On the Way to the Beach

Fu and me

Fu

Fu

Christmas 2008

Fu and Me in Byron Bay

Fu with Abby

Fu at Home

2-28 Memorial Museum Taipei

http://228.culture.gov.tw/web/web-eng/museum/museum-2.htm

MOCA: Museum of Contemporary Art Taipei

http://www.mocataipei.org.tw/_english/index.asp

All of Us in Taiwan

All of Us in Taiwan

All of Us in Taiwan

National Palace Museum Taipei

http://www.npm.gov.tw/en/home.htm

ICRT: Taipei Community Radio in English

http://www.icrt.com.tw/

All of us in Taiwan

All of us in Taiwan

All of us in Taiwan

All of us in Taiwan

Fu 15 Oct 08

Water-burn by Michael Longley

Water-burn

 

We should have been galloping on horses, their hoofprints

Splashes of light, divots kicked out of the darkness,

Or hauling up lobster pots in a wake of sparks. Where

Were the otters and seals? Were the dolphins on fire?

Yes, we should have been doing more with our lives.

 

Michael Longley

From “The Weather in Japan”, Cape Poetry, 2000

 

Nature photography workshop with ACE

Fu 19 Sept 08

Locals by James Lasdun

Locals

 

They peopled landscapes casually like trees,

being there richly, never having gone there,

and whether clanning in cities or village-thin stands

were reticent as trees with those not born there,

and their fate, like trees, was seldom in their hands.

 

Others to them were always one of two

evils: the colonist or refugee.

They stared back, half-disdaining us, half-fearing;

inferring from our looks their destiny

as preservation or as clearing.

 

I envied them. To be local was to know

which team to support: the local team;

where to drop in for a pint with mates: the local;

best of all to feel by birthright welcome

anywhere; be everywhere a local ...

 

Bedouin-Brython-Algonquins; always there

before you; the original prior claim

that made your being anywhere intrusive.

There, doubtless, in Eden before Adam

wiped them out and settled in with Eve.

 

Whether at home or away, whether kids

playing or saying what they wanted,

or adults chatting, waiting for a bus,

or, in their well-tended graves, the contented dead,

there were always locals, and they were never us.

 

 

James Lasdun

from Landscape with Chainsaw, 2001