ramona's profileLa ViePhotosBlogListsMore ![]() | Help |
|
April 03 Søren Kierkegaard "Without risk there is no faith. Faith is precisely the contradiction between the infinite passion of the individual’s inwardness and the objective uncertainty. If I am capable of grasping God objectively, I do not believe, but precisely because I cannot do this I must believe. If I wish to preserve myself in faith I must constantly be intent upon holding fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out upon the deep, over seventy thousand fathoms of water, still preserving my faith." April 02 Jacques PrevertLe désespoir est assis sur un banc
Dans un square sur un banc Il y a un homme qui vous appelle quand on passe Il a des binocles un vieux costumes gris Il fume un petit ninas il est assis Et il vous appelle quand on passe Ou simplement il vous fait signe Il ne faut pas le regarder Il ne faut pas l'écouter Il faut passer Faire comme si on ne le voyais pas Comme si on ne l'entendais pas Il faut passer presser le pas Si vous le regardez Si vous l'écoutez Il vous fait signe et rien ni personne Ne peut vous empêcher d'aller vous asseoir près de lui Alors il vous regarde et sourit Et vous souffrez atrocement Et l'homme continue de sourire Et vous souriez du même sourire Exactement Plus vous souriez plus vous souffrez Atrocement Plus vous souffrez plus vous souriez Irrémédiablement Et vous restez là Assis figé Souriant sur le banc Des enfants jouent tout près de vous Des passants passent Tranquillement Des oiseaux s'envolent Quittant un arbre Pour un autre Et vous restez là Sur le banc Et vous savez vous savez Que jamais plus vous ne jouerez Comme ces enfants Vous savez que jamais plus vous ne passerez Tranquillement Comme ces passants Que jamais plus vous ne vous envolerez Quittant un arbre pour un autre Comme ces oiseaux. (Jacques Prévert, Paroles, 1946) January 01 Two of the poems for final examReduced to Nothing
All walls, All windows, Toppling down to me
All lives, All histories, Condensing onto my head
All tables and chairs around
Converging, into the huge armchair I’m in
Submerged in the flood
Diminished to the Minimum
Reduced,
Reduced to
Nothing
Jackstraw
On the centre of the white
Glaring, spinning are
Drunken Choices
Without a solid floor
To stand
On the back of the white
Stagger, switching are
Stealthy controls
Frantic invisible threads
Of thousand
O, you hollow jackstraw
December 27 Confessions Ici commence le court bonheur de ma vie; ici viennent les paisibles mais rapides moments qui m'ont donné le droit de dire que j'ai vécu. Moments précieux et si regrettés! ah! recommencez pour moi votre aimable cours; coulez plus lentement dans mon souvenir, s'il est possible, que vous ne fîtes réellement dans votre fugitive succession. Comment ferai-je pour prolonger à mon gré ce récit si touchant et si simple, pour redire toujours les mêmes choses, et n'ennuyer pas plus mes lecteurs en les répétant, que je ne m'ennuyais moi-même en les recommençant sans cesse? Encore si tout cela consistait en faits, en actions, en paroles, je pourrais le décrire et le rendre en quelque façon; mais comment dire ce qui n'était ni dit ni fait, ni pensé même, mais goûté, mais senti, sans que je puisse énoncer d'autre objet de mon bonheur que ce sentiment même? Je me levais avec le soleil, et j'étais heureux; je me promenais, et j'étais heureux; je voyais maman, et j'étais heureux; je la quittais, et j'étais heureux; je parcourais les bois, les coteaux, j'errais dans les vallons, je lisais, j'étais oisif, je travaillais au jardin, je cueillais les fruits, j'aidais au ménage, et le bonheur me suivait partout: il n'était dans aucune chose assignable, il était tout en moi-même, il ne pouvait me quitter un seul instant.
Rien de tout ce qui m'est arrivé durant cette époque chérie, rien de ce que j'ai fait, dit et pensé tout le temps qu'elle a duré n'est échappé de ma mémoire. Les temps qui précèdent et qui suivent me reviennent par intervalles; je me les rappelle inégalement et confusément; mais je me rappelle celui-là tout entier comme s'il durait encore. Mon imagination, qui dans ma jeunesse allait toujours en avant, et maintenant rétrograde, compense par ces doux souvenirs l'espoir que j'ai pour jamais perdu. Je ne vois plus rien dans l'avenir qui me tente; les seuls retours du passé peuvent me flatter, et ces retours si vifs et si vrais dans l'époque dont je parle me font souvent vivre heureux malgré mes malheurs.
