湿热的十一月
下起了毛毛雨
有腿，有伞，有钱
有心情，有争议
在地铁入口
我的影子不辞而别
留下我和一把花伞
继续徒步
路灯微黄扑朔
街对面的行人
惶恐的瞪着
没有影子的我
迟迟不敢过街
可是
雨丝像烟花般散落
我加快了脚步
无心辩解
绕过教堂的礼拜招贴
再走几步
便到了家门口的石阶
我的影子
老老实实的缩在角落头
像每日清早的速递牛奶瓶
等待主人的认领
我收起伞
笑着问它
是不是忘带了钥匙
是不是等候多时
影子晃悠着避开渐起的水滴
等了三分钟
它说
然后绕到身后
和我一起进屋
我哈哈大笑
地铁和步行
原来相差不多
雨仍旧温柔的下着
淅沥淅沥
淅沥淅沥
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
High Flowers by Michael Ondaatje
High Flowers
by Michael Ondaatje
from 'Running in the family'
The slow moving of her cotton
in the heat
Hard shell of foot.
She chops the yellow coconut
the colour of Anuradhapura stone.
The woman my ancestors ignored
sits at the doorway chopping coconut
cleaning rice.
Her husband moves
in the air between trees.
The curved knife at his hip.
In high shadows
of coconut palms
he graps a path of rope above his head
and another below him with his naked foot.
He drinks the first sweet mounthful
from the cut flower, then drains it
into a narrow-necked pot
and steps out to the next tree.
Above the small roads of Wattala,
Kalutara, the toddy tapper walks
collecting the white liquid for tavern vats.
Down here the light
storms through branches
and boils the street.
Villagers stand in the shadow and drink
the fluid from a coned leaf.
He works fast to reach his quota
before the maniac monsoon.
The shape of knife and pot
do not vary from 18th Century museum prints.
In the village,
a woman shuffles rice
in a cane mat.
Grit and husk separate
are thrown to the sun.
From his darkness among high flowers
to this room contained by mud walls
everything that is important occurs in shadow -
her discreet slow moving his dreams of walking
from tree to tree without ropes.
It is not vanity which allows him this freedom
but skill and habit, the curved knife
his father gave him, it is the coolness up there
- for the ground's heat has not yet risen -
which makes him forget necessity.
Kings. Fortresses. Traffic in open sun.
Within a doorway the woman
turns in the old pleasure of darkness.
In the high trees above her
shadows eliminate
the path he moves along.
by Michael Ondaatje
from 'Running in the family'
The slow moving of her cotton
in the heat
Hard shell of foot.
She chops the yellow coconut
the colour of Anuradhapura stone.
The woman my ancestors ignored
sits at the doorway chopping coconut
cleaning rice.
Her husband moves
in the air between trees.
The curved knife at his hip.
In high shadows
of coconut palms
he graps a path of rope above his head
and another below him with his naked foot.
He drinks the first sweet mounthful
from the cut flower, then drains it
into a narrow-necked pot
and steps out to the next tree.
Above the small roads of Wattala,
Kalutara, the toddy tapper walks
collecting the white liquid for tavern vats.
Down here the light
storms through branches
and boils the street.
Villagers stand in the shadow and drink
the fluid from a coned leaf.
He works fast to reach his quota
before the maniac monsoon.
The shape of knife and pot
do not vary from 18th Century museum prints.
In the village,
a woman shuffles rice
in a cane mat.
Grit and husk separate
are thrown to the sun.
From his darkness among high flowers
to this room contained by mud walls
everything that is important occurs in shadow -
her discreet slow moving his dreams of walking
from tree to tree without ropes.
It is not vanity which allows him this freedom
but skill and habit, the curved knife
his father gave him, it is the coolness up there
- for the ground's heat has not yet risen -
which makes him forget necessity.
Kings. Fortresses. Traffic in open sun.
Within a doorway the woman
turns in the old pleasure of darkness.
In the high trees above her
shadows eliminate
the path he moves along.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Sweet like a crow
by Michael Ondaatje, from the book 'Running in the family'.
Sweet Like a Crow
"The Sinhalese are beyond a doubt one of the least musical
people in the world. It would be quite impossible to have
less sense of pitch, line, or rhythm."
