all day
today
the walls filled
with memories
and now
a glass
of whiskey
to wash away
this feeling
of loss
and ease these ghosts
into the past
where they belong
Month: June 2015
drums in the night: 2:15am in Maltepe
there it is
the drum beat
a reminder
to wake
to eat
before dawn
and for reasons
of my own
eat two eggs
fried sucuk
and bread
an atonement
for what I did
and didn’t do
a small offering
to whatever faith
I have
River Snow by Liu Tsung-yuan
A thousand mountains, no birds fly.
Ten thousand paths, no footprints.
Lone skiff, rush-cloaked old man.
Fishing alone, cold river snow.
translated by J.P. Seaton
A different translation of this poem but as Mary Tang would say, That’s what makes translations so interesting.
Bamboo Song II by Liu Yu Xi
Here’s Mary Tang’s translation, & reading in Cantonese, of the Liu Yu Xi’s (Liu Yu-hsi) poem I posted earlier.
Song of the Bamboo Stalks by Liu Yu-hsi
Red blossoms: mountain peach, upon the heights.
Shu River: floods of spring caress the mountain, flowing.
The flowers bloom and fade, so like his love.
The waters run on endlessly: my sorrow.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Untitled by Li Shang Yin 無題 （相見時難別亦難）
Mary Tang’s translation of a poem by Li Shang-yin, one of my personal favorites of the T’ang Dynasty poets.
on penance: for my Joes
their day nears
and I hear
my grandfather say
as he lay dying
from Parkinson’s
Sweet Jesus
this is some penance
you gave me
and see
my father’s eyes
when no one else
was looking
the weariness
the sorrow
of the unforgiven
and here I am
far from the home
they tried making
older than either
ever were
and blood
of their blood
with penance
still left
to pay
fantasy movies
there are scenarios
I go through
each starring you
fantasy movies
in my head
leaving me
stranded
somewhere
between
hope
and despair
Philip Larkin answering a question about what the genesis of a poem is
If I could answer this sort of question, I’d be a professor rather than a librarian. And in any case, I shouldn’t want to. It’s a thing you don’t want to think about. It happens, or happened, and if it’s some thing to be grateful for, you’re grateful.
I remember saying once, I can’t understand these chaps who go round American universities explaining how they write poems; it’s like going round explaining how you sleep with your wife. Whoever I was talking to said, They’d do that, too, if their agents could fix it.
a longing in the heart
is it age
guilt or regret
that robs sleep
of its peace
to leave
a longing
in the heart
Leonard Durso 