Livre VI, 1766. December 17 Poetry writing course: exercise thirteenIn-class exercise, based on the taste of a candy: (just for fun,haha)
An aerolite falls
Pouring
Down unto a river
Melting
A universe of
Benumbing December 09 Poetry writing course: exercise twelve Soul
Bloody red upon the pond
Birdy ripple brushing the sand
Circular sun upon the cliff
White light on the glistening reef
Slant reflections engraving in time
Bright moist above the unfolding palm
Purple mist immersed in the air?
Or, Ghost in the machine?
Never, be.
December 05 Poetry writing course: exercise elevenSoliloquy
Drink the sorrow in your eyes
Drink the mute by your lips
Drink the light in the night
Your ghost-like face
Illuminate upon the dark air
Drink your beating heart
Drink your lowered head
Drink your attentive look
Infiltrate the crowd before
To his eyes into your heart’s core
Drink, you silly creature
A Despair, a supreme ecstasy
A zest but west towards death
A happiness that devours time
An endless wait, along it
Stretching duration
Nothing needs to see
Nothing needs to say
Nothing needs to hear
When his voice sounds
You just be, in the audience.
Mute, unmoved, eyes closed
Yet your soul, melt with his
Shining and hugging
On the realm above
November 30 Poetry writing course: exercise tenWindow
An obscure corner of a house
Papers scattered around
Characters spilled into pieces
Of which in the midst
Crouched is a writhing man
Submerged in a gentle illumination
Covered in photons, the sore clusters
Along the direction of his head
Slant is the wintry sunset
A path dimly pours in
From the silhouetted windowpane
Outside against the lilac skyline
A wisp of rosy mist wavering
And beyond, boundlessness
Another obscure house
The same slant of sunset
With a touch of yellow old
Through a different windowpane
Shining, to the opposite wooden wall
On which a silhouetted woman
Waving her hand to the remote
And beyond, boundlessness November 22 Poetry writing course: exercise nineNoumenon Slices of sunset pour down
Then golden particles float among the air
Then golden particles filter between the bare
Cool wind blows over the autumn
Then pieces of shadows flow
Then different paths change
Balalaika trembles from the remote
Then light gleamingly shining the above
Then hearts waning like the lute of love
Outside the causality of phenomenon
Where is that dwelling place
Of the reality, of that very noumenon Poetry writing course: exercise eightHome The door slightly opens
Out dimly radiating
The light, and shadows
Floating on the wall
Slowly zooming you in
The white hot light
Soughing leaves beaming above
Silver path winding beneath
Summoning from distance
The Duet, Soar to the azure
Diminishing in the air
Fading, in the memory Poetry writing course: exercise sevenIn-class exercise within 20minutes, based on a photo
Above
Grayish atoms permeate
Rolling, storming and thundering
Beneath
A withered leaf mute
A stone path unmoved
Shadowing, subtle lights
Interlock, on the extending of the time
In between
A red tiny girl
A mysterious smile
A zest in solitude
For the past, condensing in one minute
Diminishing, along her stretching hand November 06 Poetry writing course: exercise sixA Gloomy Evening
