hear that voice
the country alive
and blue
a longing
a loving
the long road home
pour another shot
of my old friend
lift the glass
to a voice
haunting me so
Author: zdunno03
a Quiche poem about home: The Face of My Mountains
My voice speaks out
to your lips,
to your face:
give me thirteen times twenty days,
thirteen times twenty nights,
to bid farewell
to the face of my mountains,
the face of my valleys,
where once I roamed
to the four world-ends,
the four world-quarters,
seeking and finding
to feed me
and live.
translated into Spanish by Prologo de Francisco Monterde, then into English by John Bierhorst
from Bring Roses and Cardamom by Horace
Whether we descend from the great houses,
Or drift unprotected under the naked
Sky, it’s all one; we are sacrifices
To Death, not well known for compassion.
We are obliged and herded. The lot is
Inside the urn; the ball with our number
Will roll out. And what we’ll get
Is an everlasting absence from home.
translated by Robert Bly
from The Anger Poem by Horace
Anger is what broke Thyeste’s life
And many shining cities went down brick
By brick before anger, and aggressive
Battalions ran their ploughs in great
Delight over ground covering those walls.
Calm your mind. Heat tempted
Me in my sweet early days, and sent
Me deeply mad to one-sided poems. Now
I want to replace those sour lines with
Sweet lines; now, having sworn off harsh
Attacks, I want you to become
My friend, and give me back my heart.
translated by Robert Bly
from The Anger That Breaks A Man Down Into Boys by Cesar Vallejo
The anger that breaks the soul down into bodies,
the body down into different organs,
and the organ into reverberating octaves of thought;
the anger of the poor
owns one deep fire against two craters.
translated by Robert Bly
fool: for Frank
you sit in rooms
listening to people talking about
the bible/aquariums/carving coconuts
and struggle to keep your eyes open
you keep seeing her car instead
parked in someone else’s driveway
at night, all night, till morning
see the pictures in your head
of what transpires in the dark
fool, you say
missing what was never yours
fool, fool
fool
never such a fool
never such a fool
to bet everything
on the way the sun
lights a face
in the morning
of a life
Water Song by Su Shi (translation)
a lovely translation of a Su Shi poem by Mary Tang on her blog Life is But This
Memories of Horses by Rolf Jacobsen
The lines in the hands of old people
gradually curve over and will point soon toward earth.
They take with them their secret language,
cloud-words and wind-letters,
all the signs the heart gathers up in the lean year.
Sorrow bleaches out and turns to face the stars
but memories of horses, women’s feet, children
flow from old people’s faces down to the grass kingdom.
In huge trees we can often see
images of the peace in the sides of animals,
and the wind sketches in the grass, if you are happy,
running children and horses.
translated by Robert Bly
Snow Plum by Lu Mei Po (translation)
another of Mary Tang’s translations from the Chinese on her blog Life is But This
Leonard Durso 