Bangkok Sound (2003) & Beijing's Virgin Snow, 2002

Bangkok Sounds - sam seen

Three days, in Bangkok, the last day

I walked towards the market, opposite

some bus stop turning, stole a glance from used-item girl:

nodding. smiling. cupped hands. I do not desire

too much time for slumber. Bangkok. Fair weather.

On a Tut Tut along that narrow river path

a wooden boat slide past, both sides passengers

sit quietly in a single file; some wipe away the water droplets, some

rest with eyes shutted; over the wooden ladder, onboard, onshore;

the Tut Tut and wooden boat each has passengers with clear directions

except me, leaning on the railings imagining a traveler

playing different possible roles and a foreign romance


On the way back, I stood to admire

the girl leaning against a pillar pressing her ears

listening to a small radio. Tossed a few coins

jukebox vomits out: “One Night In Bangkok”.

She discovers me standing there, her body

as if making a sound – I rush urgently towards

the gushing traffic flow, just to elucidate that sound

The girl waves her hand, as if to communicate

but whatever she says even she says I can’t understand

--- whole-heartedly I wish to become the gliding wooden boat

carrying the girl’s body, carrying

the sounds within her body


Original written in Chinese on 7-9-2003 in Bangkok
Translated into English by Tan Hua Biao on 2-6-2004



Beijing’s Virgin Snow, 2002 - sam seen
--- These days I can’t forget



Ten fingers, the interiors of feet

laced with icicles, empty on the inside

Men resembling farmers gather for warmth; the public bus

arrives, doves turn leisurely amongst the branches

the white smoke chokes some county in this state.

Imprints my soles on this Beijing’s virgin snows

No one understands my Nanyang features

They are so eye-catching


The plain scenic view encompasses her history, culture

Once alighted, shed an outer layer of skin immediately

Underneath my face is a void.

One-way and circuit subway tracks that are parsimonious

Wandering men searching for gazes everywhere

examining new irises. My

stomach opens, the cold air inside this San Li Tun area

Snowflakes dyed themselves yellow under the streetlights

for a second; tomorrow they will read the winter

that is me left-over memories and dead bodies.


These days I can’t forget, like yesterday’s you

and your warmth. The winter that we thought we imagined

seems like a small nagging pain in the past --- the first menstruation,

the moment of a wet dream; but we had missed them

We’ve matured after a passing tropical rain

“Winter is cold, snowflakes are beautiful.” I said.


These days I can’t forget, like yesterday’s you.

I don’t want to recall these days when I remembered

you and those words I told you: we have erred.




Original written in Chinese on 18-12-2002 in Bangkok
Translated into English by Tan Hua Biao on 2-6-2004

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