酷我-北美枫

[星子]

相框里的玫瑰静静地
开放在墙上，这是一种预定。
除了对面的镜子，还有窗前的
一个人懂。他的影子在镜子里，
距离总是若即若离，这种沉默
在夜幕下放大着雨夜的沙沙声。

你的镜头对准空寂的一堵墙，
你相信那些无人读懂的水印，
岁月在瞳仁里留下静静的
忧伤和快乐，
有如断桥下一把张开的雨伞。

你收起雨伞，你知道雨的去处，
你的夜漂泊在秋池的荷塘深处。
_________________

[[ANNA]]

相框里的玫瑰静静地
开放在墙上，这是一种预定。
除了对面的镜子，还有窗前的
一个人懂。他的影子在镜子里，
距离总是若即若离，这种沉默
在夜幕下放大着雨夜的沙沙声。

你的镜头对准空寂的一堵墙，
你相信那些无人读懂的水印，
岁月在瞳仁里留下静静的
忧伤和快乐，
有如断桥下一把张开的雨伞。

你收起雨伞，你知道雨的去处，
你的夜漂泊在秋池的荷塘深处。
_________________

[星子]

唉，自批一下吧。。。。老写情诗，我的境界太不高了。。。（如蔡大哥所言)

最近加入了两个读书会，好朋友办的，读的都是描写女性的书。。。看看自己在境界上是否有突破：）


_________________

[[ANNA]]

唉，自批一下吧。。。。老写情诗，我的境界太不高了。。。（如蔡大哥所言)

最近加入了两个读书会，好朋友办的，读的都是描写女性的书。。。看看自己在境界上是否有突破：）


_________________

[星子]

再自辩一下。。。

其实我和老师也聊过，担心自己写的感受和情感的诗偏多

他们的想法是这是人之常情，也是最真实的最能打动人的，为什么不写？

不过他们觉得我存在的问题是写得不深入。。。这却是很头痛的问题，如何深入？
_________________

[[ANNA]]

再自辩一下。。。

其实我和老师也聊过，担心自己写的感受和情感的诗偏多

他们的想法是这是人之常情，也是最真实的最能打动人的，为什么不写？

不过他们觉得我存在的问题是写得不深入。。。这却是很头痛的问题，如何深入？
_________________

[anna]

Added English version

Mind drifts on the raining night

The roses in the frame quietly bloom.
It reminds you of a story of years earlier.
Nobody understands it, except the mirror
and the man leaning by the window.
His shadow falls on the mirror, the distance
unpredictable. Silence veils the raining night,
leaves rain tapping sounds even more lonesome.

Your lens zooming on an empty wall,
You read the unknown mystery watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

Added English version

Mind drifts on the raining night

The roses in the frame quietly bloom.
It reminds you of a story of years earlier.
Nobody understands it, except the mirror
and the man leaning by the window.
His shadow falls on the mirror, the distance
unpredictable. Silence veils the raining night,
leaves rain tapping sounds even more lonesome.

Your lens zooming on an empty wall,
You read the unknown mystery watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[lxping]

什么知识都是可以学习的，唯有“情”字不可学习。至真至性的人才可写出至真至性的情诗，星子应是此类人。所谓不能深入，该因情未至。哪一天你肝肠寸断，痛彻心扉；哪一天世间的爱在你心中厚厚积淀。深入，便不请自到了。

[[FAFAFA]]

什么知识都是可以学习的，唯有“情”字不可学习。至真至性的人才可写出至真至性的情诗，星子应是此类人。所谓不能深入，该因情未至。哪一天你肝肠寸断，痛彻心扉；哪一天世间的爱在你心中厚厚积淀。深入，便不请自到了。

[星子]

[[ANNA]]

[蔡利华]

很喜欢这样的感觉。
_________________
http://www.blogcn.com/user44/cailihua/index.html
http://blog.sina.com.cn/cailihua9363

[[蔡利华]]

很喜欢这样的感觉。
_________________
http://www.blogcn.com/user44/cailihua/index.html
http://blog.sina.com.cn/cailihua9363

[星子]

谢谢蔡大哥。。。
_________________

[[ANNA]]

谢谢蔡大哥。。。
_________________

[星子]

英文版的回馈信息。。。。

Hi Apple-

You set a melancholic tone and if comes across.
I like that it has a mysteriousness to it.
Think you can pare this down just a bit as you'll see below:


(The) roses in the frame quietly bloom.
It reminds you of a story (of years earlier.)
no one (Nobody) understands (it,) except the mirror
and (the) man leaning by the window.
His shadow falls on the glass and (mirror, on) the
unpredictable distance. Silence veils the rainy(ing) night,
leaves (rain) the tap(ping sounds) even more lonesome.