Leaves soughing in the wind
Yellow, withered, variegated
Dancing, the tiny holes
Moth-eaten traces
You squeeze through the crowd
You begin to talk to me
Your voice sounds
Something seizes my core
Tears, swell in my heart
I lower my head
Drooping my eyes
Your voice keeps
My tears swells
Yet I cannot say a word
Yet I cannot say a word
Dusk condensing out
Wind pooping the panes
Yes I know, quite well
I know, all of these, clearly
Wind wraps leaves, knocking on the door
Wind wraps leaves, rustling across the chill
Yes I know, quite well
I know, all of these, clearly
Yes I know, all of these
Even lowering my head
I know, all of these
Even drooping my eyes
Even hairs, curtain before me
I know
All of these, clearly
Tears swell in my heart
Pins prick on my core
I look into you
Looking into you
Yet I cannot say a word
I cannot say a word
Mute, dumb, being forever Poetry writing course: exercise fiveLifeSplitting, the abrupt ruptureTwigs whiz out of my bosomBudding in a flashWavering among the airRocketing, the frantic growthUnto a bang with the interiorA bell-shaped containerSo solid, so transparentCold, like fine particlesSneaking into my bodyI do twine about the wallI do tear upon the wallI do gnaw into the wallYet stuck in a closed spaceDiminishing, bit by bitReduced to nothingSpontaneous process irreversibleOctober 21 Poetry writing course: exercise fourPoetry
A net
A twined net
A twined nylon net
A net
A strained net
A strained struggling net
A net
A net brusquely breaking
With thin yarns of each breaks
Wafting, along the air it breaks
And the net beyond
A void
A misty mystery
An infinity October 16 Poetry writing course: exercise threeScheherzade of Rimsky-Korsakov
Billows tilting up and sinking down
To the heave of the melodious dawn
Equally with the rhythm of my heart
Where Violin overflows like a dart
Trembling and sobbing
Melancholic like my heart
Through the golden blurry bright
Sparkling is the radiating light
I shun from the real saying
Escaped from my inner being
Scared its keen subtle sensation
Slumping into deeper desolation
My heart weeping, to the
Nostalgic tune’s exhaling
Gigantic strings like the vast woods
The immense silence reveals the secret truth
The clarinet gliding, the wind sliding
The safe light of warming
Under which stones solemnly frolicking
On the dry soft field of the woods
I sail; glistening is the sea
Shivering wind circles salty moist
And sunlight pokes grayish mist
Drops of the light trickle down
Into the chromatic transparency
My heart weeping, to the
Nostalgic tune’s exhaling
The truth in the memory
The trace in the age-old imagery
I take on my grand black frock
Treading to the horizontal drippy sun
My head lowering in the gown
A divot of Primrose, a piece of sky
The ancient sight
My soul is there
The woods tilting up and sinking down
To the heave of my heart’s core
Deep in the forest are the remote echoes
With the clarinet gliding, the wind sliding
And the safe light of warming
Stones solemnly frolicking
On the dry field of the woods
I soar up to the azure,
Hovering and looking down
Transcending every dawn
I am free, in a splendid realm
October 06 Poetry writing course: exercise twoMemory
Desire twitching in my blood
