Reading Short Stories Our Stories ‐‐ Our Poems By Ai‐ping Liu
Short stories are fun to read Harken! With acute hearing, I can hear the heartbeats Of the old man with a vulture eye, he’s looking aside Reading more and on, I am also like a Storyteller to Tangle and untangle the lines to find it Shameful Affair is more than just a summer fling To a woman who likes and dislikes her own feeling Omelas is the utopia of happiness and improvement Regardless of the deformed kid in the filthy basement Injustice or necessary sacrifice? Empathy or fake sympathy? Set it aside and figure out life will find its own nourishment Alone I search on like the ghostly couple Rose is hard to find for E‐M‐A‐N (Emily, Mildred / Mamacita, Alan, and Nightingale) Epiphany is rare, even rarer than Model Millionaire For the next story I wanna read a different kind Under the lamp I flip through the pages for many times Notice that I’m actually reading all the stories of mine
“The Storyteller” by Saki (1870‐1916) The bachelor was annoyed by the aunt’s lousy storytelling How her three children complained and cried, whining “Either I stop or you tell a good story,” said she, questioning Story began like this: Once upon a time There was a horribly good girl who behaved very well Onto her white dress pinned all the time three medals Rewarded because of obedience and for good conduct of all Yes, and she’s allowed to stroll in Prince’s garden as well To continue: Suddenly prowled in the garden a big bad wolf Eagerly and quickly the girl hid behind the thickest bush Lingering, the wolf sniffed and snarled, sniffed and snarled Listen, her medal of obedience pushed the one of punctuality Errrr … Clinked and clanged, clinked and clanged, clinked Returned the wolf and devoured the poor smart little girl
“No Speak English” by Sandra Cisneros (1954‐ ) Never thought it would become like this On the third flights of stairs Mamacita sighed and cried Spanish radio played songs of homesick in a voice of seagull Pink house in the photograph differed from the new pink wall Eep! (Interjections) Ay, Caray! (Interjections) Knock it out, would you please? Each hysterical cry like the skinny thread only to keep her alive Not again? Goes on and on the Pepsi commercial that sounds like tin “Listen, No Speak English!” It reminds me of that yellow taxi and her pink tiny shoe Suddenly she bloomed… but her man cried Here I am and here I stay. This is home.
The Lottery by Shirley Jackson (1916‐1965)
Summers stirred up the papers in that black box To launch the annual lottery of jovial summer time Old Warner of 77 years old snorted about giving it up “Nonsense! Pack of crazy fools!” “Every head of household, play cool!” Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon … “Open the paper and let us see the spot…” Tessie Hutchinson suddenly shouted up To protest “Bill not given enough time…” Everybody except Tessie felt all right Resume the game to only papers of five Young kids and of course husband and wife In the center of square stood the ONE Norman, Delacroix, and Graves were around Just pick up the rocks or little pebbles to start Until the ONE was covered in blood at large Now that it’s done sooner Ere time for noon dinner
“Araby” by James Joyce (1883‐1941) I watched her dress swinging as she moved her body; I Saw the soft rope of her hair tossing from side to side. I Myself alone in the back drawing‐room, thinking of her. As she approached me, asking if I was going to Araby, A splendid Eastern bazaar that displayed such magical name Creature inside me confused me and urged me to say Yes Driven by her name, her neck, her bracelet around the wrist And I said “If I go, I will bring you something.” Derided by the nearly closed bazaar, I walked timidly By then my mind was swarmed with a sense of vanity, the Vanity that I did not perceive at that time My confusion resumed as I went over to one of the stalls Eyes of the lady fell upon me, asking “did I wish to buy anything?” Burned out with my useless lingering and hopelessness, I knew With the two pennies falling against the sixpence in my pocket Anguish resonated in the dark, empty air And Anger walked me home to the blind North Richmond Street
A Shameful Affair by Kate Chopin (1851‐1904)
