I am in the wrong way
the first night in the subway
under much
masculine stare
In Beijing, the subway is clean and bright but here
I feel like crawling
in the tunnels dug by moles
The coin phone remains the only
hope for rescue
I lost several quarters
before my trembling fingers
reached the cheap hotel
West 4. an accidental luck
sends me on my way
to a restful night
Browsing in an XXX shop
Bright opposite the bus terminal
I savor the openness
of America
Outside, men with big frame
Stand in silence
Casting nonchalant eye
On passers-by
I am no better than he is
who sleeps on the ground
behind the counter
waiting to be driven away
when business starts
I am killing my hours
late at night
at the New York bus terminal
sitting at a table
pretending to have eaten
some food
reading a newspaper
picked up from trash can
Federal budget says it is closed
on this winter morning from low Manhattan
she appears distant
a vast span of water
separates her and me
the coin operated telescope
wets my appetite
crushes my hope
Funny the Americans are
observing traffic lights
in these lane wide streets
covered by icy mud
the high-rises are beautiful
looked from afar
inside, it is narrow and crowded
devoid of the open space
of Texas
yet they get media coverage
almost everyday
I ask the tour guide
where the gift from Jiang Zemin
is put
in the back garden
is the answer
as we go on
I cast an eye
out of a window
there stands it
against dirty snow
an insignificant object
dwarfed by high-rises
In New York
you gotta learn
not to speak English
facing me in the train
a white sandwiched by
two blacks and one yellow
a good demographic note
The Chinese of Washington
Eight years out of China
produce big houses
and nice cars
and everything dreamed of
by folks at home
and struggled for
all their life
sipping juice
and over Chinese dumplings
we talk about
mainland and Taiwan
politics and war
and Simpson
kids babbling in English
play noisily
about the house
in the evening
we go to art performance
by a Nanjing troupe
to refresh our
China bond
In this corner of our sovereignty
red carpet reminds me
of the red years
outdated China Daily
tells yesterday's news
a stout lady, a young lad with
heels proudly showing off
over his bent Lazy Man Shoe
a host of friends trooping through the back door
a tall man busy up and down
with familiar facial expressions
too familiar to be worth
any curiosity
As night befell the city of Waco
She landed with a B2
Leaving her homeless home
Beyond the Pacific
In the deep deep snow of
China's Shenyang
Her violin holds
An inexhaustible pool of music
Her baby face lit
With innocent smile
Her mind firm
with a belief
That crushes every blocking stone
On this unpredictable journey
Will she someday recall
Her tiny little fortune cookie in a Chinese restaurant
As she stands on stage
Among flower and applause?
She digs into the garbage
For her sleeping son
In the worn-out baby carriage
No job, no man, she told me
Her young face expressionless:
"Can you give me sume money foo buying diapers?"
My hand fumbles in my pocket
A dollar note I give her:
"Where do you live?"
"Just across the bridge"
What a house has she ?
Who pays her bills?
Does she take drugs?
Does she have good neighbors?
Thinking, I returned to the garbage station
She is nowhere to find
On Sunday I went to the
Church under the Bridge
Hearing songs of Jesus
Among shrieking traffic
Over our heads on I-35
A black brother talked about David
The boy who kills the giant
I saw the Immigrations
Towering over me
I fled into the fantasy
Of Beijing's fly-overs
And the flea market
I visited a lot
------A poem not for competition but as a gift to kids *
I remember the butterfly in my childhood
Often struggles in our web
Or lies flat and dry between leaves of books
Or stands still in box of framed glass
We tend to put beauty
Into its captivity
To possess the good things of the world
In our narrow frame of mind
Often, we forget
How big the world is
And how lovely when
All are free and flying
Like a butterfly
*This poem is at web site http://mgfx.com/kidlit
We sit by the window
In a crowded noisy bar
Cars racing past
In the early night
Like in Dongdaqiao
Opposite us
The glaring lights of a cinema
Next door
A condom shop
Shows off a pink penis
As tall as a man
Savoring the salty life
Of the sea
I recall how
I pry open resisting oysters
In a Maryland home
And wonder at the beauty
Of the art of killing
We went to the China Town
The same stuff in every American city
A cluster of food stores, book stores, video stores, restaurants,
activity centers and maybe a church
Of Buddhism
A cluster of memories of the world beyond
A cluster of the complex of assimilation resistance
A cluster of solitude ISO compensation
A scale of the dragon
Or a broken horn
Or a dangling piece of hair and nail
The common mainlander faces
The distant Taiwanese faces
The hard-to-describe local faces
The accent Americanized
The bilingualism
The code shifting in communication
Young pretty faces of women
Full bosom, smart body
Tight fit jeans
Gracefully driven car
And in every face
I see her
And wonder if she is also
A cluster of something
Driving through the people-free streets
We enjoy the huge mansions
Of the rich in Dallas
The girls "vow"ed and "hwa"ed
And maybe secretly
Weaving a house in their heart
"Hey," shouted I, " don't forget
that there are two thirds of world population
still in hot hell of fire!"
