Friday, January 31, 2020
NIGHT SOUNDS
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER WANG WEI'S
"BIRD-SINGING STREAM"
I am lazy
as the falling
flowers. The night
is quiet, the
mountain empty.
The moon rises,
surprises a bird
which wants to sing
about the river.
~
AFTER WANG WEI'S
"RILL OF THE HOUSE OF LUANS"
The wind blasts
an autumn rain,
water spilling
over rocks.
The splashing
startles an
egret which
rises, white,
then settles
back again.
~
AFTER WANG CHIH-HUAN'S
"ASCENT THE HERON TOWER"
The white sun
follows the mountains.
The river flows
to the sea.
Already, you can
see forever here,
and you can
still go higher.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM LI PO'S "TO SEE
SECRETARY SHU-YUN OFF
AT HEHSIEH T'IAO TOWER
AT HSUAN-CH'ENG"
I want to climb the sky
and hold the moon.
I use my sword
to cut the water --
the water still flows.
I take to drinking
to drown my sorrow --
and still this sadness.
You must live in the world
but it pushes against you.
In the morning, let's
let loose, let's go fishing.
~
AFTER LI PO'S
"JADE STEPS GRIEVANCE"
It is late. The jade steps
are collecting dew. She
soaks her stockings, then
opens the curtains
to watch the autumn moon.
~
"BIRD-SINGING STREAM"
I am lazy
as the falling
flowers. The night
is quiet, the
mountain empty.
The moon rises,
surprises a bird
which wants to sing
about the river.
~
AFTER WANG WEI'S
"RILL OF THE HOUSE OF LUANS"
The wind blasts
an autumn rain,
water spilling
over rocks.
The splashing
startles an
egret which
rises, white,
then settles
back again.
~
AFTER WANG CHIH-HUAN'S
"ASCENT THE HERON TOWER"
The white sun
follows the mountains.
The river flows
to the sea.
Already, you can
see forever here,
and you can
still go higher.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM LI PO'S "TO SEE
SECRETARY SHU-YUN OFF
AT HEHSIEH T'IAO TOWER
AT HSUAN-CH'ENG"
I want to climb the sky
and hold the moon.
I use my sword
to cut the water --
the water still flows.
I take to drinking
to drown my sorrow --
and still this sadness.
You must live in the world
but it pushes against you.
In the morning, let's
let loose, let's go fishing.
~
AFTER LI PO'S
"JADE STEPS GRIEVANCE"
It is late. The jade steps
are collecting dew. She
soaks her stockings, then
opens the curtains
to watch the autumn moon.
~
A DAY IN WINTER
Thursday, January 30, 2020
NOT AS
HOW MUCH LOVE
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
LIKE A PEACH
WHERE IS SHE
Tuesday, January 28, 2020
AFTERNOON WOMAN
WHO NEVER
Monday, January 27, 2020
IMAGINE / THE LIGHT
Imagine
the light.
Let it
enter
the stillness.
Watch as
all things
become
nothing
before you
and that
nothing
glows. This
is the
wisdom
that is
silence.
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM WANG WEI'S
"PASSING THE TEMPLE
OF TEEMING FRAGRANCE"
The pale sun fails
the green pines.
Where the river bends,
evening comes.
In your heart, zen
is eating the dragon.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM TU FU'S "SPRING VIGIL
IN THE IMPERIAL CHANCERY"
A sleepless jangle,
wind in the chimes.
I work tomorrow
yet all night long
the long empty hours.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM TU FU'S "NEW MOON"
The universe
does not change.
The mountains
are cold, empty.
In the courtyard
the dark, secret
flowers are bent,
heavy with dew.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM TU FU'S "CLIMBING ON
THE DOUBLE NINTH DAY"
I've been sick
a hundred years.
Trouble has turned
my hair grey.
And what! now I've
just stopped drinking.
~
AFTER A LINE
FROM LI SHANG-YIN'S
"WITHOUT TITLE (II)"
I chant
my poems.
The moon
chills me.
Its light.
~
FROM WANG WEI'S
"PASSING THE TEMPLE
OF TEEMING FRAGRANCE"
The pale sun fails
the green pines.
