the sun peeks out
from behind the clouds
crowding the sky
with the promise
of a better day
ahead
and like the sun
my heart peeks out
from behind the debris
cluttering the past
with the hope
of a better life
ahead
Month: January 2018
the eyes the heart
one looks for words
to express
what the eyes
the heart
would say
if only
they could speak
treasures of a heart
there
buried deep
the treasures
of a heart
watching Irene Dunne
there’s that little laugh
as she confounds
yet another man
in this world
which she seems to understand
so much better
even in those moments
when lucidity eludes
her and everyone else
one still has faith
she will endure
her intelligence and wit
weapons in this risky business
of love and life
evolution
the process of going from
who one has been
to who one is
on the way toward
who one can be
with a nod to Chia Yao
spend one’s life
trying to achieve
a calming of the heart
Farewell to Monk Chih-hsinmg by Chia Tao
You have lived a long time
at Pa-hsing Temple;
retired, you’re preparing
only now to leave.
On the verge of parting, we look
out upon the bright water of autumn;
you’re not returning to your hometown
nor to the countryside near it.
You will hang your Buddhist staff in a tree
where the sky reaches to a watery horizon;
where the door-leaf of your hut
opens on great mountains.
Below, you will see dawn
a thousand li away;
a miniature sun
born of a cold white sea.
translated by Mike O’Connor
“It is enough to close our eyes… float on the waves of imagination. Isn’t that what books are there for?”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
“There is no need to drag our bodies around so much…
It is enough to close our eyes,
seated on a chair in the shade, to
float on the waves of imagination. Isn’t that what books are there for?”
Dacia Maraini, Italian, writer
2:30am Friday evening in Aliağa
the cup grown cold
here in darkness
as I sit hunched
in hooded sweatshirt
on the balcony
gazing at the distance hills
standing guard
leaving me mute
with admiration
Morning Travel by Chia Tao
Rising early
to begin the journey;
not a sound
from the chickens next door.
Beneath the lamp,
I part from the innkeeper;
on the road, my skinny horse
moves through the dark.
Slipping on stones
newly frosted,
threading through woods,
we scare up birds roosting.
After a bell tolls
far in the mountains,
the colors of daybreak
gradually clear.
translated by Mike O’Connor
Leonard Durso 