I am one of them
It is much like in Beijing
The Amusement Park at Dragon Pound Lake
Or at the Intoxicating Court Park
Of the Martial Spirit District
Everything's the same except
Here we have the Ocean Men
Of blue eyes and high nose and fair skin
Or brown eyes, round nose and dark skin
Or black eyes, black hair and yellow skin
Or of a hybrid nature
I wonder if we copied them
Or they copied us
Or we both copied
The designs of God
We are of one world anyway
Despite the multiplicity of flags
Something so dear to me
Besieged on the highway of Houston
Staring at the dull cement shoulders
I feel I was going home
In the college commuter bus
At five o'clock near Jianguomen
With my stomach churning
For the desire of millet porridge
And fried pan cakes
We first sit in the mass of people
In a room-like yard discussing
Or listening to someone discussing
Or watching the listening to someone discussing
Outside, I lie down on white sand
Circled by shining crystals of colors
You come out, sit down by me
Your eyes black with light
Shining with flickering fire of darkness
Your fair skin smooth as the surface of rain flower stone
That I bought in China's Nanjing
Shyly, you smile, your snow-white face blushing
"Although we do not know each other well...."
I wake up to a messy room
Savoring the sweetness of your words
Earth is held in this hall
With her dwellers here and there
The fair-skinned, the dark-skinned, the brown-skinned
The believers, the believe-nots,
The Chinese, the Anglo-Saxon, the Africans, the Indians,
The Koreans, The Thai, the Vietnamese, the Ukrainian,
The Europeans, the South Americans, the Oceanians...
Today, we speak one Lingua Franca
And eat from the same plate
Putting world news
Behind our mind
Wishing to hear
Something good
Like the harmony of piano keys
Or the fierce coordination of Karate
Or the rhythmic discourse of Hindu poem
Her fair-skined face is
Like the snowy marble jade
Still in deep water
快乐老家
A translation posted in a Chinese forum
跟我走吧，天亮就出发,
梦已经醒来，心不会害怕。
有一个地方，那是快乐老家，
她近在心里，却远在天涯。
我所有的一切都只为找到她，
哪怕付出忧伤代价，
Com'on and go,
When the day is breaking
As dreams are over
what else to fear
What else to fear
A home of fun in my heart
Is far far out there
Whatever to lose to find her
I do not care, I do not care
也许再穿过一条烦恼的河流，
明天就能够到达。
我生命的一切都只为拥有她，
让我们来真心对待吧，
等每一棵漂流的心都不在牵挂，
快乐是永远的家。
Maybe it is tommorrow
After another stream of sorrow
Whatever to lose I don't care
To have the home right here
Let's show our naked hearts dear
No more drifting, no more hunting
For the Home of Fun is near
The towering skyscrapers
Brushed by fleeting clouds
In the dark greenish evening sky
On a autumn day of Houston
Makes me homesick
For Huang Shan, the Yellow Mountains.
1998.11.
At this grassy corner of greater Houston
Traffic on I-45 shakes the red glowing sun
That sinks slowly beyond the darkening concrete belt
Silhouetting the steel power line tower
That looks like a rig in a Texan oilfield
The sun sets, leaving a patch of dark orange
That eats up bit by bit the blue shade
On its outskirt
Made visible by the landing dusk
Traffic lights on FM 1960
Blink stronger and stronger, holding and releasing traffic
An areoplane soars into the sun
Diminishing itself into a tiny mosquito
Sitting on a grassy mound
I sip Dr. Pepper, the color of its can Darker than the sun
In the rare luxury of a late Sunday afternoon
To myself
Jan. 10, 1999
Oh, bluebonnet
Oh, bluebonnet
As the day's breaking
You greet the smiling sun
When I open my door
You smile to me too
And give me your smile
Like an angelic child
This is my new
Home in Texas land
And you are my first
neighbor and friend
When I am lonely
And miss my home far
I hear you whisper
In every passing car
Wherever I go
From Houston to Waco
I see bluebonnets
Everywhere on the road
Whatever I am on
A bike or a train
I see bluebonnets
Fresh in cleansing rain
Gone are my sorrows
When bluebonnet grows
In early spring breeze
On the rolling meadows
Ne'er lonely am I
In this heart of mine
When bluebonnet dwells
On my holy shrine
Oh, bluebonnet
Oh, bluebonnet
As the day's breaking
You greet the smiling sun
When I open my door
You smile to me too
And give me your smile
Like an angelic child
Like an angelic child
1999.2.29
Every morning I take the Metro
Down to the jungle of cement
To hunt for the day's bread
With all other communters
Dull,sleepy as I am
Until she steps into the bus
Her husband driving away
The sun starts to shine earlier
Into the dawn of the day
Her red vest over her white silk shirt
Her green blouse a well contoured landscape
And her well groomed hair of gold
Hightlights a strikingly featured face
Her black silked legs are as graceful
As the marble sculptures of ancient Greece
And her nose, slightly up-lifting
Features a live Norman Rockwell
At Dallas she gets off the bus
And mingles into the traffic
Her red vest over her white shirt
Fades like a drifting petal
Everything is so right about her
This woman in red vest
I wonder how come Creation has
Wasted time in fabricating others
1999.6.4
Morning fog hangs low,
Leisurely, waves rush onto the shore,
Rocks crowd together like clouds.
