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2019-12-02 01:57

英文现代诗歌|英文诗歌 |英语诗歌

发信站: BBS未名空间站 (Sat Oct 31 11:27:55 2015,美东)



by Jackson Mac Low

This article is written based on personal experience, and I have no intention to make it as a generalized evaluation of basic biomedical research and people within. Not quite a while ago, I was a self-driven and hard-working postdoc. Graduated from a top school with a record of productive research and working in a top lab, I was so sure that, through my honest work and possibly a little bit of luck, I would be able to land a faculty position someday. Now, I am sure I don’t want to continue this career any more. When I joined my PhD lab, I adored my boss–an influential figure who did some interesting research long time ago. However, after six years of study, I left the lab with very little respect for him, although he might be a decent person as long as your performance is acceptable. Almost everyone in the lab felt depressed (except his pets), and several of them experienced deteriorating health. Eventually everyone knows that he is a self-absorbed, hypocritical and indifferent person, and none truly respects him (except those who don’t know him personally). I left and joined an extremely famous lab. At the beginning I felt great–compared with my previous lab, this was heaven. Everyone is nice(maybe except one or two, but I really cannot ask for more), and many of them become good friends. Having been tortured for my entire PhD study, I became a diplomatic and observant person, and soon realized how much pain they have been through. In addition, one of the few things that really bother me is that almost everyone comfortably believes they are very good. I, however, started to contemplate the meaning of my research and life.



Circulation. And long long

  1. What is the mission of research?

No man is an island,

岑参 《白雪歌送武判官归京》

Mind every

Research is about making discoveries. However, I found in my current lab, it is all about making and publishing stories in top-tier journals. While this philosophy is not necessarily wrong–papers determine the results of grant applications, and I have seen this in other labs–many average papers from big labs were published in Cell, Nature and Science, I don’t like it. Scientists, as arguably the brightest people on earth and especially those with reputation and resources, should be visionary leaders, not merely paper-producers. My previous and current labs spend about 6 million dollars per annum in research, yet what is the impact of their research? Very limited–I just could not see the impact proportionate to the amount of money spent. I shall emphasize here that I did see some labs, which are doing great research. I also understand that it might take years or decades for basic biomedical research findings to be transformed into something grand. I never doubted the mission of NASA, which spends billions of dollars every year.

entire of itself;


Interest Some how mind and every long

  1. Mentor or slave driver?

every man is a piece of the continent,


Coffin about little little

“Slave driver” might be a little bit extreme. However, I have no doubt that most PIs are insulting the word“ mentor.” A few years back, I adored so many PIs. Then over these years, I saw the majority of them fall from my divine temple, through their own flaws. Some of them are very successful from a practical point of view, but I have no respect for them. Only few of them are truly decent people. They only care about data. They don’t care about your future or feelings no matter how hard you have been working. Life is never fair–mostly likely most of us learned this the hard way. It is true that at the end of the day, only less than 10% of postdocs will be able to land faculty positions, but this does not mean that postdocs and students should not enjoy their work and life. As mentors–if they call themselves this, they should listen and develop the management and leadership skills to build a collegial and friendly environment and meanwhile effectively motivate people.

a part of the main;


Money especially

  1. Who we–students and postdocs–are?



I shore, having money about especially little

Spending so many years in the ivory tower, a lot of students and postdocs have developed the so called “tunnel vision.” To me, life is a long process of discovering and improving myself and searching for happiness. Life is a wonderful thing that is more than the lab, home, or grocery shopping. We are individuals occupied by our own business, but we should also have a broad perspective of the world, community, and life. I enjoyed volunteering very much–but in fact, these whom I have been helping are actually helping me. Because of them, I realized my weaknesses and started to feel compelled to learn new knowledge and skills. More importantly, a lot of scientists are socially awkward. Everyone is flawed more or less, and I am of no exception. However, when I am looking at my colleagues, I am tortured–they are nice people but they are so not prepared for the competitive reality outside of campus. I once worked with a girl from a very prestigious university in China, who was so self-centered that she hurt a lot of people and everyone else hated her, yet her behavior was tolerated by the boss. I also feel puzzled while another girl–after suffering so much in the lab–still adores the boss blindly. It is horrible to see that people can become so focused. I am a lost soul on so many levels, and a lot of human behavior are beyond what I can fathom. However, there are also quite a few things that I am absolutely certain about:

if a clod be washed away by the sea,


Cato a little little

(1) I don’t want to and cannot be my bosses, although you may say that they are very successfully scientists;

Europe is the less,


Me extreme

(2) if everything that I am experiencing now is just a means to the end, I doubt that it’s worth it

as well as if a promontory were,


I sail have me an extreme little

(3) I am not getting any younger. However, at the end of the day, who cares about what I think? After all, I am just nobody. Au revoir…

as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were:


Cherish and left, left,



Myself extremest


Song of White Snow on Secretary Wu's Return to Capital

It see hypos myself and extremest left,

any man's death diminishes me,

The north wind scrapes the ground, the fleabane destroyed,

City a land. Land.

because I am involved in mankind,

In the borderlands it starts snowing in the eighth month.

