Last July 2019, Taabarang and I had interesting correspondence about writing. He recognized a bit of himself in some of my writing, and he knew I was one of the expats around Phnom Penh in the early '90s. We knew the same people and places, and had a good friendship for a bit of time. He told me about his family, and we also talked a lot about his illness. He invited me to come to his place if I got back to Cambodia, but warned me he might not be around long.

He loved writing and ideas, and enjoyed poetry a great deal. He shared some of his with me, and I have a poem that he wrote about his approaching death. I don't know if I should share it here or not, and I do want to respect his privacy, but as you all know, he was a good writer and quite an academic.

His poem, which I'm not sharing at this time, was about his own death and alluded to his spirit and his body, and his readiness to leave.

In terms of his own taste in literature, he liked the good stuff. He loved the first chapter of the book I wrote, but hated a story I had published in a magazine. He knew what he liked, for sure.

In his memory, here is a poem that he was fond of and wrote about, and while I don't recall the author's name, it would be easy to look up. It's translated from French, and quite special.

* * *

I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make your dear voice come alive again?

I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown used to being crossed on my chest as I hugged your shadow, would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
For faced with the real form of what has haunted me and governed me for so many days and years, I would surely become a shadow.

O scales of feeling.

I have dreamed of you so much that surely there is no more time for me to wake up.
I sleep on my feet prey to all the forms of life and love, and you, the only one who counts for me today,
I can no more touch your face and lips than touch the lips and face of some passerby.

I have dreamed of you so much, have walked so much, talked so much, slept so much with your phantom,
that perhaps the only thing left for me is to become a phantom among phantoms,
a shadow a hundred times more shadow than the shadow that moves
and goes on moving, brightly, over the sundial of your life.

* * *

Taa wrote me a kind farewell, and wished me luck with my writing. He didn't think he had very long, and that was well over a year ago. I'm sorry he has passed, and sad for his family. I know he will be deeply missed by them, and I wish them well. Thanks to Ot Mean Loi for sharing information about his passing.

The author is Robert Desnos, "J'ai tant rêvé de toi."

I do remember that Taa Barang said one or two beautiful things on CEO about his wife and how much he treasured her.
(It struck me, because it was unlike his usual acidic comments here, and because he wasn't shy about how much he loved his wife.)

Taa Barang/Don's wife Kheang is a fine Cambodian woman. As, indeed, are so many Cambodian women.

OML