Where the river bends,
evening comes.
In your heart, zen
is eating the dragon.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM TU FU'S "SPRING VIGIL
IN THE IMPERIAL CHANCERY"
A sleepless jangle,
wind in the chimes.
I work tomorrow
yet all night long
the long empty hours.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM TU FU'S "NEW MOON"
The universe
does not change.
The mountains
are cold, empty.
In the courtyard
the dark, secret
flowers are bent,
heavy with dew.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM TU FU'S "CLIMBING ON
THE DOUBLE NINTH DAY"
I've been sick
a hundred years.
Trouble has turned
my hair grey.
And what! now I've
just stopped drinking.
~
AFTER A LINE
FROM LI SHANG-YIN'S
"WITHOUT TITLE (II)"
I chant
my poems.
The moon
chills me.
Its light.
~
THE BIRDS HAVE
The birds have
left us
an autumn
emptiness.
The quick
darkness sings
to their silence.
We shall never
pass this way
again.
Sunday, January 26, 2020
IT IS / NATURAL
It is
natural
to speak of
nature
and the small
gods who
own it:
to give
light and
darkness
their place,
to hold
the sky
as final
wisdom.
MOONLIGHT
Saturday, January 25, 2020
POET'S TIME
THE DEAD
Some make a beer
of their dead, and
some make ashes
and give them to
the wind. It
doesn't matter
which, the dead are
always dead, and
what we breathe is
all that's left of them.
Friday, January 24, 2020
SOUND, NOT
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM LI PO'S "CROSSING
CHING-MEN TO SEE
A FRIEND OFF"
Mountains fall
onto the plains.
The river flows
into wilderness.
The moon a mirror
crossing the sky.
We always love
our own place
yet here I am,
leaving it,
traveling so far
to see you off.
~
AFTER WANG WEI'S
"AUTUMN DUSK AT
A MOUNTAIN LODGE"
Empty mountain after rain.
Autumn evening, the air rising.
Moon among the pines,
water flowing over stones.
Girls return from doing laundry.
The fisherman's boat among the lotus.
Here and there the grass has withered.
O, friend, you don't have to go.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM HSIEH T'IAO'S
"ROAMING THE EAST FIELD"
The birds scatter,
the last blossoms fall.
Done with drinking
this spring wine
I watch the mountain
keep turning green.
~
AFTER WANG PIN-CHIH'S
"ORCHARD PAVILION"
Flowers
astonish
the woods
and fish
the water.
I cast
my line,
my heart
content
to catch
fish,
or catch
nothing.
~
AFTER CHAN FANG-SHENG'S
"SAILING BACK TO THE CAPITAL"
The mountains
keep reaching
for sky.
The water
runs clear
and constant.
The pines
shine greener
than green.
I wake
to write
this poem.
My traveling
sadness
has lifted.
~
FROM LI PO'S "CROSSING
CHING-MEN TO SEE
A FRIEND OFF"
Mountains fall
onto the plains.
The river flows
into wilderness.
The moon a mirror
crossing the sky.
We always love
our own place
yet here I am,
leaving it,
traveling so far
to see you off.
~
AFTER WANG WEI'S
"AUTUMN DUSK AT
A MOUNTAIN LODGE"
Empty mountain after rain.
Autumn evening, the air rising.
Moon among the pines,
water flowing over stones.
Girls return from doing laundry.
The fisherman's boat among the lotus.
Here and there the grass has withered.
O, friend, you don't have to go.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM HSIEH T'IAO'S
"ROAMING THE EAST FIELD"
The birds scatter,
the last blossoms fall.
Done with drinking
this spring wine
I watch the mountain
keep turning green.
~
AFTER WANG PIN-CHIH'S
"ORCHARD PAVILION"
Flowers
astonish
the woods
and fish
the water.
I cast
my line,
my heart
content
to catch
fish,
or catch
nothing.
~
AFTER CHAN FANG-SHENG'S
"SAILING BACK TO THE CAPITAL"
The mountains
keep reaching
for sky.
The water
runs clear
and constant.
The pines
shine greener
than green.
I wake
to write
this poem.
My traveling
sadness
has lifted.
