from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
Author: zdunno03
these emails
these emails
that are voices
from the past
refresh both joy
and sorrow
oh friends oh lovers
long buried here
in my memory
your words
echo long
within the chambers
of what is left
of my heart
it’s your eyes
it’s your eyes
really
that seem to know
something
I’ve forgotten
and now
find it nagging
at a corner
of my mind
Song on Being Too Lazy to Get Up by Shao Yung
Half remembering, yet not remembering, just waked up from a dream;
almost sad, but not sad, a time when I’m feeling lazy,
I hug the covers, lie on my side, not wanting to get up yet–
beyond the blinds, falling petals fly by in tangled flurries.
translated by Burton Watson
Arriving in Lo-yang Again by Shao Yung
Those years, I was a green-youthed wanderer;
today I come again, a white-haired old man.
From those years to today makes one whole lifetime,
and in between, how many things have had their day and gone!
translated by Burton Watson
every time
the heart runs faster
every time
you smile
“One cannot refute what one has not thoroughly understood.”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
taking a cue from Po Chü-i: where I belong
sometimes the dreams
are filled with faces
of those long gone
or absent in time
a sorrow here
in my heart
each morning
when I awake
but then a walk
along this shore
waves gently breaking
on ageless rocks
a cup of filter coffee
at a café
the aroma of freshly baked bread
a walk up the hill
watch the ships sail
mind peaceful
body at rest
sorrow may be part
of who I am
but let the dreams fade
here is where I belong
begins to fill
hear the call
to prayer
hear footsteps
on an empty street
the air sits still
the cat asleep
night turns slowly
into morning
and my heart
once empty
begins to fill
again
Tune: “Treading on Grass” by Ou-yang Hsiu
At the post house lodge, plum flowers scattering,
by the valley bridge, willows coming out,
fragrant grass, warm wind that sways the traveler’s reins:
parting grief–the farther apart, the more endless it grows,
long and unbroken like a river in spring.
Inch on inch of gentle heart,
brimming, brimming, her rouge-stained tears:
the tower so tall–don’t go near, don’t lean on the high railing!
At the very end of the level plain–spring hills are there,
but the traveler’s even farther, beyond spring hills.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 