My dear libraries in the USA

From my perspective, a library is such a holy place, and it does share some similarities with the church. They both embrace people who come from  different races and tremendously different backgrounds. But, here is the distinction; church implies a faith in god while a library reveals the precious intelligence and knowledge conveyed by the great ideologists and scientists.

That is the reason why I love libraries so much. For now, in the USA, I have already visited 9 libraries among 3 cities. However, some of them I haven't explored comprehensively since they were not open to the public.

But still, the library impressed me most was Yale Sterling Memorial Library. The most significant reason was that the collection of books here really shocked me. The original books, besides English, were in the languages of Arabic, Russian, Japanese and even Chinese. These kinds of resources could never be imagined in my university.

over 10 floors of the collection

My familiar Chinese character

The study room

In addition, I would like to talk about the "museum library", Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library. A yale student I met in the Yale farm told me that she entered into the library to search for rare books last semester because of a literature course. The books have been standing there for hundreds of years. They grow older with their faded yellow paper, but never die. The way they watch me is just like a grandma caressing an infant baby. In addition, this is another reason why I think the library is as holy as the church.

Another library I've explored in Yale is the Bass Library. It's a convenient place for students to study but not as gorgeous as the former libraries.

Just standing there can make you feel the great spirits.

When it comes to the most magnificent library I have ever been in, it is the Boston Public Library. Though there were two Boston Public Libraries on my Google map, the one I've visited is opposite the Trinity Church. 

Boston Public Library

There were two sculptures which reminded me of the motto of Yale "Same Veritas. More Lux." Inside, It looked like an exhibition in the metropolitan museum.

The study room on the first floor which is more gorgeous than the Sterling, I think.

The library also provided a courtyard in the center for readers and travelers to relax. (Though the sculpture there also appeared in the Metropolitan Museum a week ago. )

In Boston, there are two world famous university -- Harvard and MIT. For me, to see if the university really attracts and amazes me is to check out the library.

So I figure out that in MIT, the labs are countless, meanwhile the libraries are not so attractive as others.

The student can choose a comfortable sofa beside the window, and then you can observe the sea opposing the library.

The design of the Art & Music department Library in MIT

What made me sad was I couldn't enter the Harvard Library. =( 

Maybe I should be a stalker to follow Harvard students.

Harvard Library

Then, It comes to NYC. My feeling about NYC is complicated. Though the city is run by the bloodless capital, there are still many spiritual events.

The first picture as following is the hall in Morgan library museum. The sunlight came through the window, the glasses lifted up to refract it, and those wonderful colors were left on the ground just beside the musicians.  

Afterwards, what emerged before my eyes was the extraordinary Morgan's personal library. How I wish I could have a quarter of it in my future! 

A shot of the corner

In addition to all that, I went to the New York Public Library on Maddison Ave. Though it was not the library Carrie recommended, I was surprised that I found the book I was eager to read for a long time, which just seemed like a destiny. 

My dearest book, how I wish I can borrow u back to my hometown

At last, the most pitiful thing was when I eventually found the main New York Public Library, it was already 5:01 PM, and the library on Sunday closed at 5:00 PM." I just stood in front of you, but I would not have the chance to know you, my dear friend." 

So, this weekend, I will go there and observe my last friend I haven't met in NYC.

 -- New York Public Library! I'm coming! =)

The attachment

One month before I came to the USA, I was struggling with my final exam. One afternoon, right after my last class of the semester, I received a phone call from my mum. She spoke in a higher tone, though it sounds unperturbed.

“Hey, what are you doing now?”

“Preparing for the exam, what’s up?”

“You father was in an operation, and you’d better come to see him, I mean, if you are free this afternoon.” She slowed down herevery word in a controlled pace.

“Why?!  He’s a surgeon; it’s so common for him to perform an operation.”

“What I mean is, your father was operated on by others! The bones on his back are dislocated! And the operation was just finished. Now, do you understand me?”  Her  tone turned to be disturbing.

“What? Oh my god! How could that happen? Tell me where the ward is, I’m coming right now!”

It was my first time to see my dad lying on the ward bed, and gradually a big smile came to his pale face.

”Hey, you’re so fast. No class?”

“No class today, though tomorrow there will be an exam.”

“OK, then you had better go back to school soon.”

He didn't change the way he conveyed himself even in such a situation. 

The ward

There was sweat on his forehead, and sometimes he knitted his brow, because of the stabbing pain from the wound. I believed that happiness could diminish the pain and sorrow, so I tried to find every means to make him laugh. I showed him my newly-bought fake glasses which only had a frame, without eyeglasses; I told him that our teacher used an example of her son to criticize the social phenomenon; I read him some jokes on the Internet just like what he did  when I got fever.

“You know, when I was a little girl, every time the jokes you read made you laugh, but made me fall asleep. Because the jokes you chose were too hard for a little girl to understand. Fortunately, I am now a good joke reader.”