I see your eyes
Penetrating the thick grey of mud
Fretted I am
On thorns of fierce flying flood
Seemingly a dice
At the extreme of the time
Stinging me for desires
I jump and override
For every calling it cried
Hammering at my core
Whenever I recall
The white shaded noon
With you roamed by the poon
I felt my sight, when
Looking up your profile
Melting in the light
Of radiating style
A stick simply can
Agitate me till stun
The memory with you
A memory
Never comes back again September 30 良宵吟题解(转) “良宵引”之为曲,亦以合律之音而述良宵之景象事情,而形神兼备,以成佳曲。
义解则依《松弦馆琴谱》,解其一音一句,成其象以明其义。其始于下。
背景:
良宵朗月 独倚亭榭 秋籁俱静 灯火不兴
曲始:
(第一段)
清风拂面来 幽幽微微
俄而飘逝 思绪随之远
枯叶两三 风中轻旋 旋之又旋 落于阶下 又欲起时 风已去 再下而止
枯叶再三 轻飘不散 盘于空中 趋于地面 欲起不起 风静而已
忽而拂于面颊 欲看时,已至庭前 再而落于前,手欲捧之 而叶飘忽于手起之风,数旋而止于掌心 掌倾叶落 飘然足下 心下感慨 思绪万千 (繁茂亦终有尽 而天地亘古 虽知我辈如过客 匆匆然 来又远去 然生为三界有情 能不在其中乎 能不受其扰乎 有情众生之苦 于此矣)
(第二段)
故事上心头 深远连绵 一声轻叹 惆怅再起
心绊于情而上下 欲定之而又摇摆 不自已而神游往昔 旧事旧情 激荡于心 思于其后 其意深长
往昔已逝 若忽忽然 神回于今 尚存一念 追溯故情 心头数转 随逝去而趋于平
(第三段)
回思已毕 愁绪更增 旧事已释 仍怀旧情
心下辗转 一再难息 强自平静 尤难释怀
再上心头 不下眉头 心怀激动 欲静不能
情思荡漾 终于释然 感慨不已 长叹复长叹
愁情松释 再忆往事 神往思之 何不如是
于是激动再起 深思其后 此耶彼耶 知造化弄人些
一切皆成过去 神又回复当下 追溯之情渐远 逐风而逝 只存故人之思 心念定于此 而不复乱
(结尾)
旧事已淡淡 虽思之而情不复动 心下明因果 是而不复惑于情 故交欢愉之事 随风来去 终远逝 心下清明 还顾良宵朗月清风 又欲念时 故人渐远 轻叹一声 世事多深浅 罢了
曲至此而终 义韵犹存 是以太息片刻 不可骤起 September 25 Poetry writing course: exercise oneRain
Walking in the rain
Yellow withered leaves
carved variegatedly
On the red-brick pavement
Tiptoeing in the prudence
Map of the yellow and red
Sketched confusingly
My coming whole life
Cautiously avoiding
The mud water on the ground
Living for dignity and elegancy
I feel the mud, running down my leg
Vexing and annoying
I cannot bend to wipe
In the haze of the mist
I walk like a ship
Coldness filtering
Half-awake pores
Undermining body
Invading into the soul
Bloody-red photinia
Wasteland of hysteria
I kick out all the order
Exhaust up every infinitude
I live, for all the lives one can live
Yet front is only a mud of water
A yellow withered leaf
A dying man of blood
African ants is swarming
Into my body frantically
Gorging my heart
Drinking my blood
I crouch and weep
I stagger in the wind
I crawl on the mud
With the void inside
And the wet outside August 20 无聊至极的结果:我的信念似山,于是,山崩了
我的信念似石,于是,石裂了
我把信念收到抽屉里,然而,被虫蛀了
好吧,我找来保险柜
结结实实地锁好它
可是,上帝啊,我竟然忘记了密码
很久以前,我以为那棵老槐树下
最安全
披着星光和树影
我把信念埋到地下,
可惜,似乎活得太久
记忆开始变得模糊
或者,时间过得太快
所有的槐树都一齐变老?
我抬首仰望 头顶的星空
低头思索 内心的道德法则
依然了无头绪
究竟哪颗槐树
很久以前
我时常坐在树下读书
白色的风吹过
草地散发出迷人的水气
阳光抓起大把的树叶
慢慢地 慢慢地
洒向大地
等一等
我大概糊涂了
很久以前
我时常坐在树下睡觉
紫色的风抓来
淡蓝的雾霭
和灰色的夕阳
浓密的枝丫扯下我的书页
草地的残阳
慢慢地 慢慢地
洒向睡熟的我
然而,一切都变了
都变了
我醒了
跳起来追逐远处一个
炙热耀眼的东西
我拼命的奔跑
把它想象成太阳
至少,我告诉自己那是太阳
它太刺眼 我看不清
只是像个疯子般一直奔跑
我很幸福 很幸福
唯一的念头
就是竭尽所能靠近它
周围都是黑暗
光就是从那里来的
我离它越来越近
越来越近
越来越近
越来越近
我到了
却发现世界坍塌了
我紧紧抓过它
拼命的摇
结果是 本来瓦数不高的
地下室灯泡 断了钨丝
我置身绝对的黑暗
没有星光
因为是在地下室
我怀念树下的日子
因为 可以睡觉
不过 这都是很久以前的事了
还是想想到底
我把信念埋在何处
太疲倦了,很想找棵树睡觉
但愿可以睡得着
很久没有睡过了
可到底是哪颗槐树?
国槐? 洋槐? 龙爪槐??
好吧 或许那根本就不是槐树
或许 我根本没有埋过它
August 16 一个夏夜 一个夏夜
我的窗敞开
敞向无边的静谧
没有窗帘
或者窗帘消失
夜空笔直地流入
浮游于虚空之中
似乎 灵魂
在风中抽象到
世界的尽头
冰峰闪烁
炙白眩目
水滴循势而下
不急
不缓
不紧
不慢
没有风 没有声
没有形而上学
甚至没有水 没有冰
只是
清脆 空灵
高邈 宁静
无须思考
无须判断
每个毛孔都散发着
宁静 和空气
和 淡紫的雾气
无限纤细的知觉
在清澄的黎明
我的脚伸开
伸向积木般的迷乱城市
我的臂张开
张向刺眼浮云的白色天空
我的身躯就是空气
消散 弥散
布满中间无数粒子的空间
我的目光 环绕四周
聚成蜿蜒飘忽的天际线
我的心 我的胸腔
我的魂
除了理性 什么都是
除了金色 什么都不是
我是世界 又是虚无
琴声消逝
一切结束
窗子关闭 窗帘浮现
我坐在窗边
夏夜已尽
而理性
像一个巨大的微笑
出现在黎明灿烂的天边
|
|
|