Forgotten, in Three

How goodbye, gets, “finalized”, bit by bit, and eventually, you will, let go! Translated…

1. 

Like a Fallen Teardrop

Wandering Between the Distance of Longings

查看來源圖片like this???  Photo found online…

2.

Being Used to the Pains

Counting Down the Moments I’d Missed You on the Path Toward Goodbye

3. 

All that’s Left, is the Shadows of Your Nonexistence

Pretending to be Loud

or this???查看來源圖片photo also found online…

And so, despite how much you don’t want it to end, it still had, because, it just, wasn’t mean to be, and now, you just, have to wait for your hearts to know that too, so you can, move on, with the rest of your lives…

Advertisements

Love is, Deleting What isn’t Loved, a Poem

Falling out of love slowly, and in the end, there’s, NO tears to be shed, because, everything was, said, and done, translated…

There are, the Dry and the Humid Days

The Leaves Carried the Scents of Birth and Wither Away

the Wind Knows it Best

The Sand that, Sifted Through the Season of Summer

The Eulogies of Snow from the Winters

The Details of My Senses

Love is, Deleting What isn’t Loved

The Sun Passed Through Quietly

the Hairlines of the Mountains, in Between the Fields

The Birds that Sung Their Songs, the Flowers Bloomed, the Twisting and Turning in Love of the Streams and Creeks

There’s the Colder and Hotter, more Passionate Kisses

The Morning Fog Tastes Sweeter than the Light at Sunset

You’d, Stroked the Chords of the Fields of Grains

Harvested Through My Richness

Choosing to be the Rains that Fall Instead of the Umbrellas

Becoming the Holes, and Not the Keys

I’d Turned, as You Would be

the Eyes of Time

Moving Those Days of Our love

that Separated the Dry and the Wet of Memories

And so there’s, this scent of finding that closure that one needed, from a lost love of sorts, they’d weathered through the various seasons, and, got along very well, but, eventually, it still, didn’t, quite work out, and so, the narrator, let the lost love of her/his life go gently…

Listening to Kenny Burrell in My Apartment in Shanghai

There’s, no strong sorrows after the two of you parted, there’s, just, that sense of comfort now, with the help of the music she’d, introduced you to listen to, that, was the only thing that’s, stayed behind with you, from her, translated…

It was, right around the time when I’d checked out and bought Midnight Blue, I’d gotten a text from her, and we’d agreed to meet up where it was, convenient for us both, somewhere in the middle of where we both were, she’d handed me a present, the t-shirt with the same album cover printed, from the Uniqlo and Blue Note series, but because it was too small, I’d, stashed it inside my closets and never wore it.

here’s Midnight Blue from Kenny Burrell, from Youtube…

 

Recently, I was sorting through my closets and took it out, the T-shirt I hadn’t worn enough times clearly, had become, loosened somewhat, I’d tried it on, and, it’d, fitted now, I’d looked closely at the print, that dark purple midnight, with the full blue-colored “Blue”, classic Blue Note.

It was a few days before the Chinese New Year’s one year, a lot of people had already, displaced themselves from the city, I’d asked her why she’d selected Kenny Burrell, instead of Miles Davis or Lee Morgan?

She’d twisted a bit, like shaking off that awkwardness for a long time, then, told me, that some of the songs are fitted best, for when you’re alone in the depth of the night, this was one of the albums (the name said it was “Midnight”). She’d told me when she couldn’t sleep at night, she’d played this album alone in her apartment in Shanghai, and, every time when she came to, her thoughts got trapped by Kenny Burrell’s vortex of guitar, she couldn’t hold herself together, and when she came back, the needle already ran to the stickers, and started making that scratchy sound.

“And”, she’d continued, shifting her gaze to behind me, “I like how guys would keep their heads lowered, busying about their own businesses.”

There must be that look of “I can’t believe it” written on my face, because she’d stared at me for a very long time, there was, probably, a five minute long silence that’s surpassed between us, then, she’d started slowly, that it was her last day in Taiwan, that she’s due back in Shanghai tomorrow, and she doesn’t know when she’s coming back here again, told me to get a weblog account.

I’d not let her know, that I’d just bought this vinyl today, on the way back, the cover of that album became like a watermark, stuck to my mind, on the upper left right, Kenny Burrell lowered his head, played on his guitar, looking, kinda, nerdy.

Every time I’d taken out this album, I’d recalled that shirt, along with the cover of the album that’s, filled up with the blues, and, that nearly, complete empty street in Taipei.

