My Monterey Poems
I teach Chinese at Defence Language Institute. I came to Monterey in 1999. My poetry writing history dates back to my middle school years, but that was in Chinese. I started writing in English in 1996 when I came to the U.S. My favorite subjects are personal sentiments and natural scenes, basically following the Chinese poetic tradition.
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
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 antenne 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
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 na�ve 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
Fog in the morning
Wet my heart with floating dew
Sleeping bay in view
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
A quiet Saturday afternoon
When the broad daylight
Still hangs in the sky
And the city roads
Are already abandoned
By busy traffic
I stroll in Ralph's
Huge grocery store
Relishing a moment of reality
Of the life of
Ordinary people
Putting Defense Language Institute
Behind my mind
I remember
Grocery supermarkets
Used to be the only place
For past-time
In addition to a library
I am not buying things
Or I just buy things on sale
I watch people more than I watch the goods
I especially like to watch
Latinos and Afro-Americans
When they come mother and daughter
Father and son,brothers and sisters
Call me a loser,
Everyone,
For I AM a loser.
I never grew.
Time left no trace on me
Except for the graying of hair
And the dropping of eyes.
Even the number of pull-ups
Remains the same
And muscle
Because of nothing to do,
Is as sturdy as in my 20's
More so is the mind
Full of shit
And nothing new
Still dreaming for a room
With one desk, one bed and one chair
And one desk lamp, and one book shelf.
Call me a loser.
That's what I know I am
After I see the approaching
Of another birthday,
One step towards 50,
With no sense of security
And no sense of inflation
And no sense of nothing.
Call me a loser.
I may fit in perfectly
Into history
A piece that never changes.
I am already dead,
And fossilized.
I won't surprise you,
When we meet.
Now I dream of emperors' recipies,
For I need a second life
Not to waste.
I need a new beginning,
A new plan,
A new project,
A new country,
A new home,
A new network of friends
With all the regrets as the bottom line,
Regret, that catalyst in life,
For new growth.
In the rare warm sunshine of Monterey summer
I wade into the sea
The first time since here I came
Because they say it's cold
The pier softens the waves
When there is no wind blowing
The lazy ocean rolls in slow
And wets my shoes on sand
The water is cool as an October pool
Where I once swam late in year
Of course I cann't swim in winter
Like those crazy Moscovites
It is the nice feeling of crystal cold
That cleanses my body and soul
Once again I taste the salt
And remember the seas I was in
Women are the beauty of the world
But wars do not discriminate
You have a husband
You have a boyfriend
You have the wonderful memories of the past
They kill you anyway
When there is no war
The mountains are pretty
But when bullets fly in the woods
You don't even have time to see the ugly
When you die
And the war is over
Your body turns into dust
Women are still beautiful
Mountains are still pretty
And you are now history
Aug. 19, 2001
Swimming solitarily in the bay
I watch children in play
And human flesh BBQed in the sun
Exposed reddish, or covered with sand
Afterwards I go to the Wharf
Mingling into the crowds
Of people enjoying a sunny weekend
When Turks are having fun **Turkish Festival
They dance the same as in last year
But one face I don't see
The face of a long-legged Turkish girl
Who danced angelically
Tides come and go as usual
But human changes are once for all
People you like, known or not
Once gone, will never again be seen
I like the ocean for its eternity
I like its insensitivity
To all the woes and joys of the world
It floats and sinks anything alike
I wish to come back to swim again
Oblivious of all the worldly change
Buried in ocean, cool and clear
As free as a fish
A lady does her make up
For the man who claims to be her love
But for whom does a duck
Grooms herself by the lake?
On this Saturday morning I sit
By the lake in Monterey town
To rinse my mind of the poison
Accumulated during the week
A white duck, fat and clumpsy
Quack quack she walks my way
And plunges into the lake for a swim
And comes back pecking her flume
She looks funny when doing so
And I wonder how they can show
Roasted duck in Chinatown
Delicious, but do they clone them?
The duck sings and flapps her wings
Her chest high, her head to the sky
And then she balances on one leg
And stretches the other, ballet on ice
No one drops a coin on the lawn
For the beautiful duck dance
No mirror she can use to watch
Herself in the morning exercise
She has only me as the audience
Me who is not all hearts on her show
For I am reading the Bible in Spanish
That I got from the San Carlos Church
Yet the duck does not care
She continues her morning grooming
She is then joined by other birds
Who all love to wear clean shirts.
On the serene lake float the water birds
In all directions but they do not clash
I now see why they do not need traffic rules
For they never want to speed
Their graceful and leisurely crusing
Allows for any unexpected intruder
Who would shoots in from an on coming lane
The birds scatter, a blooming lotus
Unless going to bed at 1 a.m.