- Paul Bowles
Your voice sounds like a scorpion being pushed
through a glass tube
like someone has just trod on a peacock
like wind howling in a coconut
like a rusty bible, like someone pulling barbed wire
across a stone courtyard, like a pig drowning,
a vattacka being fried
a bone shaking hands
a frog singing at Carnegie Hall.
Like a crow swimming in milk,
like a nose being hit by a mango
like the crowd at the Royal-Thornian match,
a womb full of twins, a pariah dog
with a magpie in its mouth
like the midnight jet from Casablanca
like Air Pakistan curry,
a typewriter on fire, like a spirit in the gas
which cooks your dinner, like a hundred
pappadans being crunched, like someone
uselessly trying to light 3 Roses matches in a dark room,
the clicking sound of a reef when you put your head into the sea,
a dolphin reciting epic poetry to a sleepy audience,
the sound of a fan when someone throws brinjals at it,
like pineapples being sliced in the Pettah market
like betel juice hitting a butterfly in mid-air
like a whole village running naked onto the street
and tearing their sarongs, like an angry family
pushing a jeep out of the mud, like dirt on the needle,
like 8 sharks being carried on the back of a bicycle
like 3 old ladies locked in the lavatory
like the sound I heard when having an afternoon sleep
and someone walked through my room in ankle bracelets.
Sweet Like a Crow
"The Sinhalese are beyond a doubt one of the least musical
people in the world. It would be quite impossible to have
less sense of pitch, line, or rhythm."
- Paul Bowles
Your voice sounds like a scorpion being pushed
through a glass tube
like someone has just trod on a peacock
like wind howling in a coconut
like a rusty bible, like someone pulling barbed wire
across a stone courtyard, like a pig drowning,
a vattacka being fried
a bone shaking hands
a frog singing at Carnegie Hall.
Like a crow swimming in milk,
like a nose being hit by a mango
like the crowd at the Royal-Thornian match,
a womb full of twins, a pariah dog
with a magpie in its mouth
like the midnight jet from Casablanca
like Air Pakistan curry,
a typewriter on fire, like a spirit in the gas
which cooks your dinner, like a hundred
pappadans being crunched, like someone
