Robert Hass's poem "Some of David's Story"

http://poetrydaily.net/poem.php?date=14700

I read the poem aloud, to myself, in the sunny afternoon. I was back from Starbucks, in the middle of a messy room, sleepy and disoriented because of the sleepiness, my intro still needing 6 more pages. Gosh, the poem is breathtaking. I thought of the crappy poems and fiction about 6/4 that I've read. About youth, love, sex, political ideals and disillusionment, nothing could be better than this piece. Without fancy phrasing, it just tells a little story, the ending of which is even predicable. The suggested sadness cannot even be said to be "profound." Yet, everything about love, about the time when the world just started to unfold in front of you as it was, is there. And all I can do, as a reader, is--simply to remember, to feel.

"To a Young Poet" by Mahmoud Darwish

Brilliant!!

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=238836

爱好

Eugene不知怎么知道angels都长着翅膀，很笃定地说，鸟儿们也有翅膀，它们是angels! 且不论逻辑缺陷，我觉得这说法好可爱：）

一直没有记他最大的爱好，是对工程机械类事物的激情。大概是工程师爷爷和学工程的爸爸还有舅舅的真传。一两岁，看到爸爸的工具就两眼放光，摆弄玩具工具能玩好久。至今已拆坏遥控车一辆，挂钟一个。两岁的冬天不断因为流感病在家里，偶尔给他看电视，迷上了动画片Bob the Builder系列。家里要是有什么东西坏了要修理，对他来说定是天大的趣事。从此认识了所有建筑工地专用车和器具，专有名词说起来，如数家珍。对任何建筑修理土木机械相关事情，无不聚精会神，在家的时间，多数以Bob自居，指着墙上他贴的Bob图画说是他自己照片。各类拼图玩具积木lego更是因情形被他指定为沙砾水泥，各种建筑材料不一而足，每天忙于运输修桥铺路。除此之外，Eugene另有奇异爱好——吸尘器。家里没有大吸尘器给他玩，就每次去Costco时要求去吸尘器货架玩样品。摆放在外面展示的所有类型，他都要我们帮着拿下来研究，附带管子有多长，有没有刷子，开关在哪里，扶手怎么放平调方向，吸进去的灰尘收集在哪里，脏盒子怎么拿下来清洗，等等等等。一般的大吸尘器都比他还高还大，他定要自己推推看，每次玩半天，恋恋不舍。天然喜好对学习真是有影响的吧，因为这样的兴趣，Eugene第一本会背的小书题为_Machines at Work_，给他读了两次，他就滚瓜烂熟。

难道，爱古典音乐又有点多愁善感的Eugene， 以后，也会去学Engineering？

亲爱的，我在鼓励你催你行动的时候，也在劝自己。

抑郁的朋友，坏脾气的我，春天了吗，樱花都落了，这是不是黑暗的最后，
最后以后，我们都会快乐吗？你看你看，生活都把你炼成这样柔韧坚强了，我
不知道该哭该笑。
我都知道，你的痛苦，也是我白天暗夜里，神伤的感受。

On the last day, it snowed heavily.

My more-than-four-hour meeting with S turned out to be a painfully confessional and retrospective conversation. My emotional chair kept directing my attention to my embarrassed position as a foreigner/non-native speaker of English in the English dept. why i told her about my interest in Chinese lit, i didn't even remember. And then her question, something like "why did you want to do this, appearing--at least when you just entered the program -- so out of your comfort zone," brought such a piercing pain for a couple of seconds i felt i was going to faint right there in her office. she wouldn't know, even with her lengthy post-meeting email that tried to clarify both her and my thoughts, that i haven't been feeling discouraged by the brutal job market situation. no, that isn't the real reason. what i'm struggling with is precisely the choice i made nine years ago--to apply to "English" departments in the US. why am i doing what i'm doing? S's question pushed me back to where i was in that very first semester in AA, faced with overwhelming challenges that made me want to quit every day... In fact, she meant to remind me of the necessity of acknowledging my particular identity as a critic, which seems the only way to sharpen my argumentative voice.

but, somehow, what i got from her words was: well, i'd better go back to where i'm from.

邮局寄快递回来

终于把第四章寄出去了。自己都不好意思，拖到离去AA只剩一个星期了。希望老师们不会不高兴。
写得匆忙，四十页都不到，印出来，看着没什么份量。只有叹气。

回头看看，这论文写了四年，消耗最多的是热情。之前所有紧张的，混乱的，兴奋的，期待的念头，变成键盘上敲出来的字，掺和了太多无法解决的问题和疑惑，任何推敲都好像成了无可奈何。关于诗句的纠缠，在勉为其难应用文学和文化理论的过程里，越来越意义模糊。不是失败，这感觉已经不是失败或沮丧可以描述。

告诉快四岁的Eugene，最后的最后，Mommy还有introduction 和conclusion 要写。在他夏天过生日之前，就能彻底完成了。小小的人，全都明白。

好像已经颇有一段时间了，陪Eugene看书不用再全部翻译成中文故事。 句子短小的书念几次，他就全背下来。他自己边翻边讲的样子，真仿佛认了字似的，很好笑。事实是，仍然拒绝学拼词、写字，或者任何“正经”东西。有时候，看着他的小同学们那么伶牙俐齿，还一众都能写会画，就很想他也能"fit in"， 可是也觉得，罢了，随他去吧，那么些自由的无拘束的想象，且让他再自在些时候。这么小，已经要在social institution里寻生存之道，够难为他了。

说到学校教育，我和L都有很多不以为然，中式美式，哪里也不可能让人满意。常讨论我们自己从小经历，以及这些年体会，深觉好老师之少见，各色制度之压抑，实在无趣。我们两自小表现不同的对所处环境的抗议心理，也一定会传给Eugene吧。去年为他总不听老师话伤脑筋，现下已然通了，尽量跟他说，但实在因为他觉得无聊要闹一闹，也就算了。除此，还能如何呢？