In this short poem of mine, I am making my way to spring which is still out of sight. Winter is with me definitely, and so is a plum blossom. I may be alone, but I am not lonely. How can I be lonely if I keep a plum blossom close to my heart?
Did I mention that winter is with me? Actually, winter was with me, big time, back then when I dated a Chicago girl, now my fiancée who likes to be called a plum blossom in Chinese.
It was a January day of all days. I had the audacity to invite my new date to a winter walk on Chicago’s Lakefront of all places. That would impress her, I believed, if she knew how much I was eager to take on the notorious winter of her hometown -- for her. She’d better give a serious guy a serious chance.
Indeed, she was impressed, although a hint of doubt did make her brows knit for a few seconds: “Are you sure about that?” I nodded, smiling and telegraphing.
Still, I half-expected her counter-proposal. A visit to one of Chicago’s great museums, perhaps? The dice was cast against me when she warmed up to my idea, seemingly. I had a bit of cold feet, instantly and certainly.
In summer, it’s a breeze to cover the walking distance between Grant Park (our starting point) and the Navy Pier (our destination). That’s my only experience, by the way. Now, my stealthy iPhone check gave me -30° F without factoring in the wind chill. I wasn’t even sure I was truly bundled up.
No surrender to Chicago, no matter what.
Suddenly, my new date waved her hands. A Navy Pier trolley stopped for us.
Snow drifted by outside when she pointed me to this and that landmarks on our well-covered trolley trip. I had never been so quiet, listening to a caressing voice.
Holding hands, we found ourselves at the "Broken Bridge" on a snow-drifting day. Before we knew it, our hair had turned white.* (We had already aged together!)
*In the West, not too many people appreciate 「白頭到老」，a 100% Chinese idiom.
I respect Whitman.This is " Eidolons" you' re looking for:
Eidolons I met a seer, Passing the hues and objects of the world, The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, To glean eidolons. Put in thy chants said he, No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in, Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all, That of eidolons. Ever the dim beginning, Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle, Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,) Eidolons! eidolons! Ever the mutable, Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering, Ever the ateliers, the factories divine, Issuing eidolons. Lo, I or you, Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown, We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build, But really build eidolons. The ostent evanescent, The substance of an artist's mood or savan's studies long, Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils, To fashion his eidolon. Of every human life, (The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,) The whole or large or small summ'd, added up, In its eidolon. The old, old urge, Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles, From science and the modern still impell'd, The old, old urge, eidolons. The present now and here, America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl, Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing, To-day's eidolons. These with the past, Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea, Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors' voyages, Joining eidolons. Densities, growth, facades, Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees, Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave, Eidolons everlasting. Exalte, rapt, ecstatic, The visible but their womb of birth, Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape, The mighty earth-eidolon. All space, all time, (The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,) Fill'd with eidolons only. The noiseless myriads, The infinite oceans where the rivers empty, The separate countless free identities, like eyesight, The true realities, eidolons. Not this the world, Nor these the universes, they the universes, Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life, Eidolons, eidolons. Beyond thy lectures learn'd professor, Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics, Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry, The entities of entities, eidolons. Unfix'd yet fix'd, Ever shall be, ever have been and are, Sweeping the present to the infinite future, Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons. The prophet and the bard, Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet, Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them, God and eidolons. And thee my soul, Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations, Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet, Thy mates, eidolons. Thy body permanent, The body lurking there within thy body, The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself, An image, an eidolon. Thy very songs not in thy songs, No special strains to sing, none for itself, But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating, A round full-orb'd eidolon.
五絕：冬旅
春遙雪路長
眉冷任風揚
散髮飄衣袂
懷梅獨步香
——颺
In this short poem of mine, I am making my way to spring which is still out of sight. Winter is with me definitely, and so is a plum blossom. I may be alone, but I am not lonely. How can I be lonely if I keep a plum blossom close to my heart?
Did I mention that winter is with me? Actually, winter was with me, big time, back then when I dated a Chicago girl, now my fiancée who likes to be called a plum blossom in Chinese.
It was a January day of all days. I had the audacity to invite my new date to a winter walk on Chicago’s Lakefront of all places. That would impress her, I believed, if she knew how much I was eager to take on the notorious winter of her hometown -- for her. She’d better give a serious guy a serious chance.
Indeed, she was impressed, although a hint of doubt did make her brows knit for a few seconds: “Are you sure about that?” I nodded, smiling and telegraphing.
