Upon Contemplating the Week Just Ended

Self watched 3:10 to Yuma and cried (Self, you’re such a sucker for mis-understood heroes!)

Self found out Zack is going to be in San Francisco this week (Yay!)

Self is happy that no one laughed or talked while discussing former student Kevin K’s poem, “There for Six Months” (about his brother going to fight in Iraq). In fact, students who were most hooligan-ish on Wednesday were now staring at self with uniformly intent gaze. Wherefore this sudden rapt attention? Could it be that students actually identified with Kevin’s references to Pink Floyd? To his mention of making ramen noodles for lunch? Or to his ironic asides (see: abuse of power, see: corpses)? Kevin, wherever you are, self wishes to extend her most sincere gratitude, for this one poem alone has succeeded in firing the imagination of untold numbers of self’s students, ever since you wrote it for self’s Creative Writing class at San Francisco State, way back in 2004.

Self thought she was going to write something great after reading Mei Yao-ch’en, but perhaps not. Here is the poem she read, right after getting home from the movie:

Mei Yao-ch’en’s “On the Night of the Fifteenth Day of the First Month I Go Out and Return”

Only depression if I stay at home:
out to the festival to ease my pain.
Every man, rich or poor, is together with his wife;
my heart is moved only to greater grief.
Pleasures cloy so easily as old age comes;
I would go walking but desire fades.

If self had access to her trusty laptop a second after reading that, self might have written something poignant and lyrical about the weather (light drizzle) or about the fading light of late afternoon. But, alas, since self had to wait a couple of minutes for laptop to boot up, by the time self was actually able to post, all she could come up with were the following lines:

Self is happy she got to see Christian Bale;
looking at his handsome, mud-stained face eases her pain.
Pleasures are few and far between but how soon they are forgotten
When staring at Mr. Bale’s craggy cheekbones.


Self! Have you no sense of proportion, no sense of shame? That is possibly the worst, the most embarrassingly bad poetry that has ever been written! Why inflict such on loyal blog readers? And you claim to be inspired by sage Master Mei Yao-ch’en (1002- 1060) who was one of Dear Departed Professor James Liu’s favorite poets of the early Song!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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