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Beyond
The day is beyond me
when the sun is setting beside me
but the memory that once I had
betrays me.
yes, it betrays me
and the light shadows me
shaping a figure
of a man like everyone
but not me.
truly, that figure
is not me,
my soul has leave me,
something there
belongs to someone here,
but not to me.
the doings of the world
in which stories are found
about everyone’s pettiness --
and the truth of
the body's needs
I’m beyond all that.
The last leaf*
The Last Leaf
that autumn made
falls into a lake, beside
the winter gate,
Desperately fades
and feels cold,
with all its yellow dreams
silenced.
Playing cards
Between the day and the night
There is a dispute
firmly, the one says that
there is no wrong; there is no right
the other doubts this and plays his Queen:
Confucius* is a wise man who knows The Way.
“oh, no”, the one disagrees and plays a King:
Certainly, his time is past.
The other ends with a Trump:
the only rule is no rule at all,
which is a heaven-born note.
having no choice,
They both laugh,
but each one thinks to himself
if the time were present,
what does Now represent?
I’m lost.
Soul gathering
they say there is
no law in the world
I doubt that.
consulting a thick tome
from an ancient tomb,
“OH, yes” it says
“There is a law in your heart.”
tightly I hold to this
and proudly I proclaim it.
they laugh at Me and say
“such a man has no soul.”
I feel weak
and sink into the mighty deep.
Who knows?*
The road wriggles forwards,
leading to a place
who knows?
Here, the maple trees
seem to tell me something
but no words are heard,
I recognize the place:
a familiar face was here,
a familiar voice was here
and a figure with one leg
stepping into the past
and the other,
into the present.
Class was over
My daughter came home
School bag thrown to the side of the living room
Her forehead sweating
Tousled dark hair and smiling face.
Then the door was shut behind her,
Then the stained shoes were thrown aside,
Then the slippers shuffled across the floor,
And cool water was soon finished.
Dinner was ready,
But the cartoon was on,
Several times I called
Several times she ignored me.
at the table she sat at last
"Why don’t you have to go to school?"
suddenly she asked
"I go to school every day,” I replied,
"NO, You don't, you've no Schoolbag.”
In spring*
Make me a spring place
please trust that
i can find a way to return there.
give me a spring rain
please believe that
i can keep my heart’s rhythm
bring me a happy dream
and a gentle light
because this life given
is truly heaven.
In winter
Frozen hands
Frozen winter
numb fingers,
throb with pain
in this time of cold.
The voice
of little toes,
trembles
on the deep snow of the bed,
Sleep marks footprints.
On this quiet white plain
the day flashes, hardens,
and blurs the road,
where I stamped
and where
Spring lies buried.
Stars’ eye
I throw a pray
into the depth of the shy
It scrambles
to the roof of the night
slipping to and fro -
a bird seeking shelter,
heavy with her broken cry
repeated hauntingly
may the might of the stars up there
light her upon her way.
Children’s eye*
A picture is finished at last
I hang it on the wall in haste
standing before it
enjoy it for ten minutes on end,
not noticing my daughter beside me…
Something like a critic
with the air of a fancy romantic, she asks,
“Daddy, is it your new one?”
“Oh, yes”
“But, You forgot to put an eye on her face!”
Emotion control
There is no help
but I hold pages of heavy memories,
between the passage
of the day and night.
the door is half opened,
and a long figure has been pressed
between the pages,
a sorry mad sign followed,
with no words uttered.
a silent shadow crashed
just before the eyes water
as I turn away from the shameful light,
I sit on the corner of the bed.
a touch of a warm air,
with an uncontrolled movement
I taste something like red wine
suddenly flooding my mind.
You, always there
The warmth of the warmth,
Goes deep into the house,
The halo and the snow at the north
The candles and poinsettias on the tablecloth
The Tree and its adornments,
With the music flowing around them
Where we sit and give thanks
For what we have received,
And for what we are not in any doubt about -
that You,
always There…
What is in the Day-night?
Bright the day is,
But as dark as it is
in the night,
My eyes wide open
But nothing can I see.
Dark the night is,
But as bright as it is
in the day,
Everything is there,
Sharp, the naked soul.
A page of yesterday
Turning over
a page of yesterday
I was shocked
by a tenuous sound,
“Who is there?” I asked,
no answer came;
“Who are you talking to?” again I asked,
and again no answer came;
time passed unnoticed,
with the clock ticking outside.
I closed the page,
at the end of the light -
then suddenly I heard
a voice to wake the dead:
“YOU! Closed a Shadow of The Day”.
The old classmates*
At the reunion party
strange but familiar
figures and faces in the middle
of the day－a bit of a riddle.
the silence breaks,
sometimes embarrassing, funny,
for none of us are innocent
(family, pregnancy, easy living)
but will we submerge in the past?
And do we know how to submerge it?
Time for dispersal comes,
the end of the day bustles,
we’re on our feet, ready to go.
no one knows what will happen tomorrow
but can we move on now?
and do we know how to move on now?
