And another thing: in such a beautiful natural environment, human beings are also so innocent and so endearing — it’s just that they can’t adjust to life in the twentieth century. Now when all is said and done, is it because such people are unsuited to modern life, or is it because modern life is just not suitable for them? To put it another way, should people live out their days following their own bent [任情適性], or should they chop off their toes to fit their shoes, doing their best to accommodate themselves to objective reality? There’s one thing we can be sure of: human beings have lived on this Earth for thousands of years but have yet to design a society that is in accordance with their nature. A United World with everyone living together as one seems as if it will stay a beautiful but empty ideal forever . . .
Balzac once said: “The flaw in modern governments is that they go too far in wanting people to fit in with society, refusing to modify society to suit the needs of those who make it up”. All people who embrace the ideal of saving the world should give this remark some serious thought!
The weather turns heavenly, and it with come thoughts of Heaven as 阿綠 Ah Luk, 陳之一 Chan Chi-yat, 孚翠 Fu-cheui and 阿奇Ah Kei continue their visit to Kadoorie Farm with a walk along the Butterfly Path up to Convent Garden. There, they enjoy a champagne picnic lunch, prepared by Ah Kei’s good friend, 凡傑 Fan Kit, and talk of orchids, seances and the very uncertain future of Hong Kong.
In six sweet minutes, the Hong Kong poet 廖偉棠 Liu Wai-tong talks poetry, giving you the many benefits of his long years as a writer. One of my favourite moments comes when he asks
我哋（嘅）語言點樣從一個美麗嘅事物 | 慢慢變成咗我哋日常中我哋只係將佢作為種工具嚟使用呢？
which means, roughly, “Why has our language gone from being such a beautiful thing to a mere tool we make use of in our daily lives?” Perhaps that sentence alone will be enough to start you thinking along poetic lines . . .
From the Cantonese perspective, there is plenty of vocabulary to take away from Liu’s video. Items include 覺悟 gok3 ngh6 = ① come to realize ② consciousness; 歸結 gwāi1 git3 = to sum up; to put in a nutshell; 獨一無二 duhk6 yāt1 mòuh4 yih6 = unique; unparalleled; unmatched; 瘋狂 fūng1 kòhng4 = ① insane ② frenzied; unbridled; 打磨 dáa2 mòh4 = to polish; to burnish; to shine; 素材 sou3 chòih4 = source material (of literature & art); 外星人 ngoih6 sīng1 yàhn4 = a person from outer space; an extra-terrestrial being; an alien; and 習以為常 jaahp6 yíh5 wàih4 sèuhng4 = be used to sth.; be accustomed to sth.
You can watch the video here (the subtitles are, for a nice change, in Cantonese!). For my transcription, notes and very unpoetical English translation, please see below.
● 覺悟 gok3 ngh6 = ① come to realize ② consciousness | ● 解答 gáai2 daap3 = to answer | ● 要素 yiu3 sou3 = essential factor; key element | ● 歸結 gwāi1 git3 = to sum up; to put in a nutshell | ● 先驗 sīn1 yihm6 = a priori | ● 超驗 chīu1 yihm6 = transcendental | ● 指向 jí2 heung3 = (?) to point at; to refer to | ● 交織 gāau1 jīk1 = to intertwine; to interweave; to mingle | ● 挖掘 waat3 gwaht6 = to excavate; to unearth
Caption: Liu Wai-tong | Poets on Poetry
Hello, everyone. I am Liu Wai-tong. I am very happy to be able to share with you here today some of the things I have come to realize [覺悟] about poetry. Actually, what I mainly wish to give you answers to are three common questions about poetry.
Caption: What are the elements of a good poem?
The first question is about what the key elements of a poem are. Actually, there are many answers to this question. As far as I am concerned, it can be summed up by three key elements: that which is prior to experience, experience [itself] and that which transcends experience. This makes it sound like a philosophical issue, but actually, for a poet, that which precedes experience refers to feelings. Because the feelings of a poet are interwoven with the many different feelings of the whole of humanity in its development through history, when we write poetry, we are valuing, treasuring and excavating the sources of our own feeling.
