Pay attention to the Ganymede that has not been updated for a long time
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This push, from World Poetry Day (3-21), has been postponed to World Book Day (4-23). Shortly after the Spring Festival, my mother left. Trance, depression, drifting, reading, traveling, slowly, seems to alleviate some grief.
Perhaps, some people can't understand the connection between "movies and poetry" pushed this time? What's the point? But what does it matter? Many things never exist to "make people understand". Just like about "Love Wind and Dust", it was actually an accidental encounter while reading Wu Mingyi's "The Magician on the Overpass" (it was also adapted into a series this year), as if mistakenly entering the set and taking a time machine. "Match Factory Woman"? Recently, there was a touring exhibition in Beijing, but this movie is impossible to put on, right?
What about Kim Ki-duk? Presumably someone else criticized my eulogy, but I still want to say that this old boy once occupied a part of my heart, even if it was dark. Galeano?! Could it be about Wang Tianai, a Spanish translator who is involved in a dispute over the topic? Maybe.
Actually, it's just about: love.
"Love Wind and Dust" Hou Xiaoxian
Cimborska
I must be quick
Depict the clouds —
moment
They will deform
Their characteristics:
Never repeat
Shapes, shadows, poses, layouts
There is no burden of any memory
They swim above facts
Can they witness things on earth?
When things happen, they scatter
Compared to the cloud
Life perches on solid foundations
Immutable, almost eternal
Next to the cloud
Even a stone looks like a brother
Trusted by you
And cloud is an estranged cousin
Let those who want to survive survive
And then die, one by one
And the cloud is right
Human affairs
Be indifference to
They are arrogant queues
Roam your whole life in peace
And my unfinished life
They are under no obligation to die with us
They don't have to be seen when they drift
"The Match Factory Woman" Kaurismaki
Mu dan
You see this fire with your eyes,
You can't see me, though I'm lit for you,
Oh, that burning is just a mature age,
You bottom, I bottom. We are separated by mountains!
From this natural metamorphosis program,
But I love a temporary you.
Even if I cry, turn gray, turn gray and be new,
Girl, that's just God playing with himself.
Kim Ki-duk "Bow"
High silver
When the arrow away from the bow follows the author's path
From a high place
Fly into the distance
Slowly fly out of sight
When landing
The bow never seemed to tighten
The strings of the arrow became more and more loose
It's like facing everything in the world
The sea is full of rivers
But it is deeply closed and stubborn
Of course the archers
Be in it
When the arrow is out of the bullseye
Frustration and disappointment fill the entire body
When you come home frustrated
Home is where resettlement fails
It is also a place to erase failures
Today this place is extraordinarily wide
"Rome" Iñárritu
Eduardo Galeano
The letter A has open legs.
The letter M is a seesaw swinging back and forth between heaven and hell.
The letter O is a closed circle that suffocates you.
The letter R is clearly pregnant.
"Every letter in AMOR is dangerous." Romi Díaz Pere
Ra confirmed.
When the words popped out of her mouth, she saw them written in the air.
"Pastoral Sacrifice of the Dead" Shuji Terayama
米蕾（Edna St. Vincent Millay）
Childhood does not start from birth to a few years old, but from the age of one to the next
Children become childish and grow into adults.
Childhood is a kingdom where no one dies.
The people who matter don't count. Distant relatives will of course die,
Anyway, I haven't seen it or I've only seen it for an hour.
Send you peach green striped carry bags of candy to send you folding knives,
Then he left, not really alive.
And cats will die. Lying on the ground, waving your tail,
The subtle cat hair stirred,
You don't know the fleas hiding inside
Know everything that should be known
Migrate into the living world.
You take the shoe box, but you can't hold it, because the cat doesn't want to curl up again:
You find a bigger box and bury the cat in the yard, crying.
But you don't wake up later— two months later.
A year later, two years later — in the middle of the night
Tears, knuckles against teeth, crying Oh my God! Oh my God!
Childhood is a kingdom where no one dies, and it is a person who plays a decisive role
- Father and mother, still alive.
If you have ever complained: Please, do you have to be like this?
Or: Oh wow, you can't knock on the window with a thimble anymore!
Tomorrow, even the day after tomorrow, even if you are busy playing,
You can still find the time to say: Mom, I'm sorry.
Growing up is to sit with the deceased,
They don't listen or speak,
I don't drink tea, but I always like to mention it
How soothing tea is.
Throw down the cellar and take out the last jar of raspberries,
They are unmoved
Flatter them, ask them what they have said,
That's what was said to the bishop, to the foreman, to Mrs. Mason,
They weren't fooled.
Yell at them, make a blush, get up
Hold their stiff shoulders and pull them up from their chairs,
Shake them, scold them;
They are not alarmed, they are not ashamed. They
Trap back into your seat.
Your tea is cold.
You drink all, get up,
Leave the house.
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