Hafiz is my man

Wine

The past two nights i have been drinking Yellow Tail Shiraz with my old high school buddy Maximillian. He was one of my first and best friends back when i was 16 and getting my bearings in Germany.

I had a friend walk with me in a dream last night, a walk i can barely remember because I was busy drinking wine and laying down by the fire in my back yard, he said he could smell my sweat and aftershave but i was like:

"That wasn't aftershave. it was the last hints of the wine bottle i finished off in honor of all my friends late late early early as the sun hinted hinted but i fell before the hint became a word"

China has no orphans

Today i sloshed through the rain to Du Fu's Cottage in Chengdu to attend a meeting of poets and lyricists. About a dozen read their works aloud -- all concerning the earthquake. There were old men with wispy beards, country farmers speaking Sichuan Hua and young kids with I love China T-Shirts on.

Some were nervous, others were peacocked out.

In today's poetry, the cadence is very important. I suppose. I wonder how it was back in Du Fu's day ... Anyway, the same cadence used by politicos when they announce new number-based theories filters down amongst the poets of today. I wish i could praise them and say that their words brought tears to my eyes. But it was stilted poetry. Appealing to heroic patriotism and ethnic pride. It wasn't emotional for me at all. It was slave poetry spun by the professional intellectuals Said derides in his seminal work on ... us ... the intellectuals of today.

perhaps i didn't understand. Perhaps its a cultural thing. Maybe i am just a dull American, jaded and arrogant.

But none of their words can match the scribbles in a schoolgirl's notebook found amidst the rubble of Beichuan. No one had the courage to be a true poet. It was backslapping mimicry and bent knee professions. Even the women couldn't resist it.

If Du Fu had been there, he would have clapped nonchalantly, peered dimly at the agenda and then stood up and leave for a smoke. He would have looked at the rain falling around the temples erected around what was once his leaky hovel, laughed derisively and composed something on the spot, using a pen borrowed from a bystander with a name-tag that said: Poet.

mom i can't see your hand

A Poem by an anonymous Chinese circling the web(translated):

Children quick
quick
Hold fast to Mother's hand
The Road to Heaven
Is so dark
Mom is afraid
you'll hit your head
Quick
Hold fast to Mother's hand
Have Mom walk with you

mom
I'm afraid
The road to heaven
is so dark
I cant see your hand
Since the walls fell
and stole away the sun
I haven't been able to see
your tender gaze

Child
Go
The road ahead carries no more sorrow
no more boring school books
you won't ever see Dad's fist again
You should remember
The image of your Father and I
In the next life, we'll walk together again

mom
don't despair
the road to heaven is crowded
there are classmates and friends here
we all say
don't cry don't cry
every person's mom is also my mom
every chid is my mother's child
since my days are finished,
give your love to the living children

mom
you shouldn't cry
the glimmer of tears gives no light
its our road
let us take it ourselves

mom
I will remember the image of you and dad
and remember our promise
in the next life, we'll walk together again

all too short, the distance mist travels ...

glimpses of my other world
memories become feelings
i am caught in mid-thought
breathless as they whisper
the feeling is strongest
when they've already floated away

like grinning urchins tugging at my sleeve
like pitstop pollen on a timeless journey
i wait for them impatiently
and scramble to transcribe their messages
i can only write of the aftermath
of childhood impressions
bubbling to the surface again

The Delicious Slide

You can feel it when it comes
Voices cry out in defiant anticipation
They rub their hands gleefully
The party is about to start
Places everyone

One said it was a slideshow
Another said it was
Stones skipping across a lake
You can sit back and watch with a smile
Raise your middle finger
Moon the sky

When the reel stops, ragged and bright
When the stones crash and sink
You turn on yourself
The revelers are nowhere to be found
Those bits you skipped last night
The ripples inbetween

You burrow into your gut
You call up your friends and apologize
Their forgiveness means so much
To the silent waiting voices in your head
Without it, you'll never have another chance
For a good old Delicious Slide

why do i like him

Beacuse he dreams and emotes
Because I can imagine playin ball with him

Because he is one of Us

who is Us?

I consider Us to be those who have sat in cafes
Hatin on Bush
Hatin on wars
Diggin on James Brown
Smokin herb and waxin philosophical
Dreamin of new a energy source

Makin love with all races
and diggin it
Speakin more than one language
cuz its normal
Us
You and me