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[旧作] 方壶斋今体诗,中英杂有---美国篇
Poems USA



New York, the Subway

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                                               

XXX

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

Men Sleeping on Ground

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


Statue of Liberty

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

Wall Street

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

At the UN

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



Aliens

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

Embassy reception

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outdated China Daily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
       
Pentagon

The female tour guide
smart, neat
in her uniform
sexy, robust
her breasts high
       
very professional
she leads us around
the heart of the sword
feeling its pulse

HQ

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 in a Chinese restaurant
As she stands on stage
Among flower and applause?

The Single-parent Mother

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

Church under the Bridge

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

Butterfly in My Childhood

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

Eating Oysters in Dallas

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

Chinese Faces

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

Houses

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


At the Six Flags of Houston

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

Traffic Jam

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

Girl in the Dream

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

International

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 Pacific Islanders...
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


Yayoi Hamada, a haiku

Her fair-skined face is
Like the snowy marble  jade
Still in deep water

(I found her facebook: https://www.facebook.com/hamda.yaoyi?hc_location=ufi)

Houston Downtown

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.

Sunset over I-45

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

Jan. 10, 1999

The Bluebonnet of Texas

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


Woman in Red Vest

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


Pacific Grove

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

Climbing the Fremont Peak

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 antenna 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

After Class, It Rains, at DLI

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 naïve 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

Monterey Haiku

Fog in the morning
Wet my heart with floating dew
Sleeping bay in view

DLI Haunted House

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

Woman in Grocery Store

Among the shoppers end of millennium
Our carts brush each other in the store
Plainly dressed you do not distinguish
Outstanding is your snow-white neck
And your skull delicate as a goose egg
With your black hair and black eyes
Above which are two black and bright brows
Echo the smiling and enticing lips
Neither aggressive nor humble your breasts
Refresh a virgin that might no longer be
Gracefully resting upon the pretty legs
Is a buttock tightly outlined by your jeans
You and I never exchanged eyes
Yet mine was dragged like a comet tail
As you melted into the Christmas lights
The darkness in my heart deepened more
Driving home I felt none but loneliness
An empty beach under a full winter noon








美国诗稿


于岚(方壶斋)

 
在纽约地铁


在纽约地铁的第一夜
便上错了车
背上满是男性的眼睛
北京的地铁是明亮整洁的可是这儿
我感觉是在
鼹鼠的洞穴中蠕行
投币电话是唯一的救援
损失了几个两毛五
颤抖的手指
终于触摸到
那家廉价的旅馆
西 4 站, 一个偶然的幸运
把我送上
一个安宁之夜的旅途


XXX


汽车站对面灯火辉煌的
是性品商店, 我浏览
看见美国的开放
门外, 大个子男人
沉默地站着
无所谓的目光
在行人身上


睡在地上的男人


这个在柜台后边的地上睡觉的人
等着开门的时候被赶走
和他相比
我好不到哪去
我在纽约车站的深夜
坐在桌旁, 桌上有
好象是我用过的空纸杯
拿着捡自垃圾筒的
报纸
我消磨时间


自由女神像


联邦预算说她关门了
这个冬天, 从曼哈顿看去
她是那么遥远冷漠
一片大洋
把我和她隔开
硬币望远镜
吊起我的胃口
却压碎我的希望






华尔街


美国人真好玩
在狭窄的路口
也遵守红绿灯
脚下是冰冷的泥水
摩天大楼的壮观
是远处的风景
里边又窄又暗
全然没有
德克萨斯的空旷
然而它们每天
都在新闻里露面


在联合国


我问导游
江泽民的礼物何在
答曰在后花园
参观的路上
我朝外望去
在陈雪里
它是那么不起眼
四周是挺拔的大楼



外人


在纽约
必须不会说英语
地铁里对面
一个白人, 夹在一个
黑人和黄种人中间
一个很好的人口脚注



纽约华人


来美八年
已居华屋
已开靓车
还有那些
国人为之奋斗和梦想一生的
东西
喝着果汁
品着饺子
我们谈着
大陆和台湾
政治和军事
还有辛普森
咿呀着英语的孩子
在屋里玩耍
嘈杂异常
晚上
去看南京的演出
复习
我们的中国心


