how nice it would be
to talk to someone
who remembers DeNiro
in Bang The Drum Slowly
who saw Mick Jagger dance
who loves Linda Ronstadt
who saw After The Wedding
who is reading Marquez
who has both read and seen
Milagro Beanfield War
to finally
after 6 years of talking
to myself
to have a conversation
on familiar ground
Month: May 2014
Day after Day by Li Shang-yin
Day after day spring’s glory vies with the glorious sun.
Sloping roads to the hill city smell of flowering almond.
How long before the heart’s threads, all cares gone,
Float free for a hundred feet with the gossamer?
translated by A.C. Graham
on drinking white wine: for M
red is healthier they say
but white brings back
thoughts of you
and conversations
sorely missed
in this life of mine
Evening: for Chang Chi and Chou K’uang by Han Yü
The sunlight thins, the view empties:
Back from a walk, I lie under the front eaves.
Fairweather clouds like torn fluff
And the new moon like a whetted sickle.
A zest for the fields and moors stirs in me,
The ambition for robes of office has long since turned to loathing.
While I live, shall I take your hand again
Sighing that our years will soon be done?
translated A.C. Graham
Wanderer’s Song by Meng Chiao
The thread in the hand of a kind mother
Is the coat on a wanderer’s back.
Before he left she stitched it close
In secret fear that he would be slow to return.
Who will say that inch of grass in his heart
Is gratitude for all the sunshine of spring?
translated by A.S. Graham
Spring Night by Su Tung-p’o
Spring night–one hour worth a thousand gold coins;
clear scent of flowers, shadowy moon.
Songs and flutes upstairs–threads of sound;
in the garden, a swing, where night is deep and still.
translated by Burton Watson
Red Azalea on the Cliff by Xu Gang
Red azalea, smiling
From the cliffside at me,
You make my heart shudder with fear!
A body could smash and bones splinter in the canyon–
Beauty, always looking on at disaster.
But red azalea on the cliff,
That you comb your twigs even in a mountain gale
Calms me down a bit.
Of course you’re not willfully courting danger,
Nor are you at ease with whatever happens to you.
You’re merely telling me: beauty is nature.
Would anyone like to pick a flower
To give to his love
Or pin to his own lapel?
On the cliff there is no road
And no azaleas grow where there is a road.
If someone actually reached that azalea,
Then an azalea would surely bloom in his heart.
Red azalea on the cliff,
You smile like the Yellow Mountains,
Whose sweetness encloses slyness,
Whose intimacy embraces distance.
You remind us all of our first love.
Sometimes the past years look
Just like the azalea on the cliff.
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Diung, & Edward Morin
another Saturday morning
light creeps in my window
the cat claims my lap
Bailey’s spikes my coffee
Chuck waits on skype
another Saturday morning
at home in Istanbul
One Hundred Roses by Tang Yaping
One hundred spring mornings weep for me
They become one hundred autumn twilights
The sword is the longest of paths
One hundred roses bring no comfort to the tomb
One hundred winters I will sleep in your arms
I am a child who has run himself ragged
Only you can embrace all my dreams
And calm me to the rhythm of my own heartbeat
Sleeping soundly in your arms I am transformed into a hundred infants
I curl to your breast and suck in your body’s heat
I am a child crying bitterly with fatigue
Only your kiss can sip my tears
Can give me peace as deep as an ancient well
In your arms I’ll sleep soundly for one hundred winters
I’ll divide into one hundred nude young women and one hundred roses
I’ll brew a choking liquor and hot blood
I am a child tired out from loneliness and growth
Only your crazy rhythm gives birth to my confidence and pride
I accept the comfort of strength
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
from Alone at Night at My Monastic Residence: To Secretary Ts’ui by Wei Ying-wu
I didn’t realize the year was so late
or living apart was so lonely
translated by Red Pine
Leonard Durso 