arshunnn's Xanga

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 16:32:16 GMT

Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odors plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!

II

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine aery surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might

Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear!

III

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear!

IV

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

V

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

***

I've been posting my recent works, yet this piece by Shelley is my favorite among the Romantic poems.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 18:35:01 GMT

Migrant Birds

I don't like the hot summer, yet sometimes I do.

Nor do I like the cold winter, yet somtimes I do.

I swear on earth there is no eternal summer,

nor on earth is there immortal winter.

Because there are four seasons in a year.

(yet let's neglect the poles and the equator.)

I don't like passionate flames.

They are nasty gangs,

they are looting,

they are playing violent games.

Look, gradually we are dying:

We lose our life, and we lose our soul.

They evaporate and decay,

as the season begins in May.

Nor am I fancy with snows.

Footsteps left on the path we walked fade,

as the snowing storm blows.

Perhaps we were close

at once, yet when it's getting cold,

our soul lives in a flesh of fabrics,

and slowly our sight is blurred.

Our palms and belly have no senses of warmth

And we look like the Eskimos.

In the end we lost and diverge,

in crossroads.

And time will make

us apart, and we go

to find

our own state.

Yet why don't we follow the migrant birds?

Together they fly to the south,

before the cold season sows discord among them.

In flocks they make a flight to the north,

before the blaze has come to exhaust their strength.

My Dear, don't panic when our winter strides in,

because our flock of migrant birds will fly

slowly towards where a warm season begins.

Written in September 2009.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 12:25:49 GMT

The Coming of Sueys Stirch

I sit in an inhabited park where only

scattered bulbs spark in the dark.

Am I lonely?

I have Dovi and My pet as my company.

But no words they speak.

So I give a kick with my leg,

and my toes touch nothing – my pet has snuck.

Far in the dark, I can see a scene that amazes me:

My pet is licking a cat in a van!

I try to stop it with my lips:

Outrageous! It flirts the cat in the van with its hips!

And I leave My pet unseen.

Am I lonely?

I still have Dovi with me.

Yet I’m sitting and waiting without food, and Dovi,

doesn’t even manage to hear

My belly is uttering like a gear.

“I want to go elsewhere”,

I try to pat Dovi yet I yank the air.

Only Dovi goes to a party with his coy coz Roy

(O, I bite my lips – Roy becomes ‘Voy’).

and he has gone with joy.

Now, am I lonely?

My pet becomes silly and Dovi has gone to party.

Nay, there comes Mr. Stirch whose name Sueys,

having twelve servants in his residence,

now smiling at me with his kind countenance.

Bass brasses complain in my belly,

and Sueys asks soothingly:

“Son, are you hungry?”

He says he would bring me to a café called Eva Hen,

And my heart consents.

Step by step I leave the park and reach Eva Hen, where

Sueys gives me a doughnut of seven colors –

it is the best supper ever.

-20/12/09 4:21am

Note: This poem is dedicated to my Father who gives me the ability to write

Immersed in the world of poetry

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 17:33:14 GMT

an unsophisticated piece

Friday, November 27, 2009

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 14:49:00 GMT

我要高人指點.

年初從Gleckman教授身上無所獲.

遺憾, 遺憾.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 15:01:47 GMT

人們說大學是自由的地方, 沒錯, 對很多人而言, 是的.

對我而言, 大學生活比中學更痛苦, 更沒有自由.

由上年踏入校園開始, 我注定這四年是沒有自由了.

我的時間不是給了那些我死也不願寫但由不得我選擇寫與不寫的中期論文, 就是給了那些我感到有壓力的小組研習, 又或是看那永遠看不完的讀物, 再不是就是溫習期末的考試.

數一數, 愛麗斯看了四十多頁, 彼得潘才看了廿多頁, 幸好看了指定的格林, 安徒生故事; BLAKE的詩我看了;WORDSWORTH的詩我只看了"We are severn (中譯:我們是柒)"; SHELLEY的詩沒看過; JOYCE的DUBLINERS看了2個故事; NAFISI的自傳僅僅"掃"過一次; 奧巴馬總統的自傳看了三十多頁; MORI 的自傳就是看了教授印的那一節; SAID, HOFFMAN 的自傳就是一頁也未翻開過...