Silently he smiled.

“Thank you.”

The book my dad used to read for me

The feeling when my dad said "Thank you"

A sight of my bedroom

The wooden furniture in my small bedroom stays in harmony with the walls, painted in light green, which makes me feel like I am living in the middle of a forest. My wooden wardrobes stand in the corner, with its own natural patterns—the annual rings on it. Every night in my childhood, I would just lie on my bed, staring at the various shapes of the annual rings, because they usually aroused my imagination. In my fantasy, the closet doors could open by themselves, and then invite me in. In order to finish my adventure in this wonderland which would emerge behind my wardrobes after midnight, I was asked to choose one pattern on the door which would become a true weapon, such as an axe, sword, shield, and even nunchakus.  Strangest thing was a few years later "The Chronicles Of Narnia" appeared on the screen.

Then wooden wardrobes with some sticker on it that I put on at age 9 

Opposite the wardrobes is my lovely balcony. When I was in junior high, I usually hid there by standing behind the curtain till my mum found me. Only from here can I feel the heat conveyed by the sunlight in the winter, the sweet smell from osmanthus in the autumn, and the whole process of sunset in the summer.  

The sunset in Shanghai

 

A shot from my balcony

The High Street

[Assignment: Choose a public place around Yale campus and describe what you see.]

New Haven has  many types of architecture and here I am standing on a small plot of land, which is High Street. Though it’s not a fascinating name compared to others, for now here, what you can observe is much more interesting.

Cast a glance at your right side. What you will see is the grey and brown brick wall surround by the trees on both side. From this vantage point , you can hardly tell whether you are in America or England. The leaves are so dense that they block your sight of the Harkness Tower, but you can still notice that the highest tower with spires and pinnacles is the typical Gothic style. Its 8 o’clock, the sun turns the ground and stones orange. The courtyard shared by the four colleges is paved irregularly which just like the path in the countryside decorated by soft grasses. The note that flows from the tower is so holy, a few seconds later you can recognize it is the music from “The Phantom Of The Opera”.

The Harkness Tower

The High Street

The courtyard with few lights kindled

Accompanied by the Carillon, turn your face around, what appears to you on the opposite side are the blue scaffolds and barriers which draw you back to reality. The construction covered the green in the Old Campus like a giant bloody monster hindering you from the nature and beauty. The monster wraps the dust about your feet, and makes enough noise to make you plug your ears.

The noisy construction in the city

An indicative arrow on the road seems like pointing out the source of the music, but seldom will people stop, or raise their head to figure out where the melody comes from. 

The orange arrow on the road

July 4th weekend

It was the first weekend I spent in the USA, and luckily we just bumped into independent day!

On last Friday, July 4th, the campus was decorated with red and blue colors, and so many activities were organized to celebrate the festival including the ceremony in the cemetery, the movie about the process of the establishment, and the trip to a lake. I just attended the last activity because at that time I hadn't noticed the first one, and also had no interest in such historical movie. So, accompanied by the heavy rain, the school bus drove on bumpy roads, and eventually after an hour, we arrived at the lake. Though, we were stuck in the wooden house for 2 hours, we can still imagine how nice it could be if there was a clear blue sky.

The dining hall was decorated by the American flags

The wooden house where we had barbecue

My Speaking class teacher Siggy and I

On Saturday, I went to Clinton outlets for shopping because there were so many discounts,ranging from 30% to 70%. However, what I would like to talk about is the experience in the State Street Station. When we got there, we were told that we had to arrive at Westbrook first then take another train back to Clinton. It was so inconvenient for the passengers!

The State Street Station

The road to outlets in Clinton. Calm and peaceful.

"Watch out!" While we were complaining about the transportation, we saw a white-haired old woman stumbled and tried to use all her efforts to get on the slow moving train. Her daughter and son just jumped on it, turned back and stretched out their arms trying to grasp their mother, but failed. The old lady tumbled on the platform with a terrible thud, then she tried to push the ground to stand up by herself though she could not move at all. We gathered there to help her while her children just dropped off the train.
"Do you need any help? It looks so serious."
"No, thank you so much, I'm OK, I'm OK." said the old lady, supported with her children's hands, as she slowly walked into the train on her shaking legs . On her face, the blood from the tiny wound just started running.
 "How could it happen? They should let their mother get on the train first instead of themselves, shouldn't they?" One of my friends pointed out.

You won't believe a statement until you see it happen in your real life. The bonds of the American family are not that tight, which is so true according to what we have observed.

Summer Carillon

I sat on the lithoid steps opposite the Harkness Tower in the Branford College courtyard, waiting for the carillon. My eyes were filled with tears when the concert concluded, in the melody "The Lovers' Tasks".

One thing that surprised me was that most of the audience were old.