By means of this excavation, we can attain to a kind of collective emotion [共情] with our readers, with other poets [同行] and with artists [working in different media]. With regard to experience, this is extremely important. Living here in this world, we might have spent a dozen or so years — or several decades — meeting with both many, many unique [experiences of our own] as well as feelings common to other people in [this] city as a whole, or in this period of time. What we have to do is — from the perspective of reason — to salvage something belonging to our collective wisdom from [all this]. This wisdom can be something extremely minor, or it can be something extremely major, but it has to be able to make our readers — including ourselves — discover when reading the poem something of the “imagination” in it, about how to conduct our future [lives] [or] how to face our destinies.
● 瘋狂 fūng1 kòhng4 = ① insane ② frenzied; unbridled | ● 理喻 léih5 yuh6 = to reason with cf. 不可理喻 bāt1 hó2 léih5 yuh6 = be impervious to reason; won’t listen to reason | ● 打造 dáa2 jouh6 = to make | ● 功利 gūng1 leih6 = utility; material gin | ● 打磨 dáa2 mòh4 = to polish; to burnish; to shine | ● 變形 bin3 yìhng4 = be out of shape; become deformed | ● 組合 jóu2 hahp6 = to make up; to compose; to constitute | ● 構造 kau3 jouh6 = a structure; a construction | ● 嘗試 sèuhng4 si3 = to attempt; to try
[My] third point about that which transcends experience refers to the language of the poem. We all tend to think that the language of poetry is a bit like madness [瘋狂] or something that doesn’t listen to reason. Actually, the language of poetry is just like the making of a work of visual art. By polishing, deforming, reconstituting and structuring everyday language — a language that has become numb, utilitarian, instrumental — [we can let] it lead us to a discovery of the secret of language. Why has our language gone from being such a beautiful thing to a mere tool we make use of in our daily lives? When we have discovered this secret, we can try to create a unique poetic language belonging to us [alone], one that leads our readers — or we ourselves — to come to know the world in a new way. A poem that achieves this third element is an extremely good poem.
● 困惑 kwan3 waahk6 = perplexed; puzzled | ● 素材 sou3 chòih4 = source material (of literature & art) | ● 慨嘆 koi3 taan3 = to sigh with regret | ● 無所不在 mòuh4 só2 bāt1 joih6 = omnipresent; ubiquitous | ● 外星人 ngoih6 sīng1 yàhn4 = a person from outer space; an extra-terrestrial being; an alien | ● 考古學家 háau2 gú2 hohk6 gāa1 = archaeologist | ● 習以為常 jaahp6 yíh5 wàih4 sèuhng4 = be used to sth.; be accustomed to sth.
Caption: Where can we find the material for writing poetry?
About this second point, we feel constantly feel perplexed. How do we go about gathering the material with which to write our poems? We live in this extremely busy and seemingly unpoetic metropolis and we spend our days sighing with regret and wondering whether we should (as the poet 辛棄疾 Xin Qiji once wrote) “for to compose new verses”, feign our “sorrow and woe”. It is not really like this at all. Poetic meaning is everywhere to be found. All we need do is to find material in this city or in this contemporary life equivalent to what was called “poetic meaning” in bygone times. How do we find such material? We must forever maintain our curiosity. And we must be always imagining ourselves to be . . . for instance “I am a person from another planet who has just arrived on Earth” or “I am an archaeologist from the future”. In this way, in the life that we have already grown accustomed to, we will think: “Hey, this . . .
● 共鳴 guhng6 mìhng4 = ① to resonate ② to respond sympathetically | ● 化學反應 faa3 hohk6 fáan2 ying3 = a chemical reaction | ● 調度 diuh6 douh6 = to dispatch | ● 磨練 mòh4 lihn6 = to practise hard; self-discipline | 手藝 sáu2 ngaih6 = craftmanship | ● 工藝人 gūng1 ngaih6 yàhn4 = craftsman
. . . is something special, and that is something special, too. At the same time, we will be extremely open-minded. We will allow many of the elements of this world to enter inside us, including elements of reality and emotional elements. Now these things can strike a chord with us or [create] what we could call a chemical reaction. Because I am extremely sensitive, I maintain this sensitivity of mine and dispatch [調度] this kind of reaction by means of language. This actually is poetry.
Caption: What can we do to improve our writing?
My final point is about something we would all like to know: how to go about improving our writing. The most fundamental thing of all is to read and write widely as well as to read and write attentively, constantly polishing our craft, just like any craftsperson, who constantly works hard at their discipline [手藝]. What things that our fellow poets are doing could we try to do better? What things can we do that others aren’t doing [yet]?