That evening, this album was under my arms, and, trekked alongside me, through those, empty streets, but don’t know why, perhaps, it’s because I wore the matching shirt, or the cover of the album, it’d felt, warmed underneath my arm, like there was, a surge of warmth, gathering there, and, it’d, helped me, fended off the cold winds.

As I came back to reality, the needle had, already, gone all the way around once on the record, I’d recalled my own thoughts on my way back that day, it’s, a clarity, that strangeness of the separation after the saturation of things, with that semi-transparent feel to it.

And so, this, is how this particular music, had accompanied you through this particular passage in your life, and, maybe, it’s because of how this woman had introduced you to the music of this person, and, you’d, loved her more or less, that, is why, you’d kept, listening to the record of the man, because, it’d, struck a chord with you.

Danshui, a Short Prose

Sleeping together in the same bed, dreaming of different dreams, living together, alone on your own, and yet, neither one of you brings up the subject of DIVORCE??? Translated…

On the weekends, she’d gone to Danshui often. Mostly, early in the mornings. After she’d trekked over the place she’d wanted to go, the crowd started gathering all around, the street performers are about to put on their shows then. She’d usually leave at around this time. She’d loved that quietness of the early mornings, and not enjoyed how crowded the place was in the afternoons. When she’d returned home, her husband became, easier to get along too, because he’d already had the chance to see someone that made him happy too.

And so, this, is how the two of you live together separately, and, although the two of you knew, that you’re no longer “with” one another, you still stayed in this marriage, but why is that, huh? Are you, just, too comfortable, of living together alone on your own already?

Squandering Away the Love We Once Shared…

We had been, squandering away the love we once shared, thinking, that we will, NEVER run short, but, it’d, run out on us now…

Squandering away the love we once shared, that wasn’t smart, I know it now, but, it’s, too little, too late for us, love’s, already done with you and me, we’d, hurt it too bad, damaged it, to BEYOND even God’s repair now, and so, it just, lay itself down, to D-I-E, while, we’d, cried hard, for it, not to leave us!!!

Squandering away the love we once shared, we shouldn’t have, but, we didn’t know any better, and, the price we’re paying, is having this love we once shared, DIE, before our eyes, and, no matter how hard we’d both cried, we still, don’t have the powers, to bring the DEAD to life, and, we’re, forever, at loss, over this love we’d, once had, but squandered away………

Squandering away the love we once shared, you’d think, that we should’ve, known better by now, but now, that lesson’s still, yet to be learned, the hard way, and, until we lose the love we once cared about so much, having it, YANKED away, out of our grasps, we will, NEVER learn how to appreciate it, and yet, by then, it would be, too late, to get it back again.

 

 

 

Forget It, Just, Let It Go…

The sound of, letting go, in stanzas, a poem, translated, by me…

Forgotten

She’d, Forgotten Me, and I, Him Too

Suddenly, Inside This Space of Time, Some People, Some Things, are Just Gone

Like Getting Trapped in a Fog, without Knowing Why, Some Things, Some People Just, Went, Missing

breaking up 的圖片結果left behind…photo from online…

Forgotten the Processes, without the Struggles

Everything Settled, in its, Rightful Place Allowing Things to Flow as They’re Supposed to

Or Maybe, She, or He, Never Found a Place in My Mind, and so Naturally, I’d, Forgotten…

Let it Go

I’d, Let Him Go, and She’d, Set Me Free

in the Space of Time, Some People are, Locked Up in Frames

Like Being, Paralyzed in the Mud, Struggling, to Break Free but Couldn’t

People Breaking Up 的圖片結果parting ways now, but, still, lingering on…photo from online…

Some Things, Some People, we’re, Just Never, Meant to Forget

From Waiting for that Day to Finally, Let Go, it’d Been, Quite Trying

But After Getting Through it, You’d Felt, Relieved, and Free

Or Perhaps, She or He Had, Helped You, Grow

Helped You Gain Wisdom, and Her/His Mission was, Completed

Forgotten Let it Go

are the Two Locks We Have Inside of Us

Dissolved, Opened, the Heart Became, Freed

Forgetting and Letting Go

are Pit Stops in the Journeys of Our Lives

Station After Station, the Show of Leaving Those We Love Behind, Parting in Such Sweet Sorrow, a Tragic-Comedy

No Matter How Much You’d, Put in

Everything Will Eventually Be

Let Go, Forgotten

Lost, it’s, Over

So, that’s taken, long enough, isn’t it? For you, to finally, let go in your mind, and to not, think about that lost love again, because you had, grieved fully and properly, for what’s lost, parts of your self you’d, given to that particular person, and yeah, it hurt like hell, sure, but, you’d, grown up from losing that love, so, you’d, still, won out!