Mouth; east,

and therefore,

As though a gust of spring wind swept past overnight,

Is spleen, hand mouth; an east, land.

never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

Bringing thousands upon thousands of pear trees into bloom.

it tolls for thee.

It penetrates pearl blinds and moistens silk curtains,


The fox fur is cold, the brocade quilt too thin for the nip.


The general fails to draw steadily his horn-backed bow,


The viceroy can hardly put on his frigid armour.


A vast expanse of desert is covered with ice of a thousand feet,

I want you to know one thing,

Gloomy clouds hang over ten thousand miles of frozen land.

You know how this is.

In the central camp a homehound colleague is wined and dined,

If I look at the crystal moon at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window,

Music is played with fiddles, lutes and piccolos.


Evening snow keeps coming down at the camp gate,

If I touch near the fire, the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log,

Wind tugs at the red standard but it's too frozen to flutter.


At the eastern city gate of Luntai I shall see you off,

Everything carries me to you,

The road ahead along Tianshan Mountains is heavy with snow.

As if everything that exists.

As the path winds around the mountain and you are out of sight,

Aromas, light, medals,

Tracks of your horse's hoofs will be left vainly in the snow.

Or little boats that sail toward.


those isles of your that wait for me,


Well now. If little by little,


You stop loving me,


I shall stop loving you,


Little by little.


If suddenly you forget me,


Do not look for me,


For I shall already have forgotten you.




If you think it long and mad,


the wind of banners that passes through my life,




And you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots,




Remember, that on that day, at that hour,


I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land.



Lament of the Newly Wed

But, if each day, each hour,

The creeper clinging to the flax is wrong,

You feel that you are destined for me,

For it can’t be expected to grow long.


If a maiden to a soldier is tied

with implacable sweetness,

In wedlock, better forsake her by roadside.

If each day a flower climbs,

My hair dressed up, to you I’m newly wed,

up to your lips to seek me.

But we have not yet warmed our nuptial bed.

Ah my love, ah my own,

Married last night, at dawn we bid adieu.


Why should I part in such hurry with you?

in me all that fire is repeated,

Though you may not be very far away,


Only in Heyang garrison you’ll stay.

In me nothing is extinguished or forgotten.

I have not performed the rites of a wife.


How can I serve your parents all my life?

My love feeds on your love, beloved,

Bred by my parents, I was told it’s right


To hide indoors every day and night.

And as long as you live,

Oh, I am destined to go to your spouse.

it will be in your arms without leaving mine.

Now you go to a place in face of death,

How can I not utter my painful breath?

I would follow you wherever you go,

But I fear it would bring less weal than woe.

So forget the bride in your family then,

But do your duty as all army men.

If there were women in the camp, I fear,

It’s no good for morale on the frontier.

As a daughter of a poor family,

It’s difficult to get silk robe for me.

But I fear I could not wear it again,

Rougeless and powderless I would remain.

Looking up, I see hundreds of birds fly,

Big or small, all of them in pairs on high.

Why different should be our human fate?

O how long, how long should I for you wait!



















Song of the Conscripts

Chariots rumble and horses grumble.

The conscripts march with bow and arrows at the waist.

Their fathers, mothers, wives and children come in haste

To see them off; the bridge is shrouded in dust they’ve raised.

They clutch at their coats, stamp the feet and bar the way;

Their grief cries loud and strikes the cloud straight, straightaway.

An onlooker by roadside asks an enrollee.

“The conscription is frequent,” only answers he.

Some went north at fifteen to guard the rivershore,

And were sent west to till the land at forty.

The elder bound their young heads when they went away;

Just home, they’re sent to the frontier though their hair’s gray.

The field on borderland becomes a sea of blood;

The emperor’s greed for land is still at high flood.

Have you not heard

Two hundred districts east of the Hua Mountains lie,

Where briers and brambles grow in villages far and nigh?

Although stout women can wield the plough and the hoe,

Thorns and weeds in the east as in the west o’ergrow.

The enemy are used to hard and stubborn fight;

Our men are driven just like dogs or fowls in flight.

“You are kind to ask me.

To complain I’m not free.

In winter of this year

Conscription goes on here.

The magistrates for taxes press.

How can we pay them in distress?

If we had know sons bring no joy,

We would have preferred girl to boy.

A daughter can be wed to a neighbor, alas!

A son can only be buried under the grass!”

Have you not seen On borders green

Bleached bones since olden days unburied on the plain?

The old ghosts weep and cry, while the new ghosts complain;

The air is loud with screech and scream in gloomy rain.