a small group of three, singing their hearts out, the customers, cramped up inside that small space, with their ice cold beers in hand.  On the other side, there was a traditional Thai food place, although it’s past the noon hours, there’s, no vacancy.  There was also a café/exhibit nearby, looking in, I can see, that there was this oil of the emperor of Thailand hung behind the bars, with a small round table by the door, the few older men who were sitting there became, the tourist attraction for me for the two hours I got my massage.

They looked over fifty, and yet, they had on shirts with cartoon prints, with the shiny, bedazzled belts, their heavy boots, with their tattoos showing from their semi-rolled up sleeves, some had bandanas, others had ponytails, standing or sitting, smoking from time to time, sipping at their black coffees.  Several groups of people took up that spot, from the same cohort, as I can observe, with their cartoon print shirts, neatly, tucked in, their shiny belts showing, one of the men, had two children ages of seven or eight, the children greeted the other men shyly.  The little boy ran into the café, the girl with a small plastic bag, standing in the middle of the street, swaying, one of the middle-aged man gave up his seat for her, she’d smiled and shaken her head, he’d not insisted either, puffed out smoke toward the skies.

the home furnishings section…photo from online…

I’d heard, that some directors would find their next performers from the streets, but this was the very first time I was so intrigued by the act of people-watching, that it’d captivated my attention for so long.  I’d not just looked at them, I’d described the scenes to my friends, and added in the dialogues too, it’d made my friend laugh.  The lady who was massaging her didn’t know why she was cracking up, and just laughed along with her.  My friend told me, “It is like enjoying a movie, while getting a massage”.  And, I’m thinking, that all the stories inside those individuals must be, even more interesting than what we see in the movies.

Ahhh, this, is the joys of people watching, you get to observe what they’re doing, without intruding in their lives, at their most natural states, being themselves, living their daily lives, and to the observers, everything these individuals did feels so intriguing, interesting, but to these “performers” who are unaware that they were being watched, they’re just, living in their ordinary routines.

and there’s, this, also from online…a small place where you can shop for the souvenirs…photo from online still…