簡單一點說, 這個學期我再次無辦法完整的看完一本書. 過了下年5月我可說是過了英文主修的第2年, 但現在我連一本完完整整的英文書也未看過....

真失敗...

入大學為了什麼...

望著枱頭, 還擺著FITZGERALD 的THE GREAT GATSBY, 海明威的A FAREWELL TO ARMS, THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA, 第一夫人&海倫凱勒& COETZEE 的自傳, DICKENS 的THE GREST EXPECTATION, JANE AUSTEN的全集, NABAKOV 的LOLITA...真的不知何時有機會看到一頁.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 06:18:24 GMT

I...

I, pronounced "Aye",

Cry,

Try,

to get out of this jail.

Freedom is imprisoned

in the sea of carbon copies.

To borrow from Blake:

Handcuffed by mind-forged manacles.

Met Jane and her looking to the end:

an eternal relief.

No, no, no.

Still have so long to live.

Hold the same nostalgia with Nafisi:

abscence more real than prescence.

Tales, tales, tales, please tell:

when can go back to innocence.

Now sounds like Prufrock,

Aye, schiz coming across.

nerve locked,

senses in rock.

Thursday, October 01, 2009

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 14:57:43 GMT

Paralysis in Dreamland

It's been a year I spent here,

yet my feeling is all the same

like the endless universe out there,

and a target without an aim.

Somwhere every day I go

is where somehow I leave.

Going to where crowds flow

is the way every day I keep.

Day by day I count,

and it goes on like paradise.

But one day I find

that my heart has paralyzed.

I can see the oasis ahead,

but now I've no idea where to land;

In desert I lie on a bed,

where I remain in my dreamland.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 16:56:32 GMT

唔知鐘意定唔鐘意CHILD DE 嘅 Prof. LL 好.

鐘意佢做人有原則, 定左DEADLINE 係上堂之前, 遲交有PENALTY就真係有PENALTY, 無人幸免.

可惜嘅係, 佢咁有原則害到我篇ESSAY由一個唔錯既RANGE 跌左落另一個RANGE. 佢SHOW 個DISTRIBUTION 果陣, 真係有少少唔開心.

算吧, 或者佢講得岩, "MAKE THIS A LESSON", 下次準時交功課.

仲有, 今日基礎中文MID-TERM; 我走左先發覺有一條冇做, AND THEN 有幾條嘅答案鑽左牛角尖!!! 大忌大忌!! 死梗啦今次...!!

算數, 預左呢個SEM GPA 會比上個SEM 仲要低. 一早講左唔收WARNING LETTER 就可以了.

BTW, IED 仲未肯比GPA 我睇...或者我GPA 太差, 打算踢我出校?

Friday, February 13, 2009

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 13:56:52 GMT

以前以為讀文學好好玩, 但係讀讀下又發覺唔係好有興趣... 雖然我尚且可以VISUALIZE 到小說同POEM D SETTINGS同角色. ETC. BTW, 其實李鷗教授教得唔錯. 但係世界文學既WEISS 就...

係教院讀左一個SEM LINGUISTICS 以為好悶, 但係過到中大又覺得LING 幾有趣.

上個SEM 讀左社工系既大通覺得PSYCHO D 理論幾有趣, 於是AIM AT EDU PSY 既MASTER, 點知呢個SEM 讀左個CHILD DEVELOPMENT, 未到MID TERM 已經比份功課鋤低哂D銳氣.

以前以為中文係一D 好悶既野, 但係讀左歐陽偉豪既COURSE 之後, 又對中文有番D興趣.

哈哈, 算啦, 話唔定讀完呢個SEM 我既諗法又會唔同.

丫, 仲有仲有...我上個SEM 既GPA 仲未出=_= 成個教院都出哂, 係得我地要等到廿幾號.