there are moments
when the past comes crashing
through the door
like some unruly relative
demanding attention
there are people I’d like to forget
but their ghosts refuse to listen
and they pop up in conversation
some trigger evoking them
collars turned up
cigarettes dangling from lips
hot stuff devils on biceps
eyes hooded, suspicious
they were not good boys
doing things not accepted
by codes other than their own
there is remorse in my heart
for deeds done, witnessed
scars that have faded in time
but still pencil thin lines remain
in places that substitute for a soul
some day atonement beyond what was given
will be expected
and all the good will be stacked up
against the bad
they understood this
did not care one way or the other
not believing in anything beyond the hell
they suffered through
and though there is no pity in my heart
there is understanding
and if it turns out
I stand beside them once again
I will not flinch
when the whip comes down
tough is what you can take
Kevin said once
not what you can give
a lesson I learned years ago
on asphalt pavement
on barroom floors
Month: November 2013
In My Study by Yun Son-do
My eyes fixed on the mountains and my ears on the lute,
how could the affairs of the world ever disturb my mind?
Though nobody knows, I am full of lively spirits,
wildly I sing out a song, and then intone it alone.
translayed by Kim Jong-Gil
Boating at Dusk by Song Ik-pil
Lost among flowers, the boat returns late;
expecting the moon, it drifts slowly down the shoals.
Though I’m drunk, I still drop a line:
the boat moves on, but not my dream.
translated by Kim Jong-Gil
rebel, rebel: a tanka for NB
a rebel, rebel
intent on changing her world
one day at a time
too sensitive for the fight
but with tears she will endure
night: for Frank
he tries not to drink
but those shadows will haunt him
and the glass refills
ice bumping shoulders again
the night never seems to end
Li Fu-Jen by Wu-ti
The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.
On the marble pavement dust grows.
Her empty room is cold and still.
Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.
Longing for that lovely lady
How can I bring my aching heart to rest?
translated by Arthur Waley
Winter Night by Emperor Ch’ien Wen-ti
My bed is so empty that I keep on waking up:
As the cold increases, the night-wind begins to blow.
It rustles the curtains, making a noise like the sea:
Oh that those were waves which could carry me back to you.
translated by Arthur Waley
Last Poem by Po Chü-I
They have put my bed beside the unpainted screen;
They have shifted my stove in front of the blue curtain.
I listen to my grandchildren, reading me a book;
I watch the servants, heating up my soup.
With rapid pencil I answer the poems of friends;
I feel in my pockets and pull out medicine-money.
When this superintendence of trifling affairs is done,
I lie back on my pillow and sleep with my face to the South.
translated by Arthur Waley
On Hearing Someone Sing A Poem By Yüan Chen by Po Chü-I
No new poems his brush will trace;
Even his fame is dead.
His old poems are deep in dust
At the bottom of boxes and cupboards.
Once lately, when someone was singing,
Suddenly I heard a verse–
Before I had time to catch the words
A pain had stabbed my heart.
translated by Arthur Waley
Pruning Trees by Po Chü-I
Trees growing–right in front of my window;
The trees are high and the leaves thick.
Sad alas! the distant mountain view
Obscured by this, dimly shows through.
One morning I took knife and axe;
With my own hand I lopped the branches off.
Ten thousand leaves fall about my head;
A thousand hills come before my eyes.
Suddenly, as when clouds or mists break
And straight through, the blue sky appears;
Again, like the face of a friend one has loved
Seen at last after an age of parting.
First there came a gentle wind blowing;
One by one the birds flew back to the tree.
To ease my mind I gazed to the South East;
As my eyes wandered, my thoughts went far away.
Of men there is none that has not some preference;
Of things there is none but mixes good with ill.
It was not that I did not love the tender branches;
But better still,–to see the green hills!
translated by Arthur Waley
Leonard Durso 