the wind
the wind
wherever it blows
i follow
Author: zdunno03
in Sprüngli in Zurich on Mother’s Day Weekend: for my mother
here
so much chocolate
you would be
in heaven
if you weren’t
there
already
each day this pain
each day
this pain
my heart
thinking
of you
When We Finally Turn Fifty by Wang Xiaolong
We’ll be just as we are now
Kissing as we casually fix a meal
Getting by whether or not the laundry’s been done
No talking allowed during reading time
No money in the bank
Having a spat once every three days on average
Making our walk home from the movies
Deliberately long and sad
Then pretending we haven’t known each other for three whole days
So we can be especially intimate on Sundays
The weather’s getting strangely pleasant
During the night we dream with our heads stuck together
And see two small dogs
Running across the snow
When we finally turn fifty
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
Longing by Cai Qijiao
My longing for you brims with feelings of spring–
A clear flowing stream
Ripples in the foreground,
The green landscape beyond
Stretches back into the distance,
Under the quiet shadow of a cloud
Your smile is like the passage of fluttering birds.
My longing for you never rests–
As the rising moon
Skims over layer after layer of branches
You walk out from the depths of my heart
And through layer upon layer of memories
You cast radiant light on everything around me.
My longing for you comes back to reality–
On the mountain a high tower
Quiet under a hazy drizzle,
Waiting thus forever for love,
Without so much as a word
Without even hinting my intentions.
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
empty restaurants
listening to
the ticking
of clocks
in empty restaurants
and thinking of
old lovers
long buried
in memory
Poetry by Cai Qijiao
It is the tide, an everlasting cry,
Or a star, the never-ending silence.
Whether shouted or voiceless,
Neither is for human beings to choose.
How easy to not write poetry for truth.
Lies come along to cover emptiness.
The shining flower petals of glory
Are not the same thing as the truth.
To search the heart is poetry’s lifeblood.
Perhaps it was found but it’s been lost again.
The blue smoke and grey ash–
Both are brothers of that fire.
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
on being home: for Ali
Ali calls
I see erguvan
our special flower
only here
in Istanbul
suddenly now
I am home
we are home
Lenny
it is so beautiful
and I tell Burhan
your uncle is home
he smiles
as we drive
from apartment
to apartment
until I too see
erguvan
and I too
am home
Memory by Cai Qijiao
An ice-cold river encircles the log hut
Whose compassionate face is staring toward me.
A tree like an umbrella shields the river
Who with windlike fingers plucks my heartstrings.
You are a bright cloud in my evening sky
While I sing you a poem about sunset.
But your songs are constellations of stars
That go on flickering deep in my soul.
My poem is merely withering leaves
Who in a warm dream laugh at thunderstorms,
But your songs are like the silence of flowers
Whose lasting fragrance scorns authority.
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
still horizons
not ready
to roll over
yet
still
horizons
to cross
Leonard Durso 