I didn’t update the space yesterday, since I’m back over over 21:30 last night after the class, then locked the Lab soon.
Here is a poem I like, which is the base of the book Turn Left? Turn Right?(Xiang Zuo Zou, Xiang You Zou) , a most popular book of Jimmy’s. Enjoy it~
Love at First Sight
Both are convinced
that a sudden surge of emotion bound them together.
Beautiful is such a certainty,
but uncertainty is more beautiful.
Because they didn’t know each other earlier, they suppose that
nothing was happening between them.
What of the streets, stairways and corridors
where they could have passed each other long ago?
I’d like to ask them
whether they remember– perhaps in a revolving door
ever being face to face?
an “excuse me” in a crowd
or a voice “wrong number” in the receiver.
But I know their answer:
no, they don’t remember.
They’d be greatly astonished
to learn that for a long time
chance had been playing with them.
Not yet wholly ready
to transform into fate for them
it approached them, then backed off,
stood in their way
and, suppressing a giggle,
jumped to the side.
There were signs, signals:
but what of it if they were illegible.
Perhaps three years ago,
or last Tuesday
did a certain leaflet fly
from shoulder to shoulder?
There was something lost and picked up.
Who knows but what it was a ball
in the bushes of childhood.
There were doorknobs and bells
on which earlier
touch piled on touch.
Bags beside each other in the luggage room.
Perhaps they had the same dream on a certain night,
suddenly erased after waking.
Every beginning
is but a continuation,
and the book of events
is never more than half open.
——Wislawa Szymborska
一见钟情
他们彼此深信
是瞬间迸发的热情使他们相遇
这样的确定是美丽的
但变幻无常更为美丽
他们素未谋面,所以他们确定彼此并无瓜葛。
但是自街道、楼梯、大堂传来的话语… …
他们也许擦肩而过一百万次了吧。
我想问他们
是否记得… …
在旋转门
面对面那一刹
或是在人群中喃喃道出的“对不起”,
或是在电话的另一端道出的“打错了”。
但是我早知道答案。
是的,他们并不记得。
他们会很惊讶,原来缘分已经戏弄他们多年。
时机尚未成熟变成他们的命运,
缘分将他们拉近,驱离。
阻挡着他们的去路
忍着笑声
然后闪到一旁… …
有一些迹象和信号存在,
即使他们尚无法解读。
也许在三年前
或者就在上个星期二,
有某片叶子飘舞于
肩与肩之间?
有东西掉了又捡了起来?
天晓得,也许是那个
消失于童年灌木丛中的球?
还有事前已被触摸
层层覆盖的
门把和门铃。
检查完毕后并排放置的手提箱。
有一晚,也许同样的梦,
到了早晨变得模糊。
每个开始
毕竟都只是续篇,
而充满情节的书本
总是从一半开始看起。
——辛波斯卡