Note: Pound actually said: “Don’t imagine that the art of poetry is any simpler than the art of music, or that you can please the expert before you have spent at least as much effort on the art of verse as the average piano teacher spends on the art of music.”
In the things people do, what other options do I think there might be? All these things are ways to give our poetry the chance to find a break-through. Of course, throughout this process of searching, we must constantly work on our own poetic art. Ezra Pound once said something that was very interesting: “If your knowledge of poetry and your practice of the poetic art are inferior to a high-school music teacher’s knowledge of music, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” How should we go about this? We should be bear in mind that, when we are writing poetry, we are exercising a profession, even if — in our real lives — we have other professions and other [forms of] living. We should view our creativity with a professional regard. Only then we can make progress, making demands on ourselves with the help of poems that [fly] higher than our own.
【6:00】「我幾時可以追得上佢？」| 咁樣就係一個不斷進步嘅過程 | 多謝大家！
● 追得上 jēui1 dāk1 seuhng6 = to catch up to
“When can we reach the same level as [such poems]?” Such is the process of a constant improvement. Thank you!
Here’s a wonderful new addition to your Cantonese vocabulary: 片石仔 pín2 sehk6 jái2, which means “to skim stones”. Actually, if you watch to the end, you will realize that there is a difference between “stone skimming” and “stone skipping”, something that I have been blissfully ignorant of my entire life . . .
The speaker 何岳 Ho Ngok laughs at himself for taking stone-skimming so seriously, but I guess there is an abiding fascination with the simple magic of making a stone glide across water without (immediately) sinking. Hence the fascination with the angle at which the stone hits the water, and the way it spins over liquid surfaces. And, as Ah Ngok makes clear, even the selection of the stones used in the sport goes a long way to determining success.
Ah Ngok skims his Cantonese with equal facility, his passion for the subject leading him to some rather colourful turns of phrase, including 屎窟痕 sí2 fāt1 hàhn4 (literally, “[with] an “itchy arsehole”), which means something like “not able to sit still”! Listen out too for 達人 daaht6 yàhn4 = expert; 心得 sām1 dāk1 = what one has learned from work, study, etc.; 講究 góng2 gau3 = be particular about; pay attention to (perhaps even “be fussy about”); 有朝一日 yáuh5 jīu1 yāt1 yaht6 = one day; some day (indicating a hope for the future); 消耗 sīu1 hou3 = to complete; to use up; to deplete; to expend; and 得心應手 dāk1 sām1 ying3 sáu2 = for one’s hands to work in perfect coordination with what one wishes to do. Oh, and the 岳 ngohk6 in the speaker’s name means “high mountain” and is sometimes written as 嶽.
You can watch the video here (it has very partial subtitles in Chinese only). My transcription, vocabulary notes and translation follow below.
● 奧義 ou3 yih6 = roughly, “inner meaning” | ● 高手 gōu1 sáu2 = past master; master-hand; ace | ● 達人 daaht6 yàhn4 = expert [Sheik = 專家，佼佼者，精通於某樣事物的人 = expert; someone who is above the average or outstanding; a person with a good command of something] | ● 心得 sām1 dāk1 = what one has learned from work, study, etc. | ● 抌 dám = ① to beat (with fist); to bang; to pound ② to smash; to shatter; to stamp (a chop) ③ to throw; to discard; to abandon | ● 屎窟痕 sí2 fāt1 hàhn4 = not able to sit still (lit. “itchy arsehole”)
Note: 齋 jāai1 is frequently used in Cantonese with verbs to indicate that the action is done in a plain or unadorned manner. The last time we came across it was in the Kongstories video on the musician Grace Yu: 但係有幾多個學上唔係浄係齋彈冇靈魂 | 而係尋找到屬於佢獨特嘅聲音同埋生命力嘅呢？= “But how many of these students are looking for a voice that belongs to them alone and a vitality, rather than merely going through the motions devoid of soul”. Here, 齋 jāai1 is added to 彈 tàahn4 (to play a stringed musical instrument) to suggest a superficial playing or a going through the motions. I’ve also heard 齋聽 jāai1 tēng1 = “to listen (to a conversation) without contributing to it in any way”.