A small figure of its kind
I am among
the creatures of the common,
happy and angry
depressed and delighted,
that fuse all into one,
into a pond of sound,
the shape of a man
threads through the crowd
of names, forgotten and found
shifted and twisted
and changing every second.
the character of the universe,
where this I was born
at a place as it is
with a brother for company,
that is i ─
a small figure of its kind.
The awkward present*
The clock’s hands point out the hour
that could have been frozen
for thousands of years, as if it said without feeling:
I’m sleeping – don’t wake me up.
while the men and women
don’t know what time meant,
and how the seasons went,
yet they live together
under the same roof of the night,
listening to the steps
of the clock:
‘here it comes, there it goes’,
but day and night are indifferent.
silence is needed, or stillness,
even more stillness, to still
the awkward present.
Snowball
a little boy came and held a snowball,
that hit the neighbor’s wall,
afraid, he ran and slipped to the ground,
but no eyes poked around the door,
I wish i were a snowball.
a little girl came and heaped up a snowball,
which was too big to push at all,
she stood, out of breath,
and placed hope at the top, as the light fell,
I wish i were a snowball.
and i wish I were a snowball,
rolling down the road with the jingle-bells,
singing, laughing all the way, bright,
like a diamond over the silvery white,
I wish I were a snowball.
A cup of tea
a cup of tea -
watching the leaves
sinking in the glass,
eyes floating,
fingers heating
close to the edge
of the cup,
downwards is a face.
upwards are the lips
cold is here,
I sip.
it steams.
In the bushes
on a cut leading into the dark trees
I walk straight ahead
dead leaves under my feet
bury the pure words unuttered.
i stop, touch a trunk
waiting for something to happen
then, an eager crying
like a baby-bird trying its wings
in the bushes,
I look up
through the branches
I discover
The sky has no face.
Leaving*
She goes
with slow steps,
the night says,
and reluctantly,
the door is closed,
a lonely chair behind
a lamp post stands
the window watches,
there
a figure stays.
Something
everything
says anything
in term of nothing
that is all
that nature makes
for the sake of something
Nothing
nothing is possessed
nothing is held
a bend key
to open a door
to what a creature needs --
the room is
Empty.
A puzzle
she’s fastest
she’s slowest
on the same road
at the same time
moving without beginning
stopping without ending,
here she comes
there she goes
being pulled around
this way and that
but still standing.
The Season in Michigan*
The wide green of the green bed,
this wild spreading light,
over there, rolling grass unfolds, laps
pieces of sparkle on the surface,
gray, mauve, purple and yellow,
pink, red, crimson and melting gold,
as sun tops ridge, strikes its ways
through the ranges of trees, down the roads
where shadows are falling.
In this joyful land,
time slips to and fro,
as the leaves flow
the voice of maple
comes and sinks
remains immaculate below
on the Grand River
and over the clouds;
and those could be
the large-tailed squirrel,
black and light blown
his hunters on the ground
and in the trees.
from here to there.
Then the day brushes the edges
of morning and evening
where house-faces hidden;
where man and woman brighten;
where street lamps
bring back the season's memories
to the steps and close
to the doors of the last colorful light
and gold, to fade and fold
under a sky –
You and me…
Impression of Michigan
Here
There
Everywhere
The leaves
Green
Giving rest,
yellow,
Shining,
Red
Gleaming,
Like fire
Burning,
In this world,
A kind nation
Open its wide bosom -
A welcome
For a peaceful land
With a colorful dream
That hints at a figure
Coming and going
But remains a soul always
Standing.
Possession
All that you have
is all that I have not,
and that makes you
I feel shame and grief instead,
I find a room for my soul
To rest in -
simple,
owned by no one.
Crazy kiss
a shamed light
turns away her sight
because here
a touch of two
blazing hearts,
wild, necked and twisted,
with an uncontrolled spirit
kiss to seal
the eyes of night.
A touch
The word is arranged
the sentence is followed.
then meditation is between
the voice of a touch
the touch is burning.
She comes
a perfume wafts
in the gentle wind
I pick up the scent -
She comes,
a step betrays.
“Who is there?”
a voice murmurs
a road beckons
I smiled.
Moon night*
I lift a cup of wine
when spring comes warmly,
and tiptoe on the moon in water,
watching the reflection spread,
Then a stillness clings,
to darkness and to me.
Scenery
The rhyme of seasons,
the music of spring,
wakes up a sleeping green,
the beauty of an old plain.
the voice of a running stream,
the beat of a rolling mountain,
sets off a tremor
in the depths of the soul.
Worry
A finger on a dial
ringing numbers fail,
we must meet
after sunset
where? Not yet decided,
so anxious is the phone,
as fickle is a candle
in the wind.
and so fickle is a candle, aside.
Weekend*
The sticky days are over,
the weekend waits –
a room to myself,
favorite music playing.
a crumb-strewn table here,
unwashed plates there,
clothes on the floor,
icebox still empty.
a mixture of food and books,
then suddenly, a whiff of strange air – stifling.
Even with windows opened,
the freshness of the day is crushed,
and my weekend is ruined.