Your lens zooms(ing) on an empty wall,
You read the unknown (mystery) watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.


Roses in the frame quietly bloom.
It reminds you of a story no one
understands except for the mirror
and man leaning by the window.
His shadow falls on the glass
and the unpredictable distance.
Silence veils the rainy night,
leaves the tap even more lonesome.

Your lens zoom in on an empty wall.
You read the unknown watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.


Cheers,

_________________
Yoly
http://www.myspace.com/yolytime
^
http://www.lopsidepress.com/gallery/
_________________

[[ANNA]]

英文版的回馈信息。。。。

Hi Apple-

You set a melancholic tone and if comes across.
I like that it has a mysteriousness to it.
Think you can pare this down just a bit as you'll see below:


(The) roses in the frame quietly bloom.
It reminds you of a story (of years earlier.)
no one (Nobody) understands (it,) except the mirror
and (the) man leaning by the window.
His shadow falls on the glass and (mirror, on) the
unpredictable distance. Silence veils the rainy(ing) night,
leaves (rain) the tap(ping sounds) even more lonesome.

Your lens zooms(ing) on an empty wall,
You read the unknown (mystery) watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.


Roses in the frame quietly bloom.
It reminds you of a story no one
understands except for the mirror
and man leaning by the window.
His shadow falls on the glass
and the unpredictable distance.
Silence veils the rainy night,
leaves the tap even more lonesome.

Your lens zoom in on an empty wall.
You read the unknown watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.


Cheers,

_________________
Yoly
http://www.myspace.com/yolytime
^
http://www.lopsidepress.com/gallery/
_________________

[星子]

Comments from Bernie...

AA---

i like the feel, the melancholy.

but are the elments linked? one element flowing into a second?

The roses in the frame quietly bloom.

the opening line is declarative and a clear image is immediately established.



1. It reminds you of a story of years earlier.
2. Nobody understands it, except the mirror
3. and the man leaning by the window.



now, suddenly, three things that have no connection to the opening image of a quietly blooming roses.


do you need a man leaning by the window? a reader might ask, is this man spying? a spurned boyfriend, a FEDEX delivery man, what?

will he be developed in the poem?

answer: no.


and is the reader actually reminded of a story, years earlier?

i don't know no stories about quietly blooming roses.

if you link the opening line to something---weather, a lost lover in the war, a garden of the past, maybe i will conjure a similar memory---a generic memory---we all have them about gardens, rain, old photographs, etc....



The roses in the frame quietly bloom.


leaves tap in the rain,


the poem says the night is silent, but then talks about the tapping leaves. which is it? silent or filled with the sound of tapping leaves in the rain.

a wonderful image, i think---those tapping leaves in the rain---but it can only work as an atmospheric---because it has otherwise nothing to do with the slowly blooming roses.

unless, the tapping leaves are our new subject, which they are not.


The roses in the frame quietly bloom.

leaves tap in the rain,


if the leaves are also in the frame, fine. if the leaves are outside, i would say so:

Outside, the leaves tap in the rain.



I would make that framed picture hold the entire story:

1. slowly blooming roses
2. imagined leaves tapping in the rain
3. an image of a man in uniform.

He seems to turn away
as he says goodbye.



now we have a story emerging.

a movie.

think A Very Long Engagement.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LodHvEqjP3E



His shadow falls on the mirror, the distance
unpredictable.