Vast is the sea, its horizon melts into the sky.
Almost touching the ocean, lines of sea gulls pass by.
Totally ignoring the splashing water
Two people fish a high cliff
Purple blossoms border the winding path,
Traffic mixes with human voice,
High is my mood for sightseeing.
Hating to return
I sat on a bench, facing a sail, distant, and alone
1999.6.30
At dusk we climb the towering Fremont Peak
With brown grass and green trees in sight
A sea of clouds weighs heavy over the Bay
High wind briskly dances the red, blue and white
Silent are the antenne and quiet the hills
Memories, like smoke, trail into days bygone
Oblivious of human cares, the sun sinks down
A river of stars meditates with a river of light
1999,7,11
From the smoky clouds comes the hazy rain,
Sea in the bay is dark reflecting the sky.
It's early fall, the body feels nice, the air is clear
And I look forward to grass turning green,
For a scenery of the Yanshan Mountains.
Ah, yes, the Western Hills, have the leaves turned red?
I have been on top of the Ghost-feared Peak and
Inscribed our names in a rock, 20 more years ago.
Now he, my school mate, is a petty official in Beijing.
No news for years of course.
I laugh at myself, a man over 40, still a drifting weed, away from home.
This life is short and where is a shabby house, a pretty wife and a na飗e son?
Forget about it. Back in my room
The bed, the sleeping bag and the books, all in disorder
Notes:
1. Yanshan Mountains---Mountains to the north and west of Beijing
2. The Western Hills --- also called the Fragrance Hills, is a natural park in the western suburbs of Beijing. It is famous for the autumn red leaves.
3. Ghost-feared Peak-the highest peak of the Fragrance Hills. Gui3jian4chou2 in Chinese.
1999-08-06
Fog in the morning
Wet my heart with floating dew
Sleeping bay in view
清晨的雾气
润我心以浮露滴
海湾沉睡里
More scary than those in China's Fengdu
Ghosts of many years come out overnight
With legs shaky, Zombi roams in the street
Their wings fluttering, bats hang in dim light
In the blood-smeared chamber, lonely ghosts cry
At the fleshy banquet, rotten bones fry
Pitiable are the sobbing girls on the ground
A helping hand halted, fearing the end
1999.10.31
A quiet Saturday afternoon
When the broad daylight
Still hangs in the sky
And the city roads
Are already abandoned
By busy traffic
I stroll in Ralph's
Huge grocery store
Relishing a moment of reality
Of the life of
Ordinary people
Putting Defense Language Institute
Behind my mind
I remember
Grocery supermarkets
Used to be the only place
For past-time
In addition to a library
I am not buying things
Or I just buy things on sale
I watch people more than I watch the goods
I especially like to watch
Latinos and Afro-Americans
When they come mother and daughter
Father and son,brothers and sisters
Call me a loser,
Everyone,
For I AM a loser.
I never grew.
Time left no trace on me
Except for the graying of hair
And the dropping of eyes.
Even the number of pull-ups
Remains the same
And muscle
Because of nothing to do,
Is as sturdy as in my 20's
More so is the mind
Full of shit
And nothing new
Still dreaming for a room
With one desk, one bed and one chair
And one desk lamp, and one book shelf.
Call me a loser.
That's what I know I am
After I see the approaching
Of another birthday,
One step towards 50,
With no sense of security
And no sense of inflation
And no sense of nothing.
Call me a loser.
I may fit in perfectly
Into history
A piece that never changes.
I am already dead,
And fossilized.
I won't surprise you,
When we meet.
Now I dream of emperors' recipies,
For I need a second life
Not to waste.
I need a new beginning,
A new plan,
A new project,
A new country,
A new home,
A new network of friends
With all the regrets as the bottom line,
Regret, that catalyst in life,
For new growth.