I’ve spent the past few weeks immersed in silent dialogue with a few modernist and post-modernist poems. I tell myself it’s for fun (which it is, for the most part) but this is so I remain calm and collected in the few weeks before finals. The fun arises from stumbling on ordinary things with unexpected poetic value: fragments cobbled together with the softest of glues, found texts, other people’s status updates, song lyrics ripped out of context.
When exams are over I hope to swim in the most forgiving and warm waters of Free Time, to put aside grownup talk so I can exercise my other voice. In the meantime, as a complement to the first paragraph, here’s a bit of cut-and-paste cheekery.
bing is a Poet (and Didn’t Know It)
Morning sun ahead of holiday
Skies falling rain.
Corner of the wind up, naughty, blow hair.
It does not affect the Friday caper.
Rain on umbrella shades, tick-tock
Interweaving into notes.
Drops of rain on the ground
Moments into one small flower
Tick rain the beat
Spa system generative. Forces clouds,
Float like a cloud
That is the best suited to drain
When it rains.
- adapted from an advertisement in Mandarin, as translated by Bing