Caption: Skipping Stones | The Inner Complexities [奧義] Are Beyond the Average | A Hong Kong Adept Hopes To Be Able To Organize Local Competitions
Voice-over: Probably everyone has had a go at skipping stones. It turns out that there are many elite performers [高手] who practice conscientiously and take part in competitions. Hong Kong has one outstanding exponent [達人] who has competed in Japan and who often pops up on various programs sharing what he has learnt about skimming stones.
Caption: An Outstanding Exponent of Stone-skimming | Ah Ngok
Ho Ngok: My name is Ho Ngok. In April 2019, in the course of my work (I work as a wedding photographer), I went down to the sea at Nai Chung. Both my boss and I noticed some interesting-looking stones there so we [started] throwing them into the sea. Actually, at that time, we were skimming stones. We weren’t just chucking them into the water [齋抌] but trying to make them skip. After this one [time] of skipping stones, I couldn’t sit still and wanted to see whether there were people in other parts of the world who could really do this well. And so I looked on YouTube.
● 一整日 yāt1 jíng2 yaht6 = one whole day | ● 講究 góng2 gau3 = be particular about; pay attention to (perhaps even “be fussy about”) | ● 無聊 mòuh4 lìuh4 = ① bored ② senseless; silly; stupid | ● 釐定 lèih4 dihng6 = (?) to rectify; to formulate (rules, etc.) | ● 準則 jéun2 jāk1 = a norm; standard; criterion
Voice-over: Every week, Ho Ngok spends roughly one whole day on practising. He is very particular about everything, from choosing the right geographical location [地理環境], to the stones [he uses] and all the movements [involved].
Ho Ngok: Probably I am very conscientious about [skimming stones] because I don’t think of it as being a frivolous activity. If it were frivolous, then I would go about it in a very laid-back way. This reason is that I could see where there was room to practise, room to practise and room to make improvements. Especially when you have watched people overseas — then you . . . you will interested to figure out how they manage to do it.
Caption: Formulating Rules for Success
Voice-over: How do you go about formulating the rules [釐定] for success in stone skipping? As it turns out, the posture [you use to throw the stone] is not one of the criteria.
Ho Ngok: There’s not much discussion at all about posture in stone-skimming. There’s nothing to say, because everyone’s posture is different. For that reason, when it comes to so-called “success”, it is the angle at which your stone hits [入] the water [which matters]. That is, it is the most critical thing that needs to be talked about. If the angle at which the stone hits the water is not good [唔靚], [even if] your stone is rotating wonderfully well [好勁], if it is too flat when it touches the water . . .
● 以 . . . 計分 yíh5 . . . gai3 fān1 = roughly, “to calculate points according to” | ● 彈跳次數 daahn6 tiu3 chi3 sou3 = the number of skips | ● 失誤 sāt1 ngh6 = a fault; muff | ● 吸取 kāp1 chéui2 = to absorb; to draw | ● 有朝一日 yáuh5 jīu1 yāt1 yaht6 = one day; some day (indicating a hope for the future)
. . . then you are not doing it right. [The stone] has to be inclined at a bit of an angle. Usually, the standard for the angle of inclination is between 10 and 20 degrees. It is only when you [throw the stone] onto the water like this that it is able to more advance. If [your angle] is too flat, it will skip a couple of times and then sink.
Voice-over: Ho Ngok also mentioned [the fact] that scoring for stone-skimming is based either on distance or on the number of skips.
Caption: Distance or Skips
He himself prefers distance competitions. The reason is that it is easy to make a mistake if you try to make the stone skip (rather than skim along the surface) [有人手失誤]. He has been to Japan to compete, and thinks that [the sport] is more widespread in Japan than in Hong Kong, [since] there are competitions there involving people from all over the nation. When the covid pandemic is over, he hopes to visit various different countries to get more experience and to organize [舉辦] a competition in Hong Kong. However, [on this subject] he mentioned that it is difficult to get everyone involved.
Ho Ngok: I am saying this to remind myself as well as others. Actually, first of all, stone-skimming is not something that you can immediately join in. It’s is not something for everyone (?). It can [not?] be made into a sport, because the environment has a big influence on it. People involved in other sports come and join in.
