文静内向的姑丈是他家庭坚实的靠山
工作踏实分担内务爱护妻子教育女儿
家人受益于姑丈的智慧是可贵的财富
姑丈不在了但美好的记忆如回声常在
Tag: chinese poem
An Ardent Admirer
It will make me happier to see you than read your poems. However it will give me more joy to watch you writing poems than see you.
Do I keep dreaming to see you or settle for the reality that you are happily doing what you love?
Writer’s notes:
This is an interpretation of Jun’s poem written in Chinese.
见诗的快乐不如见你的快乐。
见你的快乐不如见你写诗的快乐。
哪一种快乐去梦里?
哪一种快乐到现实？
桑树下的恋人 Under the Mulberry Tree
记得那年仲夏的傍晚
漫天的青绿彩云见证
桑树下我们互相许愿
我们的爱情果实累累
如今我独自旧地重游
透熟的桑果额前嘲讽
三十来年的果盛果落
黑发的恋人如今鬓白
我们的爱情早已消失
如桑果从纯白到紫黑
Remember that summer evening
under the mulberry tree
sky full of green and cyan clouds
witnessed our pledge of love
would be like the ripen mulberries
Now I am revisiting the scene alone
the heavy mulberries dangling on my forehead
laughing at my naiveté
We were once young and pure
three decades of success and failure
we are now with silvery temples
our love had long been bruised
like the dark purple mulberries
黑暗的流星 (Meteor Blackout)
我一直在寻找暮夜里的繁星
竟然忘却了绵长的南方雨季
当碎星们尽力吸引我的目光
我却忽略了他们互放的光芒
I've been searching for the glorious stars in the ebony sky
forgetting the prolonged Southern monsoon season.
When the shooting stars gathered to attract my attention,
I was blind to their unifying light
and missed the splendid meteor.
薰衣草 (Lavender)
You used to bring me lavenders at sunset
The subdued scent lulled me into peaceful sleep
I blushed when dreaming your fingers subtlety brushed my hand
Before sunrise I'd already waited patiently by the window
他曾经傍晚时给我带来薰衣草
静默的草香总平安地送我入眠
梦里为你手指轻拂擦过而腮红
初阳时分的窗边我已静静等待
Melancholy Life
This piece is a translated meaning of Jun’s original poem in Chinese. Jun is a loving husband, a proud father and a successful business man. His love for literature and tea remain throughout his life.
I only know this life even reincarnation may be real. The rain stopped as tears also dried out in my hollow and withered frame. I may sit in solitary and mesmerised by the past. And yet no amount of sweet memory surpasses my speck of reality.
Time drifted away and aged me. I still broadcast my love to the clouds. They echo within the walls of my ears, so loud and clear. But I wake up every morning and experience the same realisation that they are just dreams. I cannot defeat this mundane life. Poetry and prose are my only hope to keep on living.
不论几世仅一生，泪干雨歇花凋零， 重忆情恩俱往昔，柔情蜜意愧真人。 不论光阴岁月残，对云寄语几心思， 回音徒塞两耳鸣，岂知梦醒一场空， 按停时空成俗子，待将余生做愚诗。
Lullaby
(Image by Josh Knight)
This poem was first posted on 29 November 2018
rushing rain
twirling dust
wind, the ballerina
orchestrates the masterpiece
consoles my sleepless nights
soothes me with sweet dreams
破天急雨
尘埃降下
婀娜来风
淅沥交响
昨夜辗转
今宵恬梦
Quicksand (流沙)
爱情就如流沙
巧匠耗尽终生
密密编织情网
网密时沙粉碎
留不住的光阴
抓不住的爱情
love is like quicksand
you spend your whole life
try to make the sieve finer
the finer it gets
still, finer is the sand
you can never salvage time
just as
you will never seize love
Distant Future
I have a habit of admiring the cool moonlight
and making plans to visit you.
I am used to measuring my footsteps
to gauge how much I miss you.
The long distant travel doesn’t bother me
as long as I know I get to linger around your scent.
I keep enduring the absence of your love
watching the moon pulls the tide.
我不是今日才要慕晚月凉，
明天艳阳去寻娇娘，
日子不空只随脚步踱思念，
远行不累，
香气怡人漂他乡，
牵挂着，
断渐爱恋缠又续。
Treasure
A depressed teenager, I was, and insomniac. People came and went like whirlwind on a daily basis which left me dizzy and confused. Music and books were my true friends.
I must have been fourteen or fifteen when I started to write poetry. I produced two poetry collections with themes in love and nature. They were more like scrapbooks filled with hand scribbles, doodles and glued on magazine cut-outs. They were the treasure of my teens, and probably the only treasure I proudly claimed mine.
I had a pen friend, yes, a pen friend. Strong and I shared a common interest in poetry. We had written to each other for over three years. We got to exchange our favourite pieces of own poetry. After so many years, he still kept my correspondence. I am grateful to him because he preserved a few pieces of my poetry from early days.
You may wonder what about those two collections. Well, this is what this short writing about. Be careful where you leave your treasure and who you trust.
My buddy Bupa and I were very close. We talked on the phone for hours every day. We talked about anything but nothing. In hindsight, they were mostly harmless banter but also completely time wasting. It seemed to me at that time of my lonely years, Bupa was my only trusted friend. When I decided to come to Australia to start a new life, I asked Bupa to keep my two poetry collections for me under lock and key until I returned. He didn’t say no. That was summer in 1998.
In 2014, I finally met up with Bupa and asked him to return my two collections. He told me he didn’t have them anymore. He threw them away because of fear of his wife’s jealousy. I was beyond shocked. The painful realisation of the little worth of our friendship had a secondary effect to the loss of my treasure, the loss of part of me.
In 2018, by blessing I reconnected with my pen friend Strong via social media. He took photos of the poems I sent along in letters to him. That’s how I managed to reunite with my teenage self through those poetry.
Trusting someone who are not trust worthy is a lesson for me to learn.
This short piece has been stewing in my mind for a while. I wanted to be a meaningful piece so I procrastinated. Now I wrote it, it is like a weight off my shoulders. I didn’t realise it bothered me so much. Now this is history, done and dusted.
Here are the English translation for the preserved early pieces:
Flicker of Thoughts 