In my head is the Utada Hikaru song "Traveling." I only remember the refrain and never really looked at the lyrics in translation. This part sticks out to me the most:
Frolic with the waves, seduce the clouds
At last, we meet
Blame it on my youth, I give it away too quickly
‘Tis all but dust in the wind
This makes me think of the allure of traveling. You can act a certain way, but those memories are temporary compared to how a city or a place remembers you. Well, usually. The shot above is of Chicago when I went on the architectural boat tour. Chicago was a revelation to me of younger people appreciating the arts from poetry to plays. I visited the Poetry Foundation, went to a reading and discussion. I visited Steppenwolf theater, which the production of Amadeus was really good.
Being back here in San Jose/San Francisco, it's not like people aren't into the arts, but it's me carving out a usual routine in familiar settings. Unable to go to poetry readings because of work or catching up with my relationships. Going to plays and musicals with my boyfriend and looking to go to more plays or musicals hopefully in New York one day.
My birthday was a couple days ago, and I feel it -- things are changing again. The poet me is excited about change since I might be able to manage my time better, but maybe not. I still am trying my best to keep with the rhythm of writing every day, but traveling makes it hard. So I end up not writing for a couple of days, then writing four to five poems in a day remembering places I traveled to and the memories.
ex.
After A Poetry Reading at the Poetry Foundation
There are no books to sell
right after -- just remember
the lines before the names.
My memory is not a library
of good to great lines and
references announced in
the beginning and during.
I always forget by the end
if it's not written like
a signature by pencil
like fog forming on a
train window -- clearing
up if we continue to move.
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