Among the thousands of heads crowded in front of me, I was fortunate enough to grasp a quick glimpse of Derek Walcott. He is not outstanding by appearance, but it does not matter since what does make a person different is one's mind and spirit. During Walcott's speech, I was engrossed in listening lest I miss an important word, for I had been told to write an essay about that later on. For this reason, I planned to learn something from this famous literator, while in the end I found out that it was
in vain.
Walcott's speech mainly focused on the island, the sea, and the nature he lives with. He presented lots of concepts and opinions about how he was associated with that lovely scenery, which, to be honest, did not make sense to me at all. As far as I was concerned, the images of island, sea and nature were too far to reach. Indeed, I lived in Taiwan, an island embraced by the ocean, but what I had to face everyday was the buildings dressed in concrete, the sky filled with grey fog, the dark shadows
of trees not even big enough to cover passerby's faces. Here, I was not allowed to smell the salty fragrance of the sea, to supine on the lonely beach with the gentle sunshine touching my body, or to hear the splashing waves beating against the rocks. In this way, how could I understand the words of Walcott's peroration? How could I imagine the landscape that I had never seen? It was definitely out of the question, I supposed.
At the end of the speech, Walcott was asked to recite a poem of his. I was tired out then and thus my attention broke loose, but as soon as Walcott spoke out the first word, I was amazed. It had nothing to do with his voice, but the emotions between the lines that moved me so deeply. In that small conference room with all kinds of electronic machines around, he, surprisingly, could express the intense feelings out of his heart so directly, as if there were actually a silent, deep, blue sea hugging
him. The sea seemed so vast and broad that I could always find a place that belonged to me, in which a gust of current would lead me home, whether a scenic island or, a civilized city. They were the same because they coexisted peacefully on earth above the sea; they were different for they contained various memories of people, including Walcott's dreamlike revelation and mine. At that moment, I thought I were there, with him.
After the two-hour-speech, I wandered in the campus where there were a few trees and bedding plants I couldn't name. The scenery didn't change at all, but I did. What came to my eyes were no more dusty trees, no longer gloomy sky overload with particles, but a flower among a bleak desert, a miracle of life, which had long been neglected by my bright sight. I used to complain that nature was stifled by our glorified modernization, in which I could find nothing but indifference and ossification from
iron and steel; and I used to complain about my passing off imagination and the overwhelming material life that made me dull. At present, however, I realize that what really counts is how I view this world, instead of what the world actually is.
Consequently, I didn't learn a bit about Walcott's masterpiece, or his skills in writing. However, I am inspired to think over what has been around me while gains no attention that it deserves. Hence, the most important thing is to rediscover the pleasure and cherish that I've been exposed to but simply forget the way to treasure. I would seek for the sweetness buried under the cement roads I walk on. As long as I am willing to 'open' my eyes, there will always be wonders everywhere, even in this
mechanized city. Since, the world inside or outside the eyelids will surely make a difference.
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有個一直困擾我的問題...
就是時式的一致性..
比如說..
同一段裡...我是描述當時的事件(過去式)..但其中又摻雜了某些事實(現在式)-如
walcott的樣貌,居所,etc...
因此我不知道該如何是好...
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There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written.
－Oscar Wilde
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