the power of guitars and roses...
it is not magic now, the world. alone,
you will not share the clarity of moonlight
or the placid gardens. now there will be no moon
that is not a reflection of the past,
mirror of solitude, a sun of sorrow.
goodbye now to the touch of hands and bodies
that love brought close together. nowyou have only
your loyal memories and empty days.
we only lose (you vainly tell yourself)
what we do not have, what we have never had.
but, to learn the fine art of forgetting,
it is not enough to put on a brave face.
some sign - a rose - can tear the heart from you
and a chord on a guitar can kill you.
j.l.borges, the self and the other, 1964
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Twice the immigration judge asked the woman’s name. Twice she gave it: Xiu Ping Jiang. But he chided her, a Chinese New Yorker, for answering his question before the court interpreter had translated it into Mandarin.
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