For my maternal grandfather. In Guangzhou, China.
Tag: conversation
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In a field I am always visible
After Mark Strand.
1.
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In a field
I am always visible,
waiting for my
absence
to register as
presence.
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[In place of a poem, titled “Inventory,” that I would have written]
Saturday, May 25, 2024, in Ghent. For R. M.
1.
There was a catalogue of things I had devised for this poem, the one I would have titled “Inventory,” to give shape and voice to the life I had lived in the past three years. Each stanza of the poem would have begun with the introduction there were, followed by a plural noun of the letter “C”: colors, countries, cities, companions, conversations, compositions, conclusions. These c-nouns, as I’d planned it, would have been headings for list-like observations.Some of the lines I drafted were clever. But my clever fiction collapsed in on itself when I wanted to include the nouns that didn’t start with “C” (space and time), even as I wanted to end it all on a heavy line: There was not enough time.
Still, I wrote what I could in two stages. The first draft, which I scrawled in my sketchbook, was raw and rough. The second draft, which I penned in my thin notebook of poems, was better shaped though imperfect.
But then the clock struck nine-thirty and I had to leave. So I put away the sketchbook, notebook, and pen in my backpack, and I left.
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At the Family Table
Dinner (takeout) in Madrid: biang biang noodles. I’ve had a lot on my mind over these past few days in Madrid (and back in Europe). My family and I have truly enjoyed spending time together walking the city and marveling at its urban landscape. In particular, we’ve been especially impressed by its wealth of art and food, and by the striking contrast between its fast-paced traffic and slower-paced rhythms of life. For my part, I’ve been inspired to learn Spanish again—not just because I’d given it up after high school, but also because there’s a wealth of poetry and fiction I’m desperately trying to catch up on.
There’s much that I want to write about these aspects, however rough my ideas and language about them may still be. But over the course of the past few evenings and mornings, I’ve been drawn to something far closer to home: our family meals, and the colorful conversations—in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin—that animate them. Beyond filling my life with laughter, wisdom, and excellent food, our meals have helped me understand the pleasures and challenges of navigating the richness of the world: one whose vibrancy seems to demand even more color from my ever-expanding palette (or, if you prefer, pallet).
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Between Two Rivers 