Returning Home to Mother

Television-light draws crazy-busy lines
Enigma white corner quiet lengthened
An antique vase once perfect
Porcelain face now perfected
In splits left by knocks and falls
Straining against changing winds
That now charge through black-hole
Window of this card-house you
Pretend not to see father and I
In but somehow hold it all
Together in your breath.

P.S.: Now, this is one poem I am glad to have written.

Being "Jesus"

If to live is to act and think, regardless wrongly or correctly, literally, then one would have contributed in some way to this world: as a hero, or a villain inspiring heroics. Of course, assuming this world needs a hero, in that old world sense - like Superman, the one you can always depend on to resolve the most difficult problem saving the world, willingly sacrificing himself, and most importantly without thoughts of personal reward. Even considering there is only grey, no black or white - but that is another story and pushing too close to the truth, which can be bad for argument. On one hand, my defensive mechanism - and it's only for my own good - prohibits me from thinking that flawless "hero" still exists, on another hand, it's like a miracle that we want to believe, and for some, fuelled by religion - like the Christian's God - and some unfounded childhood innocence, we continue to. And part of me continues to believe that I can be that "hero" - without the world-saving part, that is, but doing good among the "ugly faces", thinking they too have some goodness in them around me. Yes, I am "Jesus" being crucified, yet smiling to all mankind. And I don't even believe in His existence. Or maybe, humans are fallen angels who have only lost their power upon falling in love with this place we called Earth. And that is good enough for me.

P.S.: Say, did I ever proclaim that if there is a God, or a Creator, he must be alien, mutated, or able to transform himself or herself (whatever, He is not even human) into any ordinary, everyday shape - that is why he is everywhere, knows everything and just like that breeze. Like that Corrinne May's song about an angel before her eyes, and she only sees him when he performs a generous act.

Sunday's Double Bill: "A Separation" & "A Simple Life"

To underscore how much being able to watch this Iranian film meant to me, I have to thank the Academy Award's fame and for giving it the nod for Best Foreign Language Film in 2012, as a result, bringing it to our shore. The film's title emits a subdued, deliberately undermining ring, but does not distract this audience, rather draws his attention to its main theme. The film director and writer, Asghar Farhadi, shows knife-edge perception and observations of a society divided by social status (the rich and the poor), generation gap (parents and child), gender and perhaps culture (East and West). I would have named it "The Great Divide" for dramatic effect - that is, in a broader sense, after the difference too wide to be bridged between two individuals. The style of story-telling is not something new though, relying on the various characters giving their own versions of a most unfortunate happening, projecting a Rashomon effect like a snowball growing larger as it gains momentum.

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Now, this is another highly acclaimed film, which surprisingly, to many of my friends and myself included, gave Andy Lau his second Golden Horse's Award for Best Male Actor. Though, Ann Hui's understated direction of this social-conscious film (on the greying issue in Hong Kong) and veteran actress Deanie Ip's unforgettable performance were the standouts here, Andy Lau, like KL said, gave a natural, restrained performance (pretty much like himself as a producer of the film) to blend into the backdrop (perhaps a monumental accomplishment) of a self-sacrificing warmth in the purity that is the life of Tao Jie, unlike any roles he tackled before, not just as a silent observer, but a grateful (from the core) man who has received much and in turn, decides to give back to his house-keeper near her life's end. His realisation of how much Tao Jie meant to him is gradual, almost immeasurably tender.

P.S.: It has been a long time since I reviewed movies, and the rustiness can't be clearer to me.