● 棚 pàahng4 = usu. “shed; shack; hut” | ● 湧 yúng2 = to gush; to surge | ● 篩選 sāi1 syún2 = to screen | ● 消耗 sīu1 hou3 = to complete; to use up; to deplete; to expend | ● 扁身 bín2 sān1 = (?) flat[-bodied] | ● 浪潮 lohng6 chìuh4 = wave, tide, trend | ● 得心應手 dāk1 sām1 ying3 sáu2 = for one’s hands to work in perfect coordination with what one wishes to do
Note: The word 身 sān1 = “body” is sometimes added after adjectives. We came across this in Alfred Chan’s video on fried food, in which both 乾身 gōn1 sān1 = “dry” (?) and 厚身 háuh5 sān1 = “thick” (?) are used. Here, the reporter makes use of 扁身 bín2 sān1 = “flat[-bodied]”. This use of 身 sān1 only seems to occur in colloquial, spoken Cantonese.
Ho Ngok: They can come and skim stones for interest’s sake, that’s fine. Because every time they watch us picking up [stones], they might even join in this with us. But if you talk about a whole bunch of people coming down in droves [湧] to skim stones, the problem is that they don’t understand the natural environment. They might even throw heaps of other kinds of stones [into the water], stones that haven’t been [properly] selected and this can really do a lot of damage.
Voice-over: He said that you need different stones for different [kinds of] tides [浪潮], but the main thing is that flat[-bodied] stones are best. When next we do some stone-skimming, we should go on-line and have a good look at the information there [so that] as a matter of course [our stone-skipping skills] will improve.
Loving so close to dying, she cannot help but look everywhere at us doubly, distinctly in two ways — as creatures who must come to their own mode of life actively just as best as they can; and with something else indescribably ultraviolet to language, drenched in the torrent of so much unbearably poignant — finite — human being. Not for a second could she make light of death, ever and yet what is it we sense in her gaze, in her voice in the tones of her lucid grace if not some fundamental GRAVITY bedazzling the mind’s eye?
Buddhist monks and nuns play an active role in Hong Kong society and some of them, such as the subject of this video, are frequently seen on YouTube. 常霖法師 The Venerable Chang Lin (the Mandarin pronunciation is conventionally used; in Cantonese, it becomes Sèuhng4 Làhm4 Faat3 Sī1) has been very active in recent times, partly on account of his having been a very successful photographer in Hong Kong before becoming a Buddhist monk, a process referred to as 出家 chēut gāa in Cantonese, which literally means to “go out of the family”. In this piece, he provides a very simple introduction to zen as 身心合一 sān1 sām1 hahp6 yāt1, a unity of body and mind, and contrasts it with our usual state of 人在心不在 yàhn4 joih6 sām1 bāt1 joih6, that is “physically present but otherwise absent”. He then goes on to relate zen to his practice as a photographer.
The video already has English subtitles, so you can go ahead and watch the video here. If you’re interested in the Cantonese details, please take a look at my transcription, notes and more literal translation below. Some of the vocabulary worth taking on board includes 三日三夜 sāam1 yaht6 sāam1 yeh6 = roughly, “till the cows come home”; 體驗 tái2 yihm6 = to learn though one’s personal experience; 療癒 lìuh4 yuh6 = to heal; 斑駁 bāan1 bok3 = mottled; motley; 攝影 sip3 yíng2 = photography; to take a photograph; and 定律 dihng6 leuht6 = (natural) law.
I once heard a radio interview with another prominent monk, 衍空法師 the Venerable Yan Kong. Although he had a successful career and a happy marriage, his interest in Buddhism eventually led him to make the decision to 出家 chēut gāa, and finally he had to break the news to his wife. In an extraordinary twist, his wife announced in response that she would become a Buddhist nun, joining him in the spiritual realm, even as they left one another in the secular world . . .
● 平衡 pìhng4 hàhng4 = balance; equilibrium | ● 人在心不在 yàhn4 joih6 sām1 bāt1 joih6 = roughly, “physically present but mentally absent” | ● 身心合一 sān1 sām1 hahp6 yāt1 = roughly, “unity of body & mind” | ● 刻意 hāk1 yi3 = often “painstakingly” but also “deliberately; on purpose” | ● 三日三夜 sāam1 yaht6 sāam1 yeh6 = roughly, “till the cows come home” (lit. “three days & three nights”) | ● 體驗 tái2 yihm6 = to learn though one’s personal experience | ● 適當 sīk1 dong3 = suitable; proper; appropriate
The Venerable Changlin: The reason why people tend to have so much trouble and why so many problems crop up is actually because they have lost their balance. What causes people to lose their balance most easily is because their mind wanders off [人在心不在]. If our minds and our bodies work as one, then we feel free and easy, comfortable [自在]. You feel free and at ease when you are happy, and so you don’t have to go out of your way so much to seek happiness; when you are unhappy, you can also be at ease, which means that you won’t feel much in the way of unhappiness.
