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    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 Prevert

    Le 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 exam

    Reduced 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 thirteen

    In-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 eleven

    Soliloquy
    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 ten

    Window
    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 nine

    Noumenon

    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 eight

    Home

    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 seven

    In-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 six

    A 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 five

    Life

    Splitting, the abrupt rupture

    Twigs whiz out of my bosom

    Budding in a flash

    Wavering among the air

     

    Rocketing, the frantic growth

    Unto a bang with the interior

    A bell-shaped container

     

    So solid, so transparent

    Cold, like fine particles

    Sneaking into my body

     

    I do twine about the wall

    I do tear upon the wall

    I do gnaw into the wall

     

    Yet stuck in a closed space

    Diminishing, bit by bit

    Reduced to nothing

    Spontaneous process irreversible

    October 21

    Poetry writing course: exercise four

    Poetry
    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 three

    Scheherzade 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 two

    Memory
    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 one

    Rain
    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
    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