 










大使馆招待会


在这个属于我国的角落
红地毯让我想起
红色的年代
过期的中国日报
诉说着昨天的新闻
一个胖女人
一个趿拉着懒汉鞋的小伙子
一群从后门鱼贯而入的朋友
还有一个面容熟悉的男人
跑上跑下
面容熟悉得
引不起好奇


五角大楼


穿军服的女导游
整洁, 帅气
性感,胸部
高耸地丰满
非常职业地
她领着我们
去触摸
刀剑的脉搏



HQ


她伴随着夜幕在伟科市降临
手里拿着的是B2
把无家的家
留在了大洋彼岸
积雪深深的
中国沈阳
她的提琴盒里
是拉不完的曲子
她孩子般的脸上
挂着天真的微笑
她心里怀着信念
意志坚定
要粉碎这次前程未卜的
旅途上的一切障碍
她会不会有一天
回想起中餐馆的小财
当鲜花和掌声
飞向舞台?



单亲妈妈


在垃圾箱里
她为睡在旧童车里的孩子
翻找
她告诉我, 脸上一片漠然
我没有钱, 也没有老公
“能不能给俺点钱给孩子买尿巾”
从口袋里摸索出一块钱给了她
“你住哪儿?”“桥那边儿。”
她住的是什么房子?
谁来给她付帐单?
她吸毒吗?
她的邻居好吗?
想着, 我回到了垃圾站
她已经走了  



立交桥下的教会


礼拜天我去了
立交桥下的教会
在 35 号公路尖叫的
车流下听唱耶苏的歌
一个黑兄弟讲着
大卫杀死巨人的故事
我看见移民局
耸立在眼前
我的神思开始
回到北京的立交桥
和我常常去的
潘家园市场


童年的蝴蝶


我还记得儿时的蝴蝶
常常在书页中夹着
我们总是希望把美
囚禁起来
把世界的美好
放在我们狭窄的心胸里
忘记了
世界多么大
多么可爱
当一切生命
都象蝴蝶一样
自由飞翔



本诗原为网上一儿童文学网页所做 http://mgfx.com/kidlit

在达拉斯吃牡蛎


在一个嘈杂的饭馆
我们坐在窗边
门外尚明的黄昏里
车流穿梭, 就象
在东大桥一样
对面的电影院灯火辉煌
隔壁卖避孕套的店
竖立着人一样高的
粉红色阴茎


华人的脸


我们去了唐人街
美国千篇一律的地方
一堆食品店, 书店, 录象店,
饭馆, 活动中心, 也许还有
一座寺庙
一堆彼岸世界的记忆
一堆抗拒同化的心结
一堆寻求补偿的孤独
龙的只鳞片爪
或者残角零发
大陆人的说不出特色的脸
台湾人的拒人于千里的脸
没办法形容的当地人的脸
美国化了的口音
说话中的汉英转换
女人的漂亮脸蛋
丰满的胸, 苗条的身
紧绷的牛仔裤
开得潇洒的车
在每张脸上
我都看见伊
猜想伊是否
也是一堆什么东西  

房子


车行在无人的街上
我们欣赏达拉斯
富人区的豪宅
女孩们既“哗”又“哇”
心里也许编织着
自己的华屋梦
“嘿,”我喊起来,“别忘了,
世界上还有2/3的人
生活在水深火热之中!”
我就是一个


在休斯顿六面旗游乐场


真象北京啊
龙潭湖游乐场
或者宣武区的
陶然亭公园
一切都是一样的, 除了
这里的人都是洋人
蓝眼睛白皮肤高鼻梁的
棕眼睛园鼻头黑皮肤的
黑眼睛黑头发黄皮肤的
要不然就是综合的
不知道是我们抄了他们
还是他们抄了我们
还是我们都抄了
上帝的构思
毕竟我们都属于一个世界
不管有多少面旗帜飘扬