You could talk about the word “zen” until the cows come home. Zen is a personal experience: you really have to experience it yourself before you can really understand it. A simple description of zen goes like this: doing the appropriate thing at the appropriate time. You could also put it like this: being in the moment. And so for this reason . . .
● 療癒 lìuh4 yuh6 = to heal | ● 繁忙 fàahn4 mòhng4 = busy | ● 鼓勵 gú2 laih6 = to encourage to urge | ● 釋放 sīk1 fong3 = to release; to set free | ● 歲月 seui3 yuht6 = years | ● 斑駁 bāan1 bok3 = mottled; motley | ● 畫家 wáa6*2 gāa1 = painter; artist
. . . it is the same thing as being completely the same as nature. For example, if the sun happens to be shining warmly, that tree [over there] won’t say “I think this is awful! Gosh, it’s so sunny and hot!” or when it rains “Oh no! Why is it always raining?” It wouldn’t do anything like that. It is whatever it is in the moment.
Nature has the capacity to heal. If we generally feel ourselves to be busy in the city, affected by many different things, then I encourage you to go out into nature and take a walk. There you can find release for yourself comparatively easily as well as becoming mindful [心在] and at ease.
I prefer taking photos of the traces left by time — blotches and stains. To me, most of the time I don’t see such things as stains. I see them as works of art, as if they were paintings. [In this case,] however, nature is the painter. When I take my photographs, I don’t have anything . . .
● 空白 hūng1 baahk6 = a blank space | ● 感受 gám2 sauh6 = to experience; to feel | ● 相機 seung3 [or séung3*2] gei1 = camera | ● 出書 chēut1 syū1 = to put out a book | ● 純粹 sèuhn4 seuih6 = pure; unadulterated | ● 攝影 sip3 yíng2 = photography; to take a photograph | ● 透明 tau3 mìhng4 = transparent | ● 膠片gāau1 pín3*2 = usu. “film”; here perhaps “a piece of plastic” | ● 日曬雨淋 yaht6 saai3 yúh5 làhm4 = be exposed to the sun and the rain
. . . in my mind, but it’s not just a total blank. What I mean is that I’m still experiencing my surroundings at that time. For instance, if I see something and feel moved by it, I will get out my camera and take a photo of it. But when I am photographing it, I am not thinking [to myself]: “I could use this photo to express such-and-such. I could add some words to accompany it [as a caption], or I could put out a book or hold an exhibition.” None of these things occurs to me. I am simply in the moment, putting myself 100% into the feeling.
The special thing about this exhibition is that my photographic works have been printed on transparent sheets of plastic, very large sheets of transparent plastic. When you’re enjoying one of the works, you can look through the plastic at the surrounding natural environment. This exhibition is exposed to the sun and the rain. That is, it has been set up [擺] outdoors. So for this reason . . .
● 響應 héung2 ying3 = to respond; to answer | ● 定律 dihng6 leuht6 = (natural) law | ● 成、住、壞、空 sìhng4 jyuh6 waaih6 hūng1 = to come into being, to abide, to run down, to become empty
. . . it again responds to that law of nature: all things come into being, abide, run down, and become empty. Together we experience the works in this exhibition in a natural environment that is always constantly changing.
Ever since the night of the Cantonese Speaking Contest, 阿綠 Ah Luk has wondered about 陳之一 Chan Chi-yat’s preposterous connection with the Italian folk-song “Santa Lucia”. As for 孚翠 Fu-cheui — urban worshipper of all that is truly wild — a visit to Kadoorie Farm in Lam Tsun finally gives her a dream come true: a very close feline encounter with a leopard cat.
On sunny days, I make sure I spend plenty of fresh-air-time with my other — wilder — brother, Shadow. Together we go our separate ways wherever we happen to please ourselves. But when Cloud is King, I am the one reduced to shade, overcast exactly for hours at a time in one and the same place, while he steps in where I left off: thrilled by those three — or four — or five dimensions as he sets off in search of that wholler, humaner, humankinder world. And if I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times: “If you find it, brother, remember: JUST AS SOON AS YOU CAN PLEASE COME BACK FOR ME!”
Chinaman Creek 