Wheat gleamed in the sun like a golden sea Here Mildred lounged with her books to read Yeah, Browning and Ibsen, not those farmhands to peek Those blue eyes and dishevelled hair His shoulders, broad and square Eye‐contact, how he dared Kissed by a tramp who first refused and then boldly gazed? It remained her secret and shouldn’t be displayed! Snubbed and then stunned really hard! Shamed to the bottom of her heart! Why the kiss was the most delicious thing she had known so far? As she tossed and turned and feared and wept that night Sweet trouble of that kiss followed her tight The Most Delicious crank tuned out not to be a farmhand Elsewhere he lived more lives than one kind Letter of such aggravated the shame I, Perhaps, shall forget it and forgive? Come on, be true and be brave! I, perhaps, shall have forgiven myself? On that path of wheat so long and narrow Under the twilight she was in her sorrow Slowly walking away from him, from herself
A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner (1897‐1962)
Listen up, the yellow‐wheeled buggy came along, clip clop, clip clop Up in there Emily leaned against the gay foreman, head held high Folks of Grierson family rarely stopped by And her two female cousins only sighed People said Poor Emily and thought she’d die All she claimed was he’s not dead; All she claimed was she didn’t care I want some poison; and I have no taxes in Jefferson; Truly she refused all and then defied all just to Want to live and to love, that’s all To live and to love in a way she’d control Do you folks not understand it at all? Is that the man’s toilet set with monograms and in silver? To be awed, is that faded rose color of curtain for a bridal? Give me grace and look at that profound and fleshless grin Emily’s funeral enticed a crowd and untied her life riddle A room of pervading dust I inhaled with thin, acrid air, Rose on the pillow with a long strand of iron‐gray hair
A Haunted House by Virginia Woolf (1882 – 1941) Finally we found you Your curtain, your carpet Your windowpanes, your drawing room Wild beams of moonlight crossed both floor and wall “Quietly,” I said to you, or we shall wake them But, your pulse beat softly, softly, softly Oh, your pulse beat gladly, gladly, gladly Your pulse beat proudly, proudly, proudly Oh, your pulse beat wildly, wildly, wildly Finally Finally Alas, they found it Alas, they found it Wandering through the house, upstairs, in the garden When summer came, in winter snow time, lantern shielded Nearer they came, ceased at the doorway, their faces stooping I heard they say “Look, Sound asleep. Love upon their lips” Buried, hidden joy was everywhere: sleeping, reading Laughing, rolling apples in the loft, room to room Their light lifted the lids upon my eyes I saw no one spread ghostly cloak I saw the light in the heart Is this your buried Treasure‐ ‐Love ?
A Shocking Accident by Graham Greene (1904‐1991)
A shocking accident happened on the street Suddenly a pig fell from 5‐story balcony Holy crap, are you kidding me Old granny came to the scene, squealed Come on, there’s one man under beneath Knocked out, motionless, like dead meat Instantly the news reached his boy No one seemed to be ready cause God knows what happened to the pig As time passed by, the boy grew into a man Came along with his lovely sweet fiancée Cold ridicule and sneer were what he feared “Is she insensitive of his old man’s misery?” “Does she laugh over his old man’s destiny?” Endless worries faded away, for she replied Neither ridicule nor sneer, only To wonder what happened to the pig
“Marionettes, Inc.” by Ray Bradbury (1920‐2012) Poem by Ai‐ping Liu Motto: “No Strings Attached.” Are you sure about all this? Revive just like you and you only If you wish, mold one for this felony Only you must be pledged to secrecy No wonder my bro Braling is happy Ever thought about molding deluxe Smith for Nettie Tick‐tick‐tick, my knees turned to water with money To reveal the grip and crushing ribs made by a phony Ever wondered what happened to my bro and his buddy Surprise as surprise can be… In you go to the box, and out I go for my love No matter what Cause there’s a lot they don’t know about us Cause there’s a lot you don’t know about me