I always wake up around 3
Much like when I was in Waco
Fresh from Beijing Time
Helplessly I watch the night
Dragging its feet in silence
The comfort of morning brightness
Delays its flight
Good that I do not share my bed
Otherwise it would be trouble
Having it all to myself
I wake up anytime I do
Anytime as I was in China
Staring at a moldy wall
And many books in the room--
The boards of my casket
Here it is the same
Cogito ero sum
Otherwise it's a grave
Lifeless as antique shop
I read Rural American Writing
To kill time or watch TV
With headphones or learn Spanish
Giving up at Lesson Three
Or go on line with Blue Light
That won't be free in one week
And type my poem into Yahoo mail
To smuggle it across the border
I also try to eat something
But there is nothing interesting
Flour tortilla, bagel and beans
Discounted coke and raw eggs
There's no flavor worth to cook
Those American species
Tasteless milk and wax-like chicken
Easy to cook, easy to forget
I then stay awake one or two hours
And set the alarm clock for work
I return to the true world of dreams
Only to struggle with the details later
It is more American than today's America
The time of Jazz
The lazy unfolding of people's life
The street sweeper and the traffic cop dancing at
work
The bobbed hair of women
It is the America I wish to live in
The time of naiive innocence
Communism is a pest somewhere else
So let's trash it and have fun
Content with God's blessing for the land
We do not bother with globalization
Riding the slow Model-T's or the army Jeep
Let's go to the night club for fun
Let the trumpet and clarinet sing
Let the audience swing
Pretty are the hats of Negro women
And smart the suit of their men
Let Russia say we are decadent
Let the Chinese fight their wars
For all the BEE-bee-bee-BEE-BEE
We don't need to bother with the world
Come down to the joy-ridden black neighborhood
And come to the streets of New Orleans
Let's follow the popular Armstrong
He will sing you a love song
How I wish to go back on time
To enter the country at Ellis Island
And choose wherever I wish to live
To taste the melody of freedom
Hungry when passing Burger King
I went in to buy a bite
A man smiled broadly to me:
"D'ya know? They brought down a helicopter!"
"Who?" I thought he meant Afghanistan
"The rebels!" he smiled,"in South America!"
"I am a communist!" he continued,
"Are you from Viet Nam?"
I told him I was from China
"Then you ARE a Communist," he said
"NO I am NOT," I looked behind me
Diners were looking this way
I asked him how he became a communist
Since he is a pure Caucasian American
"I am from the working class," he told me
But he is now on disabled welfare
He is tall and looks OK to me
But what the hell, the U.S. is lenient
In labling people disabled
And issue them a parking permit
You see, man, THAT is socialism
And I wanted to say it is more so than China
But I held my tongue and finished my burger
And stood up to quit the scene
"Already leaving?" he looked at me
Wanting to chat more, it seemed
I guess a communist must be lonely
In this town of no politics
"Mao Tsetung!" he waved at me as a greeting
"Chiao!" I said in return
Mounting my bike I went to Ralph
And enjoyed capitalism on sale.
2002.1.27
At 7 am, the moon can be seen in Monterey. It is 11 pm in China.
I live to the west of the universe
And you live to the east
Missing you, I never see you
But we share the same sky
Today the moon deliberates
To stride the vast ocean of stars
We can look at it the same time
Yet while I'm awake, you're asleep.
Note on weather:
Cold and raining in Monterey. Hills in distance are covered with snow. The scenery can be described as silver snakes dancing in the mountains and green waves resting in the bay.
If I were 16 I would
Recite aloud Gorky:
"Let the storm be more violent!"
But today, when
Monterey was bombed with
Pouring rain
I was on the veranda of the office building
Watching rain beating on the roofs
And the world turning into prehistory
Suddenly I saw wild geese
Dashing through the rain
And realized that seagulls
Could indeed fly in storms
As described by Gorky
But I was not excited
I did not recite him
Just glad that I found a footnote
So many yers later to his writing
The rain suddenly dwindled
The sky azure showing
The heavy gray clounds now
Was over Seaside
On the fresh green Soldiers Field
Geese were grazing
They look like the new mushrooms
Out from nowhere
A rainbow strided across
Sprouting from the Embassy Suite Hotel
Overlooking a dark green sea
With white foams trimming the borderline
It's time to leave
Sitting on the sand beach of Carmel
I pull the ocean to me
With binoculars, as if
I were out on the sea
The ocean heaves under my feet
Its green and blue shades mingle
Sea weeds are like a dark undercurrent
Or a stroke of dark paint
I do people watching from the safety
Of the warm sand in the sun
And of the shields of my lenses
Like watching a movie for fun
A movie show of the life of ordinary people
Couples, parents, kids, dogs, without words
Yet so lively, so fresh, so touching
With all the human stories unfolding
The story of love and affection
The story of solitary soul
The story of the bond between men and animals
The story of the joys and tears of kids
The story, after all, of one pag
e in history
To be forgotten by tommorrow
Like old waves washed away by new ones
To be reminded only in framed timelessness
2001. 1.13
At the local mercado
I asked the cashier:
"A que hora do you close?"
Said la seniorita:"cinco."
"Vamos," I stammered.
"Vamos donde?" pregunta.
"Vamos McDonald's."
Laughed she y her colega .
Her colega shook her head.
And she smiled and said "No"
"Porque no?" I asked with hope,
"Porque no me gusta."
Donde hay un restaurante?
She's a picky Latina.
Next time I am going to say
Vamos a mi casa!