Trips Alone

How the love the two of you once knew had, slowly, dimmed out, translated…

You’d Found a Café in the Snow that’s Growing, Sat Down. You Saw, Out of the Corner of Your Eyes, a Woman in a Red Jacket, She Sat, Leisurely, Sipping on Her Coffee, Looking Confident, But Not Too Proud, Seems to Tell the Rest, that She Knew that the Man She was, Waiting for, is Hers, Although He’d, Not Yet Professed His Love to Her………

I’d gone to Berlin for a lecture in the spring, there’s, still that coldness in the air there. The first evening in Berlin, you were, working on the PowerPoint presentation for tomorrow, then, suddenly, shouts broke through the silence of the night, someone was, shouting out racial slurs, you’d tilted your head out the window, saw some stumbling figures. You’d wanted to turn back to R, tell him, “It’s no big deal, just some teenagers”. But you’d, forgotten, that you’re, on this trip, alone.

You’d turned on the radio, the DJ said something in German you couldn’t catch fast enough, then, the song started, quietly. But, in this night that’s, disturbed, music seemed to serve the purpose of repair, but, although the music had, grasp onto a nerve of yours, but, you’d, worked along, and, failed to pay enough attention to what he was singing, until the final few lines, the trumpet started, sounding off in the background, and the singer, “it’s all so quiet”, and, the trumpet’s tune rose with the notes climbing up higher, then, as the highest note that the trumpet played came to a halt, the singer, “in Berlin”, and ended the song. You’d, immediately, gone online to search for the song, and, listened to it more than twenty times. It’s all so quiet, It’s all so quiet, It’s all so quiet…in Berlin. This section of the lyric, sounded like, they were, made for you.

illustration from UDN.com…圖/李孟翰

Although this was the second time you’re here, Berlin was still a strange place to you, last time, there weren’t that many Muslim vendors or Turkish restaurants, and, it was, impossible, for you, to NOT feel discriminated here. But, why did you, gain that sense of unprotected vulnerability for the silent nights in Berlin now?

In Ginsberg’s poem “Returning Back to Time Square, Dreams in Time Square”, nobody saw that invisible trumpeter, only that poet who’d, stumbled down the streets, after the world changed, chasing that lost dream, accidentally, found the trumpeter again. You’d heard that trumpeter’s sorrowful music playing—or perhaps, it was, your hallucination too?

Or maybe, because it was, spring back then?

The repeated once chorus had:

I’d get lost anywhere

As long as I’m found

I could be anyone

in any town

Yes, so long as we got found, who would be afraid, of getting lost? Naturally, we’d not needed to worry of the various roles we’d played, so long as we get to, return to that very first, original role, assigned to us.

You’d gone to Athens for a meeting, the sun had, shone down everywhere. After the meeting, I’d gone to Mykonos. The bright sunlight reflected into the alleyways that twisted and turned like the walls of a labyrinth, you’d wandered aimlessly, and was, drawn to a table with an empty chair in front of a café, and, you took that very first photo of an empty seat. It was, very rare, that in the afternoons, the seats were, still vacant, and, you looked upon those empty chairs, like they were, alive, and waiting, patiently, for a customer to come and sit. But, you’d had, another, delusion, that all the customers from before never, actually left, that there were, the ghosts of, customers past sitting in the seats.

like this???  not my photograph…

You’d recalled how you’d traveled to many islands with R from before, once, she’d complained that you’d only, taken her to the islands, and, you were, dumbfounded, every time you’d, planned out the trips thoroughly, you’d made sure, to include an island in the itinerary, and she didn’t like that, and that, was when it’d, dawned on you, that she’d, favored the city living lifestyle. And so, you’d, thought, had you not scheduled these trips to these, islands………then, you’d found, that your thoughts, never actually, got off the islands you’d, gone to—you’d, kept pondering how to make the amends, should you, try satisfying her more the next time? As you were, about to, leave those, empty chairs behind, you couldn’t help, but look at them again, felt, that you’d not, gotten everything that you need, to take with you.