“Something will happen
Tomorrow”,
I’m speaking to my shadow,
“dress well
and keep the room empty full, l
be alone,
close the door
dying is the sun,
rising is the moon
for the blind darkness,
the path
is only for my soul”.
Zigzag
In the park on Sunday
my daughter is happy and gay.
I'm walking along a small straight way
watching her
Jumping, running
from
the bench
to the flower bed,
behind tree
she picked up a yellow leaf,
before
a statue
standing for a while,
then going over a bridge
and back again
to hide herself in the bush,
throwing a stone
into a stream,
crossing
the path,
circling
a rubbish can
stopping and
climbing up
then hopping down
a large rock
drying her sweats by her sleeves,
the cheeks are dirty,
the hands are dirty,
the shoes are dirty,
the dress is untidy.
Suddenly she stops,
looking up with her arms stretching out:
“Daddy, I’m tired….”
Marriage life
Is food on the table
Invariable,
yet changeable.
It is butter on the bread
A contented mouthful
and flavorsome -.
sometimes salty
and unacceptable.
pepper relished
but sometimes too hot,
vinegar if tasted
leads to emotional crisis
wine, however,
is a delightful ingredient
an enjoyable intoxicating
start to a
wild
night
Night rain
Outside is a raining night
inside is a wet heart
sitting by the side of the bed
a shadow of the night,
seeking a shelter
for the depth of her silence
touched by a turn of thought
this quiet upward moving light:
Beauty’s dream
through a blur of my mind
a sight of a roll of green
as sun tops ridges,
I wake up to beauty’s dream.
A Mad Kiss
In the shade of light
A sigh from the deep warmth of the bed,
The watering lips, hungrily mad;
Eyes, busy
Mind, empty
The curves of a beauty,
Unclothed.
Soft,
As a nice cream,
Supple,
As a tame cat,
Satisfied
The tender breath.
City Lights
Streets, rolling
in lines
and crossing
in three-dimension,
striking a skeleton of the city
reflecting a shining chain
from the ancient caves,
tracing the soul of humanity,
on top of the light
gleams the human brain.
News report
words are flattering,
sentences are flowing,
what happen today?
TV-news reported,
and newspapers headlined,
the corruption and distrust
the evil behaves
just a pause, and not all,
the ads cut in…
Human culture
Prisoned in ice once
is the rough diamond;
reflected from its light
is a spirit in man’s inside
the body of its mind
A chair for two
the stream flows
through a bridge,
and turns about,
it leaves a chair for two,
behind,
with a piece of gleam
on a man,
sitting,
on the one end.
Once accompanied
A gloomy sky is banished at the edge,
and a piece of soft light
casts on my closet that opened,
with a whispering cut
it removes an awkward quiet
that once was cold
that once was accompanied
In the morning
Breakfast on the table
milk in the glass
mingling is the appetite in a plate
smelled is the morning air
outside in the yard
sits a small bird on the ground
but a nest is in the woods over there
“dose she lost her way?”
Little irons
Those little irons
running fast on wheels
are the works of living creatures,
move, in a rush
stop, for a dash.
Victim*
Drunk today
with pay
and yawn
with gray,
an unknown land
of where
I pray－
a silence of day
between the down of light
and a shadow
of my betrayed sight,
long
and skew
cripples a leg of night.
Web
Webbing
With my eyes
Logged in is my sigh
Of a quick mouse.
Clicking,
Crazy pages
Lighten and close
To the dumb fingers,
Linked field,
Blur is my sight
Heavy is the files
Be innocent it may,
To the digital brains.
Impression of Hanoi*
1.
’tis a thousand-year’s visiting
making a thousand-year’s citizen
for the city of Hanoi.
2.
in a long traditional red skirt
with both sides placket
under it, beautiful, soft and slim legs
stroll a sweet smile face.
3.
along the street lower legged tables are placed
on which fire burning under a small round iron disk
mixed foods are cooked, cracked
attracted are people, sitting by, tasting and chatting.
4.
up high are the narrow squared buildings
standing along the roads, side by side,
watching motorcycles’ running and dashing
listening to its breathing and even roaring.
* Note: Confucius (孔子551-479BC), a Chinese thinker, political figure, educator, and founder of the Ru
School of Chinese thought (儒家学说).
English as a Foreign Language) 邀请，参加了在越南河内举行的第八届国际学术会议。休会
期间，只身一人，上街闲逛，所到之处，异国风情，别样感受，故写下：河内印记，以表点滴
的纪念。
河内始建于公元621年，于1010年将国都由宁平省花炉迁到大罗。据传说，当李太祖率众迁
都时，大罗地面飞腾起一条金色的巨龙，太祖认为这是一块吉祥的地方，便将大罗改称为
“Thang
Long”(升龙)。随着历史的变迁，升龙又先后称为中京、东都、东关、东京、北城。直到阮朝
明命十二年(1831年)才因城市被环抱在珥河(红河)大堤之内，最终定名为“河内”，并沿用至
今。2010年即是越南首都河内的1000岁生日。
* 原载河海大学常州校区学报2010年10月31日第四版。