Your lens zooming on an empty wall,
You read the unknown mystery watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.


me, i don't trace no sadness---too telly. if the reader ain't catching on that this is a moody tale of lost and faded love, then telling him something with a heavy hand will not save the pom.

by the way, what has a watermark to do with a wall?


we started with a photo in a frame---what happened to that photo?


i love the image of an numbrella that has blown free and lands against a blank wall.

just motivate it within the poem.


the umbrella is fine, but save it for the big close---don't tell me the punchline for the joke, and then repeat the joke two lines later and expect the same reaction. yes?


and "bygones" sounds too much like "let bygones be bygones."

I would seriously consider something else.

a very good poem, a very good base.

my thoughts.


bernie



Patterns
by Amy Lowell


I walk down the garden paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden paths.

My dress is richly figured,
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel, and the thrift
Of the borders.
Just a plate of current fashion,
Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whalebone and brocade.
And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree. For my passion
Wars against the stiff brocade.
The daffodils and squills
Flutter in the breeze
As they please.
And I weep;
For the lime-tree is in blossom
And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

And the plashing of waterdrops
In the marble fountain
Comes down the garden-paths.
The dripping never stops.
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,
A basin in the midst of hedges grown
So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,
But she guesses he is near,
And the sliding of the water
Seems the stroking of a dear
Hand upon her.
What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!
I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.
All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,
And he would stumble after,
Bewildered by my laughter.
I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles
on his shoes.
I would choose
To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,
A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,
Till he caught me in the shade,
And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,
Aching, melting, unafraid.
With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,
And the plopping of the waterdrops,
All about us in the open afternoon --
I am very like to swoon
With the weight of this brocade,
For the sun sifts through the shade.

Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom,
Is a letter I have hid.
It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.
"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell
Died in action Thursday se'nnight."
As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,
The letters squirmed like snakes.
"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.
"No," I told him.
"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.
No, no answer."
And I walked into the garden,
Up and down the patterned paths,
In my stiff, correct brocade.
The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,
Each one.
I stood upright too,
Held rigid to the pattern
By the stiffness of my gown.
Up and down I walked,
Up and down.

In a month he would have been my husband.
In a month, here, underneath this lime,
We would have broke the pattern;
He for me, and I for him,
He as Colonel, I as Lady,
On this shady seat.
He had a whim
That sunlight carried blessing.
And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."
Now he is dead.

In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
Up and down
The patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
The squills and daffodils
Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.
I shall go
Up and down,
In my gown.
Gorgeously arrayed,
Boned and stayed.
And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
By each button, hook, and lace.
For the man who should loose me is dead,
Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,
In a pattern called a war.
Christ! What are patterns for?
_________________

[[ANNA]]

Comments from Bernie...

AA---

i like the feel, the melancholy.

but are the elments linked? one element flowing into a second?

The roses in the frame quietly bloom.

the opening line is declarative and a clear image is immediately established.



1. It reminds you of a story of years earlier.
2. Nobody understands it, except the mirror
3. and the man leaning by the window.



now, suddenly, three things that have no connection to the opening image of a quietly blooming roses.


do you need a man leaning by the window? a reader might ask, is this man spying? a spurned boyfriend, a FEDEX delivery man, what?

will he be developed in the poem?

answer: no.


and is the reader actually reminded of a story, years earlier?

i don't know no stories about quietly blooming roses.

if you link the opening line to something---weather, a lost lover in the war, a garden of the past, maybe i will conjure a similar memory---a generic memory---we all have them about gardens, rain, old photographs, etc....



The roses in the frame quietly bloom.


leaves tap in the rain,


the poem says the night is silent, but then talks about the tapping leaves. which is it? silent or filled with the sound of tapping leaves in the rain.

a wonderful image, i think---those tapping leaves in the rain---but it can only work as an atmospheric---because it has otherwise nothing to do with the slowly blooming roses.

unless, the tapping leaves are our new subject, which they are not.


The roses in the frame quietly bloom.

leaves tap in the rain,


if the leaves are also in the frame, fine. if the leaves are outside, i would say so:

Outside, the leaves tap in the rain.



I would make that framed picture hold the entire story:

1. slowly blooming roses
2. imagined leaves tapping in the rain
3. an image of a man in uniform.