uselessly trying to light 3 Roses matches in a dark room,
the clicking sound of a reef when you put your head into the sea,
a dolphin reciting epic poetry to a sleepy audience,
the sound of a fan when someone throws brinjals at it,
like pineapples being sliced in the Pettah market
like betel juice hitting a butterfly in mid-air
like a whole village running naked onto the street
and tearing their sarongs, like an angry family
pushing a jeep out of the mud, like dirt on the needle,
like 8 sharks being carried on the back of a bicycle
like 3 old ladies locked in the lavatory
like the sound I heard when having an afternoon sleep
and someone walked through my room in ankle bracelets.
H
On 11/15/06, Colin Hua wrote:
哎，最近真是心情糟糕透顶，郁郁寡欢，闷闷不乐。现在才知道TOEFL GRE只不过是一个最低门槛，考再高也用处不大，申请美国大学，关键是GPA，关键是看是不是名牌毕业，最好还有PAPER，哎，我是三无，成绩又那么差，都说积点至少3，我有2,.5就很不错了，简直快崩溃了。你看你呢，连包弦都要拖，搞的我弹琴---最后的抚慰方式都不爽，雪上加霜。哎，极其郁闷，极其郁闷。当然不是催你寄，就算弦明天到我还是郁闷，我一想到可能前功尽弃，我真是快哭了。没想到大学里的成绩是那么重要，现在心理怎么都不是滋味，考GRE TOEFL花了那么多心思，却因为以前欠的债现在陷入非常被动的局面，心有不甘，可我对中国这边的前途和社会环境又一点信心都没有，我这种人在这类重视虚假的社会怎么活？还有那些搞音乐的朋友的背叛，大众欣赏水平的肤浅，搞音乐的人的急功近利，艺术的恶俗化，大众的愚昧化，政府的邪恶化，哎。。。。。。。不说了，心理郁闷，发发牢骚，别见怪
On 11/15/06, z z wrote:
你尽管发牢骚好了，出去本来就很难，说实话你这个人又那么直，我说你那么聪明就没有为自己留条后路，读书对你又不难，就算搞音乐是正业读书为次你也不能因为读书无用就完全鄙弃了。。。现在说这个是废话，你听了还更郁闷。搞音乐又不像读书找工作有套路可寻，也不应该有什么安全感，豁出去了就想开些。你一直把去美国当成终极目标，这样子压力也太大了，可你也不知道以后会发生什么不是么，机会有时候是在自己最无意识的时候降临的，这个是运气没人可以控制，你现在得不到的并不是终点。在没有为自己留后路的情况下还是不要患得患失的比较明智。先找份工作赚点钱，面试的时候再说我只想搞音乐你就真对不起音乐了，养不活自己还谈什么创作，好歹留得青山在不怕没柴烧吧。 你是超理想主义的，这个我也是，觉得活得很痛苦， 你别看我在国外，有很多事情我都想不通的，先不说了。你先找份工作好不好，就算我关心你给的很现实很中肯的建议。从被动的状态调整到有主动权的状态要很长时间的，你不现实的话更难。
那个时候听你说，听听乡村布鲁斯心理平和到不想打仗，后来我想，喜欢音乐和做音乐是有区别的。你可以去个安静的小镇晚上在酒吧弹自己喜欢的音乐，有小部分观众。可你不满现在的音乐状况，又想革命。把音乐推销出去，你自己的音乐你的喜好一旦被这个社会裁决的时候就处于脱手的游离状态了。我不是冠冕堂皇，虽然我自己很少创作，但可以理解不管是音乐人，作家，画家，作品一拖手可以说就不再是自己的了。做好被糟蹋打击的准备，就算你不想打仗也由不得你。让人扫兴的事情太多了吧。你在哪个阶段，想哭也想退出吗？
考试的成绩先留着，还没那么快作废的。弹着吉他的时候还是快乐的吧，别忘了先养活自己，虽然很痛苦但坚持下来就没事了。不要那么早放弃，你之前放弃的已经够多了，先调整一下。可以考虑信基督了，如果心里好受些。弦我铁定会寄，照顾好自己比较重要，你也清醒点。
On 11/15/06, Colin Hua wrote:
谢谢你。现在的我处于一种狂乱状态。不管怎么，还是要收拾心情准备申请材料，不管能不能成功，总要一试的。只是觉得心情无比的压抑。
觉得你也说的对，做音乐本来就是做给别人的，哎。可我期望的状态是写我自己喜欢的歌然后有人上来听，而不是这种被动的去迎合。活了20多年，最讨厌也从来不做的就是迎合奉承别人了，可是感觉在中国，有这么个原则真是致命的"缺点"。发牢骚的同时，绝望的同时，我还是会每天练琴的，然后也会想办法准备资料，情况也不是到了我在到处找氰化物的时候 ：）