Still, I half-expected her counter-proposal. A visit to one of Chicago’s great museums, perhaps? The dice was cast against me when she warmed up to my idea, seemingly. I had a bit of cold feet, instantly and certainly.
In summer, it’s a breeze to cover the walking distance between Grant Park (our starting point) and the Navy Pier (our destination). That’s my only experience, by the way. Now, my stealthy iPhone check gave me -30° F without factoring in the wind chill. I wasn’t even sure I was truly bundled up.
No surrender to Chicago, no matter what.
Suddenly, my new date waved her hands. A Navy Pier trolley stopped for us.
Snow drifted by outside when she pointed me to this and that landmarks on our well-covered trolley trip. I had never been so quiet, listening to a caressing voice.
卜算子：遇
不必問前生
早在前生見
回首江南細雪飄
紅傘羞羞轉
泥許印緣深
路許春迎面
來世天涯半醒時
半夢今生戀
韻：詞林正韻第七部去聲
譜：龍榆生「卜算子」定格
—— 颺
"While we were walking together in the snow along the bridge, our hair became white accidentally. "
这是看到别人写的一句中文歌词，我按记忆翻译了一下：）
A visit to one of Chicago’s great museums? which one?
Art Institute of Chicago? I've been there before. : )
in Chicago 10 years ago. Impressed!
the Art Institute of Chicago. You are really familiar with Chinese celebrity and culture.
佩服佩服！！
Holding hands, we found ourselves at the "Broken Bridge" on a snow-drifting day.
Before we knew it, our hair had turned white.*
(We had already aged together!)
*In the West, not too many people appreciate 「白頭到老」，a 100% Chinese idiom.
"How can I be lonely if I keep a plum blossom close to my heart?" "懷梅獨步香" How sweet and romantic!
I have heard about Chicago's winter! Admire your courage, haha!
惠特曼故居就在我家附近。但是我对于他的了解并不深。很同意你对幻象的理解。写得很好。谢谢你回我那个帖子，我需要再体会一下，所以想要找英文原诗看一看。
Eidolons I met a seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,
To glean eidolons. Put in thy chants said he,
No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in,
Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all,
That of eidolons. Ever the dim beginning,
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,
Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)
Eidolons! eidolons! Ever the mutable,
Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,
Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,
Issuing eidolons. Lo, I or you,
Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,
We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,
But really build eidolons. The ostent evanescent,
The substance of an artist's mood or savan's studies long,
Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils,
To fashion his eidolon. Of every human life,
(The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,)
The whole or large or small summ'd, added up,
In its eidolon. The old, old urge,
Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles,
From science and the modern still impell'd,
The old, old urge, eidolons. The present now and here,
America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,
Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing,
To-day's eidolons. These with the past,
Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea,
Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors' voyages,
Joining eidolons. Densities, growth, facades,
Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,
Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,
Eidolons everlasting. Exalte, rapt, ecstatic,
The visible but their womb of birth,
Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape,
The mighty earth-eidolon. All space, all time,
(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,
Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,)
Fill'd with eidolons only. The noiseless myriads,
The infinite oceans where the rivers empty,
The separate countless free identities, like eyesight,
The true realities, eidolons. Not this the world,
Nor these the universes, they the universes,
Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life,
Eidolons, eidolons. Beyond thy lectures learn'd professor,
Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics,
Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry,
The entities of entities, eidolons. Unfix'd yet fix'd,
Ever shall be, ever have been and are,
Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons. The prophet and the bard,
Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet,
Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them,
God and eidolons. And thee my soul,
Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations,
Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,
Thy mates, eidolons. Thy body permanent,
The body lurking there within thy body,
The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself,
An image, an eidolon. Thy very songs not in thy songs,
No special strains to sing, none for itself,
But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating,
A round full-orb'd eidolon.
education in Chinese literature. The heritage was not passed down or picked up by my generation. The linakge was broken.
Actually 12 years ago... Time flies but impressions stay. So true.
So beautiful and romantic. I visited Chicaco in Summer a few years ago , went to the places you mentioned.
I won't go to Chicaco in Winter unless I have a plum blossom close to my heart.
The winter here Toronto is also cold and long. Just like what you said: "I am making my way to spring which is still out of sight".
Thanks for sharing
还有“不小心”这个很传神，希望能翻译出来。
就是说“一不小心” 牵手牵了一生，到白头，
即使西人不知道“白头到老”，他们也一定会感到妙处：）
第二个图片构思真棒，构图稍微有点紧