流年

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He sat in meadow and plucked

with glad heart the spoil of the flowers,

gathering them one by one.    

                ----Euripides  

    We parted with Iliana and Dinh this Friday. Recalling the days we were together: only three classes, six hours, I have never been so close to English poem.

    I read poems sometimes, and always touched by these free lines, like lily's fragrance remaining in my mind. Too often I’m stunned by the beauty of these geniuses’ masterpieces. But to the poem, I just stop at appreciation, but never carry my pen and write some.  During the three days I had the poetry class, I surprisingly wrote three poems within three days. Green my lines might be, I have even created my new record.

    I still remember the first class of Iliana’s. We read Dufu’s Spring View, Li-Young Lee’s The City in Which I Love You, and we talk of Anna Akhmatova and Uruguay. We got familiar with each other soon.

    The following two classes were more like two poem meetings. We brought out the poem we had written beforehand and handed out the copies to the rest of the students. Then we began to comment on others’ poems. We spoke out the lines we liked and picked out the words we didn’t quite understand. We read through each student’s poem and digest it. We hashed the diction of the words and analyzed whether the lines made sense or not. At this time, the author had to close his or her mouth. After the comment, the author “answered the readers’ questions”, and reacted to their puzzle. We really benefited a lot from this kind of communication.

    The party on Friday afternoon was the last meeting, Dinh and her students came, too. We conducted the last “creative writing”--- each of us wrote one sentence, only allowed to see the previous one sentence. After finishing a round, we found our works are intertwined with the insane, asylums, pumpkin, and love story, giving rise to continuous lighters. The two foreign teachers may never forget the hot pot in Chengdu so that one of our stories begins with “A girl named Allison desperately wants to get to a restaurant for hot pot.” When chatting with Dinh, we mentioned the Chinese writers Dai Sijie and Ha Jin. I’m so amazed. Of course we talked about Sichuan dish and the fashionable clothing of Chengdu girls.Iliana and Dinh went back, left our poems, on which are my fellow students’ and their aborative comments. Still, I fond at the crush and excitement for the sudden emerge of pieces of words, a halt of a sentence and the slip of some hollow voice.

Someone once told me that it’s suitable to read a poem when we’re down. I wanna say, write a poem if you like.