Reseña del libro "Empty Chairs: A Story in Poetry (en Inglés)"
In the fall of 1995, the bountiful colors of the leaves whispering life's perceptions breathed softly across the autumn path, taking me through decadent Smithsonian passages into yesteryear, down historical Spanish brick streets where Ponce De Leon had begun his quest for the Fountain of Youth, out onto a dock on the Indian River Lagoon to hand feed manatees, scuba diving from a sailboat into the crystal-clear waters on magnificent coral reefs of the Florida Keys, and backpacking the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica, which led me up inside a cloud forest to help construct an eco-lodge. And, that was just the beginning. Next, I found myself in the Land of Dixie whistling, "Amazing Grace", living and working on Bourbon, hosting and performing readings all across the Crescent City, hurling logs into the Mississippi as a steam ship passed, visiting one of the last Juke Joints left on the Delta, and at the end of that stint, the Assistant D.A. of New Orleans carrying my one suitcase to the airport as Satchmo's "St. James Infirmary" played on... From there I doubled back to Cocoa Beach, Orlando, to the house in Viera and across the seas and onto the beautiful island of Taiwan. I saw the underbelly of Taipei and enjoyed frequent trips by slow train to the beaches of Baishawan and Ilan. I met my soon to be wife. We lived in a hostel for the first eight months, slept on a twin size bed and shared the small room with a tiny mouse that never could be caught. After that we moved into a rooftop apartment in the Wanhua District of Taipei. A couple of years later my daughter was born. Riding motorcycles up and down, around and around the mountains of Guaningshan and Yangmingshan, participating in a Taiwanese funeral at the ancient family compound in the country back in Yunlin, hiking in the mountains at Cinjing Veterans Farm and 3000 meters up Yushan back down to the hot springs of Jinshan, the outdoor ones running right off the river at Wulai, and the old train line through the mountain tunnel into Naiwan Forest, down the east coast to Taroko National Gorge, Hualien and Taidong were all unbelievable experiences that I understand most will never see. This last one ended in Bangkok, Thailand in a car accident, then in a hospital in Trat, Thailand with brain surgery. After that it was back to Taiwan, and back to the house in Viera to recover. If I could just show you that temple of shells housed beneath those ugly sheet metal walls, if I could tell you what Taipei looks like from that walkover on Zhongxiao West Road in the early morning, or if you could feel the air passing through your body while leaping from the rocks of Lake Bitan you'd wish you were there. But, for now I'll have to show you because, I have a story. I have a story. Oh I have a story. Oohhh I have a story - Or a thousand stories. This is my story in Poetry.