Those windmills in the distant hills, from a certain angle on the island, you could, get a complete view of, but, you seemed, to have, never caught them turning. Until the last day when you’re about to leave, you’d, walked to the ferry, and, you seemed, to have seen, the windmill, turned. You’d instinctively turned, to tell R, but, that huge cruise ship docked, broke your illusions—at which time, there was, a large group of younger eastern girls getting off, you couldn’t help, but look at them, and, so long as the ladies were thin and tall, you’d, sought them out, as if, trying, to find something that’s, familiar and lost……until the tourists all got onboard the ship, and, you’d, carried that nostalgia of unwillingness, alighted too.

You went to Yangzhou to lecture, the autumn light reflected onto the lakes. After supper, you’d gone with a group of younger scholars, to continue the meet in the city, they’d found a pub, “For Youth”, with a live band. And, as everybody went in, they’d, received a red bandana, turned out, it was, a day of nostalgia at the pub, other than the pop music from Hong Kong and Taiwan, the young musicians also performed the tunes from long ago. And everybody, in their Red Army bandana all, sang along too; in the help of alcohol, the revolution, seemed to have, begun all over again, and no matter how many products were, produced by the outside world. As you all left, everybody looked, and, there’s, that feeling of, vacancy. After exiting For Youth, the streets became, vacant too, and, Michael Buble’s “Home” came from the distance, there’s, that feeling of surrealness. You’d told everybody to stop walking, and the song was at:

Another aeroplane

Another sunny place

I’m lucky, I know

But I wanna go home

I’ve got to go home

You shook your head, “Come on, too overly expressive.” But, actually, you were, trying, to mask up the feelings that were, awakened in you; you’d become, another flighter; kept boarding the next plane, arriving at the next sunny place. But, you’d always, traveled, alone.

all alone, without the company of someone he loves…photo from online…

You’d arrived at Lithuania in the winter, but, the chills of the winter already got there ahead of you. Before the meeting was over, you’d, gone to the capital of Latvia, Riga. Your friend told you from before, that this country, is very tiny, but had, amazing architectures, especially, when nobody else was there. And so, you’d, gone out in the snow early in the morn, and trekked the streets. The winter morning, you’d, walked across, and in-between, those ancient buildings, like you’d, entered, into a dream of solitude: all the tourists, gone, only those, shy ghosts, still, lingered on. As you walked, there came, a beautiful woman from the turn of the corner, you couldn’t tell if she was, Latvian or Russian, but, there’s, that hint of sorrow, from either the northern weather, or some other reasons. The moment she’d, passed you by, you’d found, that a button was missing from her shirt. You’d wanted to turn back and share this with R, but if this time, she’d called you “boring”, you would’ve, had a valid reason; because this reminded you of Rilke’s book, mentioning how the young maiden the man bumped into, and he’d found that a button was unbuttoned from the back of her shirt, and, guessed at how she must’ve, felt angered by something before she went out…………and, you’d, mentioned it to R: the time she’d, rushed out the door, and, you’d, chased after her, to button up that missed button on her back………

In the storm that grew, you’d, found a café to sit. The snow fell harder outside, and, you’d, worried about the woman you’d, just encountered, that she might freeze from the cold, then, you saw, another woman, in a red jacket, sipping on her coffee in the corner, looking self-confident, but without the ego, like telling those around her, she knew that the man she was waiting for was hers already, although he’d, not professed his love to her yet……at this very moment, a memory of winter came clear to you. R too, once wore her read coat and waited for you in a café. That day, you were running, seriously late, and, as you’d arrived, you’d, apologized profusely, but she’d, spoken aloud, “I’m not, waiting, for you!”

It was, Christmas Eve, you’d recalled, in the U.S. everybody was, spending the evening with someone who’s closest and mattered most, same for the international students. But R arrived Maryland, and, passed through that final Christmas Eve you’d had in the States, but why? She’d, corrected herself: that she was there, for something else, but, there wasn’t anything planned on Christmas Eve, so, she’d, come find you. But, you’d not done anything special, just strolled around South Seaport, and, carried on, in disconnected conversations. It was, really cold that evening, and, the two of you, started, breathing out white air, but, neither one of you was, in a hurry, to find a warm place to sit. Did you feel, that it wasn’t, needed, to have other people around? Or, simply because, you can’t, find a place to sit down? You can no longer, recall. But, the only thing you’d recalled was, as the two of you, leaned in against the railing, and, gazed toward the distant lighthouse, blinking, she’d suddenly inquired, “Do you like, traveling alone?”, without a second of hesitation, you’d, replied, “I used to, from before.”

And so, that, was your experience of love, and, the two of you had, shared so many memories, but, for some reasons, you two didn’t, work out, and, you’re left, with these, memories of the love you’d owned and lost, feeling, nostalgic…