I am walking down the concrete street
And I hear the thumping of a sound
That seems vaguely familiar.
A steady rhythmic sound
I feel the force of a wind
Behind my back, powerful
uplifting me
I do not feel my feet touch the floor
Oh my God I am flying
I feel the wings on my back
Making that steady rhythmic sound
Thumping - the beating of the air
Saturday, February 22, 2014
The girl with the angel wings
I met a girl at the club. A girl with porcelain skin, and angel wings tattooed on her back. We talked a little bit. She came to support a friend. But she left early and her number I did not get. Damn. Now she flies through my dreams. A porcelain angel with tattooed wings on her back.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Love is short, forgetting is so long
if You meant her for me incline her heart to me.
otherwise remove this memory I have of her.
Her beautiful smile.
The memory of our witty conversations.
Remove them all
Let them fade like our footprints on the shoreline
Washed away by the tide of time.
otherwise remove this memory I have of her.
Her beautiful smile.
The memory of our witty conversations.
Remove them all
Let them fade like our footprints on the shoreline
Washed away by the tide of time.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Silence
When you stay silent
like the night sky
And your eyes glisten and
Glimmer like the distant stars
I will be here by your side
The lonely shore waiting
For the evening tide.
Where you go in the dakrness
of your night I am always here
forever waiting,
The Moon waiting for his bright Sunshine
My love is not like an echo
That demands a reply
I love you because I love you.
There is no other reason why
like the night sky
And your eyes glisten and
Glimmer like the distant stars
I will be here by your side
The lonely shore waiting
For the evening tide.
Where you go in the dakrness
of your night I am always here
forever waiting,
The Moon waiting for his bright Sunshine
My love is not like an echo
That demands a reply
I love you because I love you.
There is no other reason why
My heart is made of stone - morning poetry
Touch me there and see if I care
My heart is made of stone
I am immune to despair
(Stuff I write in the morning)
My heart is made of stone
I am immune to despair
(Stuff I write in the morning)
Friday, November 8, 2013
The Dead Soldier's talk by Ha Jin
The Dead Soldier’s Talk
In September 1969, in a shipwreck accident on the Tuman River, a young Chinese soldier was drowned saving a plaster statue of Chairman Mao. He was awarded Merit Citation 2, and was buried at a mountain foot in Hunchun County, Jilin.
I’m tired of lying here.
The mountain and the river are not bad.
Sometimes a bear, a boar, or a deer
comes to this place
as if we were a group of outcast comrades.
I feel lonely and I miss home.
It is very cold when winter comes.
I saw you coming just now
like a little cloud wandering over grassland.
I knew it must have been you,
for no other had come for six years.
Why have you brought me wine and meat
and paper-money again?
I have told you year after year
that I am not superstitious.
Have you the red treasure book with you?
I have forgotten some quotations.
You know I don’t have a good memory.
Again, you left it home.
How about the statue I saved?
Is it still in the museum?
Is our Great Leader in good health?
I wish He live ten thousand years!
Last week I dreamed of our mother
showing my medal to a visitor.
She was still proud of her son
and kept her head up
while going to the fields.
She looked older than last year
and her grey hair troubled my eyes.
I did not see our little sister.
She must be a big girl now.
Has she got a boy friend?
Why are you crying?
Say something to me.
So you think I can’t hear you?
In the early years
you came and stood before my tomb
swearing to follow me as a model.
In recent years
you poured tears every time.
Damn you, why don’t you open your mouth?
Something must have happened.
What? Why don’t you tell me!
By Ha Jin
This poem originally appeared in The Paris Review, #101, Winter 1986.
The Haircut
When we quarreled last time
you promised to give me a special haircut.
Yesterday you fulfilled your word
by shaving my head bald.
You could not straighten your body
and laughed until tears came to your eyes.
How proud you were
while telling your friends
about the masterwork at home!
Our daughter laughed too.
She laughed,
for her daddy’s head was shining like a bulb.
In fact, I also laughed at myself,
for when I lost my first love
I shaved my head the same way.
In our town everybody sighed and shook his head
seeing me walking in the streets
without my dark curly hair
except the girl I loved
who laughed and loved my haircut.
Ha Jin
In September 1969, in a shipwreck accident on the Tuman River, a young Chinese soldier was drowned saving a plaster statue of Chairman Mao. He was awarded Merit Citation 2, and was buried at a mountain foot in Hunchun County, Jilin.
I’m tired of lying here.
The mountain and the river are not bad.
Sometimes a bear, a boar, or a deer
comes to this place
as if we were a group of outcast comrades.
I feel lonely and I miss home.
It is very cold when winter comes.
I saw you coming just now
like a little cloud wandering over grassland.
I knew it must have been you,
for no other had come for six years.
Why have you brought me wine and meat
and paper-money again?
I have told you year after year
that I am not superstitious.
Have you the red treasure book with you?
I have forgotten some quotations.
You know I don’t have a good memory.
Again, you left it home.
How about the statue I saved?
Is it still in the museum?
Is our Great Leader in good health?
I wish He live ten thousand years!
Last week I dreamed of our mother
showing my medal to a visitor.
She was still proud of her son
and kept her head up
while going to the fields.
She looked older than last year
and her grey hair troubled my eyes.
I did not see our little sister.
She must be a big girl now.
Has she got a boy friend?
Why are you crying?
Say something to me.
So you think I can’t hear you?
In the early years
you came and stood before my tomb
swearing to follow me as a model.
In recent years
you poured tears every time.
Damn you, why don’t you open your mouth?
Something must have happened.
What? Why don’t you tell me!
By Ha Jin
This poem originally appeared in The Paris Review, #101, Winter 1986.
The Haircut
When we quarreled last time
you promised to give me a special haircut.
Yesterday you fulfilled your word
by shaving my head bald.
You could not straighten your body
and laughed until tears came to your eyes.
How proud you were
while telling your friends
about the masterwork at home!
Our daughter laughed too.
She laughed,
for her daddy’s head was shining like a bulb.
In fact, I also laughed at myself,
for when I lost my first love
I shaved my head the same way.
In our town everybody sighed and shook his head
seeing me walking in the streets
without my dark curly hair
except the girl I loved
who laughed and loved my haircut.
Ha Jin
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