Wednesday, 9. May 2007, 05:42:45
my poem
I lost my voice
When the heart was closed
That surging waves
In vain, echoed
I lost my voice
When the pen felt tired
That greedy moss
All around, piled
I lost my voice
When it failed to be heard
When days became years
And years blurred
--by moonriver May 9,2007--
Sunday, 29. April 2007, 13:46:06
my poem
When I miss thee
With a blurred mind
That unspoken happiness
When two souls entwined
When I miss thee
With longings centuries old
Though sunshine embraces me
I still feel so cold
When I miss thee
That yearning flies
To thee half a world away
And melts in your eyes
--by moonriver --
2007-4-29 21:59:11
Sunday, 29. April 2007, 13:41:07
my poem
When the other trees are dressed up
And the flowers are in full bloom
A tiny bud quietly sprout
From that old branch in gloom
She never complains
Nor being upset
For in her brains
Every life has its own orbit
There she smiles
In the sunshine
In the storm
Tuesday, 24. April 2007, 14:59:26
my poem
So charming is the room
A room brimmed with dreams
Is it a tiny flower in bloom
Or larger than galaxy as it seems
Is it a boundless sea
Where sailors longing to sail
Or a neverland of glee
A magic journey to a fairy tale
Large or small
Virtual or real
We are lost in the ball
A room, appeal!
--by moonriver--
2007-4-24 22:49:02
My Room
So small my room
That none but you can hosted be
With the wine full to the brim
And the fruit of honey bee.
That to be, they seem,
Over abundant for me.
So large my room
That the moon and stars all
Come to take part in
When we hold our ball.
That should have been,
The invited, more!
--by Daydreamer--
2007-4-24 16:25:13
Foreword:
Your room, the very room, where there is no place for a grass leaf to squeeze in, but a vast space for billows of love to mass. – 有感于”My Room” April 2007
When another chilly drizzle of this long, cold spring continuously pestered me in this foggy afternoon, I was telling myself my tulips and daffodils would again get withered sooner than they should like what had happened last year. An inexplicable chaotic none-thought jammed into my mind; making it absolutely impossible to be sensible to anything. My sagaciousness had long been lost to nowhere or it might have never been with me. My heart, now merely a functioning pump of some red fluid, had no sensation of space, though it has two rooms, to be more exact, two chambers, as everyone else does.
I came into “My Room”, at such a muddled moment. I was in it, or it might have taken my sight, neither way would be logical anyway. Like a cute little girl, holding a bouquet of spring, it was running towards me, smiling. I opened my arms and postured myself of hugging. Or otherwise, I was running towards her or rather into her. Believe me; I was too confused in my swoon to tell who ran to whom. A glass of aged wine, with the mellow honey sweet fruit, is what it is for me. I could only be intoxicated and enslaved. Its magic grip took my two chambered heart into its one room!
“Me” is overjoyed by the full rejoice of happiness. What was given is the Niagara water that fills up every river and lake. The profuse fulfillment and content looks like a luxury but it eases the devastating thirsty for nectar in the interminable months of drought. The appreciation for the granting, the gratitude for the tremendous offering makes Me humble and tame. That is not all, My room has its grand hall!
An enormous and royally decorated ball-room dancing hall! I am taking the liberty to listen to the Tale of Vienna Woods, the story that has been told for centuries. A star is taking his bow to the moon, inviting her for a waltz. Tuxedoes and tailcoats, mingling with long feathery dresses of various styles and colors, are swirling and floating with the waves of music notes. The music, the color, together with the splendid shines of crystal chandeliers, enlarge My room. Isn’t it enough? Far from it! More should be invited! The sun, the gods and goddesses, the air and the water! Oh, life, now full of miracles! My room is made phenomenally gigantic by YOU!
Immersed in the infinity, indulged in the vast, I see the perpetuity makes its way. Big or small, black or white, day or night, everything is turning and running its way no matter what, because YOU are the one who makes My room change its size and holds either a tiny drop of wine or a grand ball as it may like with endless possibilites!
Your room, My room; now the two chambers inside my chest carry the new pumping on a sunny day till twilight comes to the sky dome.
--Comment by Rhapsodia on daydreamer's 'my room'2007-5-1 2:45:13 --
It would be woefully wrong if some people think the room in this poem is the one where people live with furniture and housing ornaments. Virtually it refers to the persona’s soulful world. Such a small room is used to highlight persona’s exclusive devotion in love, feelings or friendship whereas such a large room is employed to emphasize persona’s pursuit for simplicity and nature. From this poem it seems I can sniff the unique aftertaste that the works of Emily Dickinson and W.B Yeats presented us.
Apart from the elegant structure and rhythm, many figurative devices are also deftly adopted, such as antithesis, reversion, and hyperbole, which undoubtedly reinforce the artistic effect that the poem intends to convey to the readers.
Of course it would be even better if some refinement in wordings and imago could be made. For instance, in the first stanza, I believe wine and fruit are used to describe the happy and intoxicated state of persona’s inner world in the time She/he enjoys the moment alone with her/his beloved; however, both wine and fruit are somewhat substantial objects, which somehow betray the intention that the poem attempts to make, namely exclusive pursuit or devotion to one’s soulful world as described in the poem----None but you. Therefore, it seems the imagoes "wine" and "fruit" might be replaced by some other non-substantial objects, such as breath, silhouette and smell etc, so as to correspond with the "narrowness" of the small room. As Rhapsodia comments it, this should be so small a room that even a tiny grass can't squeeze in.
At any rate, this is a nice poem indeed.
