Friday, January 17, 2020
INSPIRATION
THE MOUSE
The mouse of your
passion, I hear
it rustling there
in the leaves. Come
out, come out, says
the hungry hawk.
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER SOME LINES
BY CHENG HSIEH
A dog barks
at the falling stars
and wind darkens
the distant sound of flute.
~
REARRANGING SOME LINES
OF "IN THE WILDS, A DEAD DOE"
FROM THE SHIH CHING
She is urgent
as spring, pretty
as jade. She is
ready for you,
but go slow. Don't
make the dogs bark.
~
REARRANGING SOME LINES
FROM CHU YAUN'S "LAMENT FOR
YING" IN "THE NINE DECLARATIONS"
OF THE CH'U TZ-U
I follow the wind,
follow the stream,
my heart knotted,
leaving home.
~
REARRANGING SOME LINES
FROM "WALK ON WALK ON AGAIN"
IN THE YUEH-FU'S NINETEEN
ANCIENT POEMS
A wanderer
doesn't arrive,
doesn't return.
Thinking of you
has made me old.
And suddenly
it's evening.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM "O HEAVENS!"
OF THE YUEH-FU
FROM THE HAN DYNASTY
When the mountains
wear down,
when the rivers
dry up,
when winter
thunders
and it snows
in summer,
when you can't tell
earth from sky,
only then
would I leave you.
~
BY CHENG HSIEH
A dog barks
at the falling stars
and wind darkens
the distant sound of flute.
~
REARRANGING SOME LINES
OF "IN THE WILDS, A DEAD DOE"
FROM THE SHIH CHING
She is urgent
as spring, pretty
as jade. She is
ready for you,
but go slow. Don't
make the dogs bark.
~
REARRANGING SOME LINES
FROM CHU YAUN'S "LAMENT FOR
YING" IN "THE NINE DECLARATIONS"
OF THE CH'U TZ-U
I follow the wind,
follow the stream,
my heart knotted,
leaving home.
~
REARRANGING SOME LINES
FROM "WALK ON WALK ON AGAIN"
IN THE YUEH-FU'S NINETEEN
ANCIENT POEMS
A wanderer
doesn't arrive,
doesn't return.
Thinking of you
has made me old.
And suddenly
it's evening.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM "O HEAVENS!"
OF THE YUEH-FU
FROM THE HAN DYNASTY
When the mountains
wear down,
when the rivers
dry up,
when winter
thunders
and it snows
in summer,
when you can't tell
earth from sky,
only then
would I leave you.
~
Thursday, January 16, 2020
TONIGHT, POETS
You want it
to make sense
but you don't
know it will.
Keep singing
and say
God-damn.
Recite
your poems
and fly
away home.
THEY ARE ALL
They are all
poems about love
or about loss,
or perhaps
love is loss,
loss is love,
Or perhaps
what we want
is what we
cannot have,
and that is
what this is
all about.
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
THE OWL
The owl
knows
the night.
Wisdom
is a
soft-
feathered
flight
through
darkness
to that
quietest
of moments,
a mouse.
LET ME
Let me
unbutton you.
Let me
find the place
that shivers
the silver
sear of our
loving.
Let me
say with my hands,
my lips, what
cannot be said
without you.
Tuesday, January 14, 2020
THE PEARL
I have seen
the pearl
which gleams.
The world
shines in its
loveliness.
Look away,
you lose your
place in it.
HIS POEMS
Each was thinner,
meeker, more full
of emptiness
until at last
the silence, when he
had nothing more
he wished to say.
Monday, January 13, 2020
POET
He is
none other
than he
has always
been, a
maker
of poems
in the cold
solitude
where poems
are made.
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER SOME LINES
BY LIN HUNG
Moon above
the river.
I think of
you tonight.
~
AFTER 'WINE CUP
AND BRIGHT MOON'
BY SHEN CHOU
The moon falls
out of the sky
into my cup
of wine. When
the wine is gone
the moon is too,
and life goes on.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
BY T'AN YUAN-CH'UN
Trees
cannot hide
the moon's
sorrow.
Autumn
comes across
the river.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
BY CHU YI-TSUN
When the wind
dies the trees
stand idle.
The monks have
nothing to
do but eat
their supper.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
BY NA-LAN HSING-TE
The west wind
ages the maples.
To whom can I
speak of grief?
~
RAGGED-
Ragged-
ness is
the only
promise
of this
effort,
that words
fall which
way they
will with-
out care
for any-
thing but
themselves,
certainly
not for
the instructions
of those
who would
restrict
our silence.
Sunday, January 12, 2020
DESIRE
INSIDE THE STONE
Inside the stone
is a light which
makes the world.
Come down to
the water and see,
it says, though
it doesn't say where.
Saturday, January 11, 2020
AFTER DREAMING
Let's assume
the sky flies
and the hawk
stays still.
The wind knows
nothing
of distance.
The cries of
small creatures
can barely
be heard and
the grasses
are gods. Such
is the world
I wake to.
LAST INSTRUCTIONS