When I came through the corridor, an old man just sat there, holding the book in his right hand, turning the page with his other hand, and jiggling his head with the rhythm. He was so concentrated on the music and the book that he even overlooked the passers' movement.
In the courtyard, some brought their lawn chairs and picnic supper, while some lied down on the benches, closing their eyes. An old lady sitting beside me on the step was folding a paper crane, so gently she folded accompanied by the floating chimes. A couple lying on the grass, I was mesmerized by the way the lady stroked her partner so slowly and softly.

A shot of the corner

Sunlight changed color of the building from grey to light orange. Under the tree shadow, the notes swing while the swing swings; with gentle breeze, a dandelion was riding on the wind and flew by.

After each movement, we clapped out loud though we could not see the performer.

The carillon concert was so holy. I closed my eyes in the last movement, I saw a little girl with golden hair, standing in the church, with her fuzzy red coat, then walking on the street covered by heavy snow.

On my way back to Morse, the dandelion appeared again, smoothly landing on the ground, just like the full stop of the concert.

The American poetry workshop

We sat in front of the sterling library

It was on July 9th, we sat on the blanket having cherries, surrounded by the grass, and then we closed our eyes, felt the breeze. It was in a poetry class, Stephanie suggested us to grasp every image inspired by the nature.
That was really an amazing experience. We Chinese student will never take such courses in our school ever.
In that afternoon, we were just like the elves seeking the fresh sparkling dew. We lied down on the grass, touched the trunk, and heard the music from the ice-cream truck. I enlarged my every sense and thought over and over, then tried my best to pick out the exact words to express my thoughts and feelings.
We were asked to write contemporary American poems, which is also hard for the native speakers. Actually, it would be my first time to have western poetry class, and creating a poem also added pressures on me. However, anxiety usually pushes one to advance.
So, I would publish my first poem here. If you have any comment, just feel free to leave your words here! =)

The cross campus

Dreaming in the reality

The cherry
Drips the freezing droplets on my lips
With its light orange peel,
Then, melts me by the sour and sweet.
It smells like a perfume brought by the gentle breeze.

The grass,
Half wet near the root,
Tickles and itches me.
The lamp 5 meters away
Embraced by 30 broken branches.

The glass windows
Reflects the color of the sky.
Inside, an orange light was kindled.

Hey,
my friend, can you see?
The sun is just rising from the horizon.

But
Accompanying with the exhausted scream from the engine,
This is the city
You stuck in.

The glass window 

We were sitting on the carpet and taking the class

Rebirth

[Assignment: Go to the Yale Art Gallery, find a work of art that speaks to you then tell its story.]

I woke up with a beam of morning sunlight through the leaves, the sound of the spring flowed around me. I felt so dizzy that I could not remember what happened before. There was a decayed broken trunk with a blood spot lying beside my head. A lancing pain through my left leg bedeviled me from time to time, then I tried my best to turn my head, and what I saw were hundreds of greedy giant ants covered my blooding wound, and sought for the food.
I was frightened, despaired, so I tried to bleat out loud hoping my friends could hear me, but the respond was only the rustle from the beeches.
Now I could recognize the jungle. We used to pass here through the path led by our old sheepherder. He usually raised the red flag, then waved it, and we would gather together to go back home within the sunset. But yesterday, we were all extremely scared by the thunder and the heavy rain. No red flag, no bleat. The last moment I remembered was all my friends was running everywhere.
Out of the blue, a grey squirrel clamped up on the broken trunk crossing the spring. An eagle flew above the jungle. A black woodpecker with a red crest on the top leaned on the trunk.
"Hey, Hey!Please help me! I can hardly move!" I bleated again.
"Oh my god, dude, what happened to you?!" The squirrel jumped to me, with his dark blight eyes willing to help.
He suddenly shouted, "Here! I just got an idea! Ask the woodpecker for help! I bet he didn't have a satisfying dinner last night, now here comes the brunch! " He cast an eye on the swarm of ants, and rushed to the trunk airily.
The woodpecker flew to me, eager to save my life, or maybe ready to have a wonderful meal. He used the tongue carefully, like a surgeon cleaning the wound. After a while, he hiccuped and turned to me,"Hmm, thank you for the meal. And I'm going to find the eagle since you can not go back home on your own." After he flew away, the squirrel collected some leaves to cover my wound and used the stem to bind them up,"Now! No infection!".
I stood up, moved ahead slowly, while the eagle grasped my broken leg by the claws to lift it up. The squirrel ran far far away to find the path, and the woodpecker with the red crest became my guide. The red color led me to my home, to be with the flock again, just like usual.
I thought I would be died from the disaster, just like the decay of the trunk. But, livings and dead trees would still rise from the fertile decay of the forest floor. As long as sacrifice exists, there will be rebirth; as long as warmhearted help occurs, there will be a hope.   

Asher B.Durand - The Beeches 1845

Asher B.Durand - In the Woods 1855

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

The beautiful reflection in the ground floor

The woodpecker

The eagle

The squirrel