"Poetry appreciation"
If people can be reincarnated, if there is reincarnation in the world.
So my love, what was our past life like?
If you used to be a woman picking lotus in Jiangnan,
I must be the one you missed under your wrist.
If you have ever been an urchin who plays truant.
I must be a brand-new marble that fell out of your bag.
In the grass by the roadside
Watching you leave unconsciously.
If you were once a monk with a side wall
I must be the incense in front of the temple.
Burning has been silent with you for a while.
Therefore, when we meet in this life, we always feel a little unfinished.
But it's too vague to distinguish it carefully.
I can't tell you one by one.
"Poetry appreciation"
Xi Murong's prose poems are like a dream, seemingly absent, suddenly far away and suddenly near. Do people have past lives? We don't need to make scientific discussions and judgments. As far as frontier fortress is concerned, the poet expresses her passionate love for her lover through the existence of past lives.
This love has always been ignored: "If you are a woman picking lotus flowers in Jiangnan, I am the one you miss under your wrist."
This love contains a complaint: "If you are the urchin who plays truant, I am the brand-new marble that fell out of your schoolbag and watched you walk away unconsciously."
This love is willing to sacrifice: "If you are a monk facing the wall, I am the burning incense in front of the temple and spend a quiet time with you."
The three juxtaposed images are all beautifully written and fresh in style. In particular, putting lovers and themselves in an unequal position highlights their initiative and violence and greatly enhances the penetration of emotions.
Because of this, "when we meet in this life, we always feel that there are some unfinished things, just in a trance, and we can't identify them carefully and tell you one by one." This indistinguishable and unspeakable feeling has played a role as if it were a fantasy or a dream, as if it were nothing.
It is also because the descriptions of this life and previous lives are staggered, which gives me the feeling that it is difficult to distinguish between distance, reality and ideal, and mind and reason. An excellent prose poem, so I recommend it to everyone.