10Many people loves to read. Our proposal call any web-traveler to sit into Meeting Benches to share written emotions, observing new creative horizons. In his book (How to Read and Why), Harold Bloom says that we should read slowly, with love and with our inner ear cocked. By reading a written description, your mind is responsible for creating that image in your head, and the worlds described in books will help you expand your understanding, even while you travel in China.

19A CARVED WOODEN CHAIR – Poem by Chilechuan

Not a trace of sky, earth, or ax, they have no effect on it anymore. All the faults were smoothed out and polished, now it looks like a timeless flower. Someone separated it, from many other wooden chairs. It sits alone, like the quietest heart that yields to fate too often: lonely, powerless, being sanded down again and again. An antique, with countless old cuts, it’s no longer a chair. Only time comes to rest on it, and no one else dares do the same.

3EVENING REPAST – Poem by Ba Ling

To focus our attention, let’s divide our preparation into a few stages: remove the scales, slit the belly, scoop out the guts, rinse. Another example: choose a plump clove of garlic. The best soil and the softest sunlight cause a qualitative change, transform living things. During an evening repast, in the spirit of mutual celebration, my son and I focus our attention within the radius of the candle light. “You see, owing to our great efforts, instead of eating garlic, we are eating fresh garlic shoots. They are like fish, very shapely, very seductive.”


First the day, then daybreak, and finally the time for parting. Local time in Beijing is 7 o’clock according to the TV. As a child, I liked to lie in bed, and wait for daybreak, my silver broach stayed in its soft dormant curve. I counted my fingers, exactly ten. Almost daybreak, but no light in the sky. At daybreak you come. Daylight is gone when you go. Days with light, days without light, days come, days go. You come, you go, coming and going, walking to me, and away from me. Now a grown-up, I still daydream, waiting for daybreak like waiting for an archaeologist, to excavate, patting me with a spade, and expose me to daylight. Oh, oh, just as I feel the thrill, I see your hand leaving.


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