生活就是很奇怪的，不管是中国的人，还是加拿大的你，或者美国的谁，似乎永远对生活有这样那样的不满。超理想主义者会是什么结局呢？似乎对生活总是觉得郁闷和不满，你是这样吗？也许我把美国当成一个理想中的世界，也许真去了，会发现那边很差，那我岂不崩溃？所以还是说想的越少日子反而越开心，可现在也没法再去做愚昧的人了，只能希望无限接近自己的理想生活吧
我姐姐叫我到美国学什么统计，说好找工作，其实仔细想想我真学了这个，难道人生就完满了？现在后悔的无非是当时放任自己的专业不管，弄的现在想学其他专业那么困难。说实话，我好想学地理或者考古啊，然后在美国学完后跟着世界的一流大学者满世界跑着挖东西 ：）我的终极理想，我多年的梦想，做个医生，或者研究攻克癌症和其他绝症的梦想，只有靠你们这些学生物的来实现了。放心，如果我有钱了，我会非常多的捐给实验室做科研。呵呵，又开始做梦了。。。。
哎，最近真是心情糟糕透顶，郁郁寡欢，闷闷不乐。现在才知道TOEFL GRE只不过是一个最低门槛，考再高也用处不大，申请美国大学，关键是GPA，关键是看是不是名牌毕业，最好还有PAPER，哎，我是三无，成绩又那么差，都说积点至少3，我有2,.5就很不错了，简直快崩溃了。你看你呢，连包弦都要拖，搞的我弹琴---最后的抚慰方式都不爽，雪上加霜。哎，极其郁闷，极其郁闷。当然不是催你寄，就算弦明天到我还是郁闷，我一想到可能前功尽弃，我真是快哭了。没想到大学里的成绩是那么重要，现在心理怎么都不是滋味，考GRE TOEFL花了那么多心思，却因为以前欠的债现在陷入非常被动的局面，心有不甘，可我对中国这边的前途和社会环境又一点信心都没有，我这种人在这类重视虚假的社会怎么活？还有那些搞音乐的朋友的背叛，大众欣赏水平的肤浅，搞音乐的人的急功近利，艺术的恶俗化，大众的愚昧化，政府的邪恶化，哎。。。。。。。不说了，心理郁闷，发发牢骚，别见怪
On 11/15/06, z z
你尽管发牢骚好了，出去本来就很难，说实话你这个人又那么直，我说你那么聪明就没有为自己留条后路，读书对你又不难，就算搞音乐是正业读书为次你也不能因为读书无用就完全鄙弃了。。。现在说这个是废话，你听了还更郁闷。搞音乐又不像读书找工作有套路可寻，也不应该有什么安全感，豁出去了就想开些。你一直把去美国当成终极目标，这样子压力也太大了，可你也不知道以后会发生什么不是么，机会有时候是在自己最无意识的时候降临的，这个是运气没人可以控制，你现在得不到的并不是终点。在没有为自己留后路的情况下还是不要患得患失的比较明智。先找份工作赚点钱，面试的时候再说我只想搞音乐你就真对不起音乐了，养不活自己还谈什么创作，好歹留得青山在不怕没柴烧吧。 你是超理想主义的，这个我也是，觉得活得很痛苦， 你别看我在国外，有很多事情我都想不通的，先不说了。你先找份工作好不好，就算我关心你给的很现实很中肯的建议。从被动的状态调整到有主动权的状态要很长时间的，你不现实的话更难。
那个时候听你说，听听乡村布鲁斯心理平和到不想打仗，后来我想，喜欢音乐和做音乐是有区别的。你可以去个安静的小镇晚上在酒吧弹自己喜欢的音乐，有小部分观众。可你不满现在的音乐状况，又想革命。把音乐推销出去，你自己的音乐你的喜好一旦被这个社会裁决的时候就处于脱手的游离状态了。我不是冠冕堂皇，虽然我自己很少创作，但可以理解不管是音乐人，作家，画家，作品一拖手可以说就不再是自己的了。做好被糟蹋打击的准备，就算你不想打仗也由不得你。让人扫兴的事情太多了吧。你在哪个阶段，想哭也想退出吗？
考试的成绩先留着，还没那么快作废的。弹着吉他的时候还是快乐的吧，别忘了先养活自己，虽然很痛苦但坚持下来就没事了。不要那么早放弃，你之前放弃的已经够多了，先调整一下。可以考虑信基督了，如果心里好受些。弦我铁定会寄，照顾好自己比较重要，你也清醒点。
On 11/15/06, Colin Hua
谢谢你。现在的我处于一种狂乱状态。不管怎么，还是要收拾心情准备申请材料，不管能不能成功，总要一试的。只是觉得心情无比的压抑。
觉得你也说的对，做音乐本来就是做给别人的，哎。可我期望的状态是写我自己喜欢的歌然后有人上来听，而不是这种被动的去迎合。活了20多年，最讨厌也从来不做的就是迎合奉承别人了，可是感觉在中国，有这么个原则真是致命的"缺点"。发牢骚的同时，绝望的同时，我还是会每天练琴的，然后也会想办法准备资料，情况也不是到了我在到处找氰化物的时候 ：）
生活就是很奇怪的，不管是中国的人，还是加拿大的你，或者美国的谁，似乎永远对生活有这样那样的不满。超理想主义者会是什么结局呢？似乎对生活总是觉得郁闷和不满，你是这样吗？也许我把美国当成一个理想中的世界，也许真去了，会发现那边很差，那我岂不崩溃？所以还是说想的越少日子反而越开心，可现在也没法再去做愚昧的人了，只能希望无限接近自己的理想生活吧
我姐姐叫我到美国学什么统计，说好找工作，其实仔细想想我真学了这个，难道人生就完满了？现在后悔的无非是当时放任自己的专业不管，弄的现在想学其他专业那么困难。说实话，我好想学地理或者考古啊，然后在美国学完后跟着世界的一流大学者满世界跑着挖东西 ：）我的终极理想，我多年的梦想，做个医生，或者研究攻克癌症和其他绝症的梦想，只有靠你们这些学生物的来实现了。放心，如果我有钱了，我会非常多的捐给实验室做科研。呵呵，又开始做梦了。。。。
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
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