若果不是要喝杯咖啡止頭痛,這假期真的可以不出門。
帶回來的工作完成了十份之一,不大進取。
居然一本書也沒看,很奇怪。
沒有提起畫筆,意料之事。
做了什麽?
睡覺佔很大的百分比,
上網聽歌、看戲便是一天。
隨隨便便看看電視又是一天。
Hae了兩天,工作了小半天,
夕陽告訴我明天要努力!
Oil Painting---------------------------------Trees in Blossom by Piet Mondrain ( 1917)--------------------------------------The trees speak so little, you know. They spend their entire life meditating and moving their branches. Just look at them closely in autumn as they seek each other out in public places: only the oldest attempt some conversation, the ones that share clouds and birds, but their voice gets lost in the leaves and so little filters down to us,nothing really. It's difficult to fill the shortest book with the thoughts of trees. Everything in them is vague, fragmented. Today, for instance, on the way to my house hearing a black thrush shriek, the last cry of one who won't reach another summer, I realized that in his voice a tree was speaking, one of so many, but I don't know what to do with this sharp deep sound, I don't know in what type of script I could set it down. 這是委內瑞拉詩人 Eugenio Montejo 的詩一The tree 由澳洲詩人 Peter Boyle翻譯。 Eugenio Montejo 的詩肌理豐富,透過大自然探對家庭、愛與生命。