吳雨霏 - 我本人

主唱：吳雨霏
作曲：椎淽
填詞：林夕

人若變記憶便迷人　情令眼淺了便情深
認識一場　如雷雨一閃　就此沒有下文
無憾也覺得是遺憾　

其實你已經是閒人　其實我討厭被憐憫
或者一時　痠勞到傷身　弱得　像個病人
才像要找個肩膊枕一枕

難忘你　好聽過若無其事沒韻味
你真人　其實陌生得可以記不起
毋忘你　精彩過別來無恙如遊戲
我本人　明白什麼都總有限期

含淚去葬花極麻煩　唯獨怨泣血沒時間
或者失意　是為了工作　慟哭未夠浪漫
才暫借戀愛感覺去感歎

難忘你　好聽過若無其事沒韻味
你真人　其實陌生得可以記不起
毋忘你　精彩過別來無恙如遊戲
我本人　明白什麼都總有限期

難忘你　好聽過淡忘情敵沒妒忌
我本人　無林黛玉的本領痛心死
毋忘你　彷彿要為紅樓夢內連戲
我本人　從來未稀罕悲壯傳奇
我本人　寧願為加班筋歇力疲

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You got to give it to 林夕 really for his lyrics. I think he has portrayed the perfect modern working lady's fairy tale sadly, which begins with the female protagonist meeting a stranger, never knowing him more than a stranger (yes, he is kind-hearted, that she knows), and ends with making her think how exhausting this whole love thing is. In the process, it is proven that she selfishly, as modern love is supposed to be, disbelieves in sacrifices: 我本人 / 從來未稀罕悲壯傳奇. What labour is worthwhile if you know in the end, no fruit comes about? Yet, confused, she laments: 我本人 / 無林黛玉的本領痛心死 (Personally, I lack the craft to die from heart pains like Lin Dai Yu), as if she rather dies - the ultimate sacrifice - than undergoes this ordeal.

There are clashes between realism and human's desires here: people become more attractive being memories (人若變記憶便迷人), and love makes the eyes short-sighted, hence love becomes deeper (or longer) (情令眼淺了便情深).

Little Johnny's Confession

THIS MORNING

...................being rather young and foolish
.........I borrowed a machinegun my father
.........had left hidden since the war, went out,
.........and eliminated a number of small enemies.
.........Since then I have not returned home.

This morning
.......swarms of police with tackerdogs
.......wander about the city
.......with my description printed
.......on their minds, asking:
.......'Have you seen him ?
.......He is seven years old,
.......likes Pluto, Mighty Mouse
.......and Biffo the Bear,
.......have you seen him, anywhere?'

This morning
.......sitting alone in a strange playground
.......muttering you've blundered, you've blundered
.......over and over to myself
.......I work out my next move
.......but cannot move.
.......The trackerdogs will sniff me out,
.......they have my lollypops.

- Brian Patten

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Have long thought of sharing this master piece on this space, but for random reasons, did not.

Treasure Chest / No Apology

Treasure Chest

I have a treasure chest
lying at the bottom of my
ocean mind, brimmed with
golden memories layered
in time sand, minted words
bright with aged gleam
(I like to think them so),
and I hide the key
in my silent pocket.

--------

No Apology

Brothers and sisters
with or without blood
or relations, the last
thing I'd do for you
if I ever do, is to die,
if only to make
this world in your
memories this
little bit better.

Shadow

Shadow

Sometimes, I know
not of life, and
what it can offer,
apart from its shadow
I live out of fear.

P.S.: Eventful night indeed after an afternoon at the library - Alice Walker is a refreshing poet - being strung by a bee, the rush to the clinic, and a big hole burnt in my pocket.

"Aqua" by Yasuko Kyoda

For no particular reason, I started to fall in love with "Aqua" again. How many years back it was? I have lost count. Time has never slowed its footsteps.

Reading: The Poets and The Novelists

For the longest time in a long while, I sat myself down to read. Just read. Poetry, novel. Cyril Wong, Hesse Hermann filled an afternoon. Two men in my life. Of an afternoon.

Pages of books I read leap off
Dream-weightless into skies
I bear as my own to reach far
Corners of my mind's land

I am grateful for a life enriched. For the teachers of life: Brian Patten, W.S. Merwin and Mark Strand, all great poets. Then we have the great novelists, Yasunari Kawabata and Hermann Hesse. The two lists are by no means complete.

Except Your Love

Nothing comes
Like fresh, awakening
Morning light

Except your love

I draw my curtains open
Welcome, morning, welcome

Everything comes
Except your love

My curtains will be wide open
Come another morning