He seems to turn away
as he says goodbye.



now we have a story emerging.

a movie.

think A Very Long Engagement.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LodHvEqjP3E



His shadow falls on the mirror, the distance
unpredictable.

Your lens zooming on an empty wall,
You read the unknown mystery watermark.
Bygones leave traces of sadness and happiness
on the pupils, like an open umbrella
beside a broken bridge.

You pick up the paper umbrella and fold it.
Your night floats on the rising lily pond.


me, i don't trace no sadness---too telly. if the reader ain't catching on that this is a moody tale of lost and faded love, then telling him something with a heavy hand will not save the pom.

by the way, what has a watermark to do with a wall?


we started with a photo in a frame---what happened to that photo?


i love the image of an numbrella that has blown free and lands against a blank wall.

just motivate it within the poem.


the umbrella is fine, but save it for the big close---don't tell me the punchline for the joke, and then repeat the joke two lines later and expect the same reaction. yes?


and "bygones" sounds too much like "let bygones be bygones."

I would seriously consider something else.

a very good poem, a very good base.

my thoughts.


bernie



Patterns
by Amy Lowell


I walk down the garden paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden paths.

My dress is richly figured,
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel, and the thrift
Of the borders.
Just a plate of current fashion,
Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whalebone and brocade.
And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree. For my passion
Wars against the stiff brocade.
The daffodils and squills
Flutter in the breeze
As they please.
And I weep;
For the lime-tree is in blossom
And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

And the plashing of waterdrops
In the marble fountain
Comes down the garden-paths.
The dripping never stops.
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,
A basin in the midst of hedges grown
So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,
But she guesses he is near,
And the sliding of the water
Seems the stroking of a dear
Hand upon her.
What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!
I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.
All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,
And he would stumble after,
Bewildered by my laughter.
I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles
on his shoes.
I would choose
To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,
A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,
Till he caught me in the shade,
And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,
Aching, melting, unafraid.
With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,
And the plopping of the waterdrops,
All about us in the open afternoon --
I am very like to swoon
With the weight of this brocade,
For the sun sifts through the shade.

Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom,
Is a letter I have hid.
It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.
"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell
Died in action Thursday se'nnight."
As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,
The letters squirmed like snakes.
"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.
"No," I told him.
"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.
No, no answer."
And I walked into the garden,
Up and down the patterned paths,
In my stiff, correct brocade.
The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,
Each one.
I stood upright too,
Held rigid to the pattern
By the stiffness of my gown.
Up and down I walked,
Up and down.

In a month he would have been my husband.
In a month, here, underneath this lime,
We would have broke the pattern;
He for me, and I for him,
He as Colonel, I as Lady,
On this shady seat.
He had a whim
That sunlight carried blessing.
And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."
Now he is dead.

In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
Up and down
The patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
The squills and daffodils
Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.
I shall go
Up and down,
In my gown.
Gorgeously arrayed,
Boned and stayed.
And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
By each button, hook, and lace.
For the man who should loose me is dead,
Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,
In a pattern called a war.
Christ! What are patterns for?
_________________

[星子]

总体来说，翻译后的景象，比如断桥，伞，镜子，影子等之间的联系，英文朋友很难理解。。。
_________________

[[ANNA]]

总体来说，翻译后的景象，比如断桥，伞，镜子，影子等之间的联系，英文朋友很难理解。。。
_________________

[疏影]

喜欢。
_________________
疏影横斜水清浅，暗香浮动月黄昏

[[疏影]]

喜欢。
_________________
疏影横斜水清浅，暗香浮动月黄昏

[山城子]

岁月在瞳仁里留下静静的
忧伤和快乐，

——形容词用如名词之美！！
_________________
诗是人生的雅伴儿。
山城茶居：http://coviews.com/weblog.php?w=46

[[*****]]

岁月在瞳仁里留下静静的
忧伤和快乐，

——形容词用如名词之美！！
_________________
诗是人生的雅伴儿。
山城茶居：http://coviews.com/weblog.php?w=46

[anna]

谢谢疏影。。


谢谢山城子。
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

谢谢疏影。。


谢谢山城子。
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[华轩]

[[FAFAFA]]