--Comment by Passerby2006 on daydreamer's poem 'my room'2007-5-1 15:07:40-
A room can be a seat in the lifeboat for a passenger on the Titanic, a vacant bench for a tramper wandering in the park, an area enclosed with walls and windows for an architect, a chamber for a surgeon, a soulful world for a psychoanalyst, a tunnel leading to many exits for a mole. Whatever it is for you, please allow me to say the plainest “thank you”for your devotion of time to read and reply, especially to dear rhapsodia and passerby2006 who presented their penetrating comments branded with their respectively unique style, which no doubt grant us a precious chance to learn, as moonriver mentioned.
I have to admit that at first I felt a bit frustrated and began to consider this practice a failure when moonriver took the room for the forum. Because although I mostly wrote it for the sake of giving vent to my certain feelings, I cannot deny I was expecting identification from you now that I posted it in the public bbs. After all, the feedback from readers is the valid litmus for a piece of writing.
Yet later I was released and even grew somewhat delighted. For the comprehending of a poem is so personal an affair and has nothing to do with right or wrong. In the light of this statement, I should be delight with all kinds of apprehension making sense, which means this poem did leave some room for its readers and proved my effort was not totally in vain. LOL.
From dear rhapsodia’s comment, I see a lady full of sensibility, though she asserted a chaotic status made her insensible to anything; I see a lady rich in colorful imagination though she declared her sagaciousness had long been lost; I also see a lady blessed with a poetic heart, though she alleged her heart only two functioning chambers.
Rhapsodia’s comment itself is a prose which no doubt has already gained itself-existence. In the stream of consciousness, I once in a while forgot who I am. Am I the reader of this prose? Am I the speaker in the poem? Or even am I the speaker in this prose? Sometimes I feel the three are one, sometimes not. I feel my writing is like an outline, whereas rhapsodia’s prose is full of details more colorful and rich, as if I had written the poem after reading the prototype prose. Or Rhapsodia wrote the prose after reading the outline? Its really hard to tell which one presented itself first.
And, as the coolest person, dear passerby2006 once more amazed us with his/her penetrating insight and profound knowledge of poetry. The interesting part is, moonriver and I seem to have sounder reasons to feel amazed by dear passerby’s interpretation. For what we communicated through sms is almost exactly what passerby2006 said. Were you lurking in a corner of the room so that you know each star coming to the ball? Or you are just born to be as penetrating as you? Lol.
Someone say it is not a thorough comment unless it advances ideas on modification. From this point of view, dear passerby2006, your comments are always highly appreciated more than you can imagine. Because they make the writer see clearly the weak chain. So how should I thank you enough?
--by daydreamer 2007-5-7 15:39:13--
Monday, 23. April 2007, 15:28:23
My poem ( sonnet )
I gaze at her in wonder and surprise
That delicate rose silently in bloom
Her dainty beauty just dazzles my eyes
And I am lost in her enchanting perfume
The crystal clear pearls that gracefully shine
Are dewdrops in the morn or angel’s tears
That burning petals like entrancing wine
Before her I forget the fleeting years
Allow me to become a tiny drip
And gently melt into her silent dream
Or be a butterfly to kiss her lip
And dance forever to her graceful beam
I’m here to stay with her and never part
To feel her breath, aroma and her heart
--by moonriver April 23,2007--
Thursday, 19. April 2007, 05:46:40
my poem
I am searching you hard in the breeze
Why, Oh why
Only some vague memories blur my eyes
Where are thee
Where are thee
Yearnings grow wildly in my life
Blooming
Burning
Oh, my darling
Could you hear the sound of heart breaking
Sunday, 15. April 2007, 15:05:12
my poem
That door is closed
So much should she care
That cruel chillness
The frigidity freezes the air
That door is closed
Closed with her dreams
With a heart so heavy
Heavier than it seems
That door is closed
Her breath taken away
In the abysmal darkness
A lonely soul astray
Friday, 13. April 2007, 03:34:50
my poem
Faraway as you are
You are so close to my heart
Can’t you see, the moonlight
Has already embraced us so tight
That instantaneous sensation
Should take up my lifetime to savor
I am not regretted
In the breeze
When that casual smile
Gently dances on my face
My darling
That is all because
You are blooming silently in my heart
--By moonriver April 18,2007--
Thursday, 12. April 2007, 13:53:09
my translation
倩影
The Nice Images
爱人在何方，
夜夜绕梦乡。
眼泪长流淌，
思念轻飘扬。
My lover, where do you stay?
You haunt my dream every night.
The sad tears are flowing away,
The yearning is in gentle flight.
夜深倍孤单，
念你千百遍。
纵然相隔远，
倩影留心间。
More lonely in the still of night,
I am missing you again and again.
Though you are far beyond my sight,
Your nice images in my heart remain.
译于2007年4月10日by howard2005
Where are thee, my love
Every night you haunt my dream
Long my tears stream
And gently my yearnings wave
Loneliness grows as the night goes deep
Time and time again I am chewing your name
Though the rivers may be long and mountains steep
Your charming images forever in my heart flame
--by moonriver2007-4-12 21:50:47
Tuesday, 10. April 2007, 14:50:22
my poem
I wander in thy perfume
Why should I feel so cold
That penetrating gloom
On the gentlest grass rolled
Are thou lost in that old dream
When fragrance filled the air
Or merely miss the glistening gleam
That once caressed thy tender hair
Oh, my garden, don’t feel that way
For never shall I leave thee behind
The moment I perched my life in thee-my bay
We were entwined!
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