塞车


对于我是如此亲切
我们被困在休斯顿的公路上
盯着水泥路肩的沉闷灰色
我象是坐在回家的班车里
四五点钟, 在建国们外
饥肠辘辘, 惦记着小黄米粥
和京东肉饼的味道


梦中女孩


我们先是坐在人群中
在似院似屋的地方讨论什么
或者听着别人讨论什么
或者看着别人听着人家讨论什么
外面, 我躺在白沙上
周遭是闪亮的颜色晶体
你走出来, 坐在我身边
你的眼睛黑亮黑亮
闪着烁烁的黑暗的火
你的皮肤有雨花石般的光泽
就象我从南京买到的一样
你羞涩地笑着, 雪白的脸泛着红晕
“虽然我们不太了解对方…”
我醒来, 屋里一片凌乱
我回味着你话的甜蜜  


国际


地球装在这个大厅里
她的居民三三两两
皮肤清秀的,暗淡的,昏黄的
信主的和不信主的
中国人,盎格鲁撒克逊人,
非洲人,印度人
韩国人,泰国人,越南人,乌克兰人
欧洲人,南美人,大洋洲人
今天, 我们说的是世界通用语
吃的是同一个盘子里的菜
把国际新闻
抛在脑后
希望听到好一点的东西
比如钢琴的和谐
空手道的美妙组合
或者印度诗歌的律动的节拍


休斯顿城中


飞云掠处高楼起,
黄昏暗淡天墨绿。
休市城中秋色里,
黄山搅乱乡愁絮。


45号州际公路日落


在大休斯顿这个草地的一角
45号公路上的车流
摇撼着在越发黑暗的水泥带后边
缓缓下沉的红日
托着输电线的铁塔的剪影
如德州油田上的井架
日落了, 留下一片深桔红
一点一点地噬咬着周边的天蓝
暮色的降临显出了红绿灯
在 1960 农场公路上
越发强悍地收放着车流
一架飞机飞进太阳
小成了一只蚊虫
在这难得的星期天下午的闲暇里
我在长草的土堆上
啜饮着“辣椒博士”饮料
它的颜色比落日更深

 
德州的蓝帽花


清晨它们向太阳微笑
也向我微笑
天使般地纯真
它们是我德州的
第一个邻居
孤独的时候
想家的时候
我在每一辆过往的车中
听见蓝帽花的低语
不管我去哪里
休士顿或伟科
路上总能见到
德州的蓝帽花
不管我乘坐什么
自行车或者汽车
我看见雨后的蓝帽花
新鲜而可爱
蓝帽花生长的时候
我不再有忧愁 
在早春的微风里
在起伏的草坡上
我的心不再孤独
因为蓝帽花住在了
我的圣殿里 


穿红马甲的女人


每天早晨我坐公车
去那水泥的丛林
和别的通勤人一起
猎取一日的面包 
他们象我一样
乏味无趣, 睡意仍浓。
直到她走上公车
她先生开车离去
太阳比平常更早
照进这天的黎明
白丝衬衣上一件红马甲
绿色裙子勾勒一道风景线
精心梳理的是金色的头发
透出脸庞的惊人的美艳
黑丝袜的腿如同
古希腊雕塑一般优雅
有点上翘的鼻子
活脱脱一幅诺曼-罗克维尔 
在达拉斯路她下了车
消失在人流车流之中
白丝衬衫上的红马甲
象一片花瓣飘逝不见
她的一切都那么和谐
这个穿红马甲的女人
我奇怪造物何以还要
浪费时间在别人身上

 
太平林市即景 1999.6


晨雾低垂, 闲涛扑岸,
海礁云立如堆。
一片汪洋天无际, 群鸥贴浪飞。
两三人影, 高岸垂钓,
罔听涛碎如雷。
小径蜿蜒,满地花紫,
人语车声偶相随。
游兴正浓,不忍即归,

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