All posts filed under: Poetry

寫曖

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寫的是寫著愛Not love on first sightDo you wake at first light心中會浪漫沒人懂It seeps on in it’s subtle花開也是在不覺中 A faint smile thereBrushed your hairHand in handOnly to find out可能時間還沒到誰說 Say 知道 What’s on your mindHiding if even in plain sight一點提示謎也不一定開The equation of love is yEqual some kind of xPlus some time除於一些些可能的等待磨合的傷害 戀人未滿還是相伴追妳就得 grindPut in the workFor your quirks繳學費來上妳的課Still could be wastedNeed patienceOr waited 曖是曖還就是愛When do you know you are mine有些事說不出來所以有情書的存在How do I know I still have time就算曖寫的是寫著愛Tell me how should I writeWhat’s on your mind

Why I Write

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In my life of twists and turns, 我沒想到我現在可以用中文. I turned to experimenting with writing in Chinese six years ago. I started to incorporate pieces of it into my work – something more representative of the amalgamation that is me. Spoken word became more of a medium I explored. 從 “三歲離開台灣” 到 “回家”, 每一篇都是我獨特的中西合併, 語言摻雜的作品. Again, it functions as a mental puzzle. Every rhyme, every cadence was a hurdle to overcome. 如何讓中英押韻, not just random add-ins, 一種和平的共鳴, like the peace I started finding.

回家

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I must make decisions for regret For my decision isn’t mine The multitude of spacetime Allowed only in the silences of timespace Set forth By the past Formed By the present Limited By the future I made a decision to regret 拿著吸塵器 我打掃著似曾相識的客廳 一張黑沙發 石牆上一排欄杆 右前方廁所的燈亮著走廊 Brrrrrm om om om 就在這時 他們回來了 茶几上放下一桶切過的蘋果 表哥坐在左邊的書桌 繼續打著沒結束的電動 我收好坐在沙發的一邊 外婆微笑著 在旁看著電視 一起吃著那蘋果 How I longed to see her As I woke up I knew I will soon be back Next Thursday Then I remembered 原來一場夢 Time flows Right through your soul As the wind blows Softly through your cloths What is this feeling

Phasing

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It nervously splinters the patient silence At times ready to thrash through the underbrush But it does not Cutting a slow fade in the setting (rising?) sunlight Its soft steps crunch the dried leaves and twigs Whispering nothings and everything Glancing to and fro for its bearings Always moving forward to that place Both known and unknown Composed of a past and of a future Under the faint moon just appearing (disappearing?) in the sky Pushing through the vegetation Though not quite leveling or clearing Its trail is at once masked by the grass Just tall enough to obscure Yet marked enough by the diverging (converging?) celestial lights One behind One ahead It follows as it leads Each step is its own opening note To unlocking the music of that patient silence Holding things unheard Holding things yet to be heard Despite the silence draping a veil on its path It steadily continues on Firm enough to know how far it has come Gently enough not to disturb the serenity Lest it unleashes the chaos …

The Bus (in America)

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It’s always darker in here. There are days without light. Even those loud colors are subdued on the upholstery. Then there are the bangs, shocks and impacts, direct hits of the road rattling up backs and spines. Rain dampens the floor with sun baked crumbs, gums and who knows what left behind, left forgotten. — The morning swell through the doors of untold routines and responsibilities. These weary eyes and ears time for signs to disembark. Yes, all is trapped, on routes dictated by stops. Outside the window, single passengers throttle by. It struggles to navigate the sea of more nimble cars. It struggles to maintain a timely pace. — Waiting could mean five minutes or twenty, with a near miss. Sometimes, a short sprint is required. It doesn’t wait. A suit and tie is rare among sweaters and hoodies, just as an unwashed shirt always lingers in the corners. It’s a decisive non-decision, collectively by those whose only way to get somewhere, is trapped together with some bodies. – Fu Lien Hsu Oct 27, 2016

Unexpectedly

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Goes by hand Hand that used to be sand. It goes to a dozen numbers Around. Watching it Slowly. Turning away Quickly. Yet It brings everything. The one thing that matters. To be suddenly caught Standstill. Like the wind it knocks Over. Or, pull the metaphorical rug Under.

To Remember To Forget

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A face without name As I walk on a path in the hills Counting the rocks Under the beating sun I cannot remember I remember only to forget That face What’s the name? There are memories Faint visions but the face The face is always sharp In focus Each step I take I chew on words Ruminate on these images Fading A figure waves In the distance As I look up from the rocks And stop counting my steps I was so close But I already forget What was it that I tried So hard to remember? We walk towards the sunset Down the hill Into the forest And wait for the stars. – Fu Lien Hsu June 28, 2016

Headwinds of Life

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They come, resistance. Pressure shifts, moving from high to low. Sometimes, a breeze. Other times, a tempest. How did the pressure build? Have you experienced the winds in a storm? It blows you back. If you try to fly a kite, the string may snap. Even trees bow or crack. So do you hide? You can turn around and make them tailwinds. If you are ok with moving in a different direction? For now. Or just wait. For how long? Either way, you will arrive. They say, “All roads lead to Rome.”

Words about Life

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Are you nervous? Yes. Are you scared? Yes. So why? I don’t know. Why what? Why do you keep going? There is hope. There is change. Do things really change? Always. In this second, you already are not who you were. So that’s hope? No. Hope is believing in and building for that change. If you believe, then why are you nervous and scared? There is the unknown. We all fear the unknown. What is unknown? You never know what the future holds. Then what do you do? You hope.