~
THE FIRST
Thursday, January 23, 2020
LIFTING / MY EYES
Lifting
my eyes
I find
only
stillness.
Stillness
finds
only
me.
Morning
says
nothing.
Listen.
Nothing.
Do not
retreat
from it.
ON ANOTHER POET'S FAILURES
Why would you want
to write those poems?
The answer is simple.
Like me, you cannot
write what you choose,
only what you can.
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
THE CALL
THAT DARKNESS
It is lovely,
that darkness.
Light would not
improve it.
Do not fear
the emptiness
for there are
terrors worse
than death. Walk
gently into it
when your time
has come. Let
it surround
you like a
warm ocean.
Learn to love
the silence.
Accept that
there is no
going back.
Tuesday, January 21, 2020
NOT / SO MUCH
STRAIGHT UP
Monday, January 20, 2020
THIS MOMENT
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM "SAD SONG"
OF THE YUEH-FU
FROM THE HAN DYNASTY
I want to cross the river,
no boat.
I want to go home,
no one there.
If I would speak,
no words.
Within me
the wheels of a cart
grind and turn,
grind and turn.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM T'AO CH'IEN'S
"BEARER'S SONG"
All the mourners
make their way home
and still the family
carries its sorrow.
Where do the dead go
after the dying, after
the body is given
unto the mountains?
~
AFTER HSIEH T'IAO'S
"VIEWING THE THREE LAKES"
The red clouds
of sunset
again
on the water.
From up here
I can watch
the birds gather.
I can see
the reach of
wide plains
around me,
of the river
and its islands.
I can see
spring coming,
still yellow
with autumn.
Evening brings
its sadness
and I think
of old friends.
What does it
amount to,
any of this,
I wonder.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM T'AO CH'IEN'S
"DRINKING WINE: NO. 5"
South Mountain
surprises me
as evening
comes on, the
birds returning
wing to wing.
All that's true
is true, right
here, right now.
Which I would
tell you, if
there were words.
~
FROM "SAD SONG"
OF THE YUEH-FU
FROM THE HAN DYNASTY
I want to cross the river,
no boat.
I want to go home,
no one there.
If I would speak,
no words.
Within me
the wheels of a cart
grind and turn,
grind and turn.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM T'AO CH'IEN'S
"BEARER'S SONG"
All the mourners
make their way home
and still the family
carries its sorrow.
Where do the dead go
after the dying, after
the body is given
unto the mountains?
~
AFTER HSIEH T'IAO'S
"VIEWING THE THREE LAKES"
The red clouds
of sunset
again
on the water.
From up here
I can watch
the birds gather.
I can see
the reach of
wide plains
around me,
of the river
and its islands.
I can see
spring coming,
still yellow
with autumn.
Evening brings
its sadness
and I think
of old friends.
What does it
amount to,
any of this,
I wonder.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
FROM T'AO CH'IEN'S
"DRINKING WINE: NO. 5"
South Mountain
surprises me
as evening
comes on, the
birds returning
wing to wing.
All that's true
is true, right
here, right now.
Which I would
tell you, if
there were words.
~
THE OLD POET SPEAKS OF HIS ART
Only
a few
words, like
rock, like
tree and
grass. No
need for
verbs -- the
stillness
being
enough.
No need
for motion
when
standing
in the
moment
is the
moment.
Sunday, January 19, 2020
THE POET
SMALL DEATH
That they say
it is a small
death is the
mistake they make
understanding
what this
terrible silver
moment
between us
comes to.
Saturday, January 18, 2020
HOW TO
EVERY BED
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
Friday, January 10, 2020
AFTER DARK
Who would we be
without the moon?
What tides would
pulls us, where?
How would we know
to find our way home?
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER SOME LINES
BY HSIU CH'I-CHI
Her seductive art,
that smile, the wink --
ten thousand blossoms
fall, embarrassed.
~
AFTER TWO LINES
BY YUAN HAO-WEN
The heart
is empty.
Autumn's
shadow
moves the
bamboo.
~
AFTER THREE LINES
BY YUN K'AN TZU
Dream an empire
of ants. Wake to know
the world is dream.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
BY YUN-K'AN TZU
Pure as
darkness,
the old
man, and
nothing
to hold
the moon's
companion,
drunk and
dancing.
~
AFTER OTHER LINES
BY YUN-K'AN TZU
Only some onions.
Contentment my
portion, sweeter than
what the world offers.
~
ART OF THE POEM
As if you know
who it is
who is speaking
you write it down.
As if you know
what it means,
which you don't.
Thursday, January 09, 2020
READ ANNA AKHMATOVA
MY FATHER SAID
Wednesday, January 08, 2020
ANOTHER MORNING
FAR OFF
Tuesday, January 07, 2020
WINTER MORNING
A grey
canvas
of sky.
Birds are
the wind's
singing,
holes in
the light,
moments
of God
in the
morning
and sweet
fullness
promised
all day.
THE AMAZON, BURNING
Monday, January 06, 2020
MONK'S TRUTH
There is
mountain.
There is
not
mountain.
Nothing
you need
needs you,
except
silence.
You must
step in-
to it.
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER YANG WAN-LI'S
"STANZA WRITTEN IN JEST"
The flowers
like bright coins
paid to poets,
which buy them
only grief.
~
ON TWO LINES
BY YANG WAN-LI
Sound of a flute
in the empty mountains--
breath of the tiger.
~
ON TWO LINES FROM
YANG WAN-LI'S
'SONGS OF DEPRESSION'
I chant my new poems
then fall to sleep.
I am a butterfly
chasing the wind.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
BY KU-T'AI-CH'ING
Autumn comes
and my grief
comes with it.
The waning moon.
My cold bed.
~
AFTER FIVE LINES
BY HSIU CH'I-CHI
I have returned
to farming.
Why pretend to be
anyone else?
These trees are my friends.
These birds, the flowers.
~
GIFTS IN COZUMEL
Sunday, January 05, 2020
EARLIER
COZUMEL
Saturday, January 04, 2020
SHE HUGS
MORE EVEN
Friday, January 03, 2020
THE RAIN COMES
The rain comes
again, and
again its
meaning is
lost to me.
There is some
blessing in
this moment,
I suppose,
some hope for
something, yet
always it
eludes me.
I just stand
here, alone,
getting wet.
AFTER THE CHINESE MASTERS
AFTER TWO LINES
BY OU-YANG HSIU
Spring confusion
of butterflies,
bees, and blue sky,
blossoms about to
burst into flame.
Translated whole poem elsewhere, differently.
~
AFTER A LINE
BY WANG AN-SHIH
The sound of a flute,
this sadness
saying good-bye.
~
AFTER TWO LINES
BY SU SHIH
Wanderers
searching
for where I
have wandered
need find
only
where the
mountain sleeps.
~
ON THREE LINES
BY LI CH'ING-CHAO
The poet working words
and a cup of cheap wine,
her taste for idleness.
~
AFTER SOME LINES
BY LI CH'ING-CHAO
Evening. The moon
hovers. The blinds
are drawn. Still
the fallen petals,
their lingering
scent, this moment
to be kept.
~
FINALLY
Thursday, January 02, 2020
SOMEONE CLIMBS DOWN
Someone climbs down
out of the trees
standing in surprise
two-legged on
a great green plain,
the hot sun at
him or her, fear
a taste like dirt
so close upon
the earth, then he
or she takes those
first steps coming
towards us.
ANOTHER
Wednesday, January 01, 2020
SOMEWHERE: THE BEGINNING
Where the water
recedes and sand
settles and hardens,
where what was
the edge is now
center, where one
color is darker
than the others,
where life began
and some day may
end, this place
no one knows and
no one wants to.
ALWAYS
TO BE READ EACH NEW YEAR AND AGAIN WHEN YOU HEAR OF MY DEATH
I wish only to
come back as grass
on a wind-swept
plain. Death is what
death is. My atoms
will dance again
in some sun, will
be pulled into
a black hole, be
attracted to
the Great Attractor
and whatever
the Attractor is
attracted to.
This is beyond
my perfect knowing
in this body,
of course, yet all
the stars assure me:
they are the only
angels there are.
