I’ve been carrying this memory
for weeks now
ever since I walked past
your old building
on my way back
from The Strand
your long dark hair
the way you moved
on top of me
those nights
in my loft
crouching there
half Cherokee princess
doing a dance
later in The Village
hearing Tracy Nelson sing
that voice
shivers down my spine
and you swaying
eyes half closed
your hand in mine
and I thought
I should never
let you go
but foolish me
holding the world
in my hands
and letting it
slip away
even your painting
of sunflowers
lost over the years
all that’s left
this old address
an image
slipping in and out
of memory
Author: zdunno03
Looking at a Map of Ch’ang-an by Lu Yu
My hair’s turning gray, but this devotion to our country remains.
South of the peaks, I’ve been gazing north into southern mountains
all year. To mount a horse, spear athwart: that’s where my heart is,
laughing at those chicken-shits digging moats around our capital. . .
Sun sinks away. Smoke comes windblown over ridges. It’s autumn,
and the sound of watchmen banging cookpots fills tumbling clouds.
Ravaged fathers in Ch’ang-an country go on grieving and looking
looking for the emperor’s armies coming back through the passes.
translated by David Hinton
At Cloud-Gate Monastery, Sitting Alone by Lu Yu
Northern mountains, and southern, too–I’ve wandered them all,
and if I look back, I see sixty-seven years of springtime festivals.
Today, given this far away into old age, all battered and broken,
I sit alone, lit incense fragrant, and listen to the sound of water.
translated by David Hinton
The Small Pond by Yang Wan-li
A spring’s eye of shadow resists even the slightest flow.
Among tree shadow, its lit water adorns warm clear skies.
Spiral of blades, a tiny waterlily’s clenched against dew,
and there at the very tip, in early light, sits a dragonfly.
translated by David Hinton
At Hsieh Cove by Yang Wan-li
The ox path I’m on ends in a rabbit trail, and suddenly
I’m facing open plains and empty sky on all four sides.
My thoughts follow white egrets–a pair taking flight,
leading sight across a million blue mountains rising
ridge beyond ridge, my gaze lingering near then far,
enthralled by peaks crowded together or there alone.
Even a hill or valley means thoughts beyond knowing–
and all this? A crusty old man’s now a wide-eyed child!
translated by David Hinton
On A Boat Crossing Hsieh Lake by Yang Wan-li
I pour out a cup or two of emerald wine inside the cabin.
The door swings closed, then back open onto exquisite
ranged mountains: ten thousand wrinkles unseen by anyone,
and every ridge hand-picked by the sun’s slant light.
translated by David Hinton
Crossing Open-Anew Lake by Yang Wan-li
A fisherman’s taking his boat deep across the lake.
My old eyes trace his path all the way, his precise
wavering in and out of view. Then it gets strange:
suddenly he’s a lone goose balanced on a bent reed.
translated by David Hinton
The Autumn Brook by Hsüeh T’ao
It has turned crystal clear lately
And flows away like a ribbon of smoke
With a music like a ten strınged zither.
The sound penetrates to my pillow,
And turns my mind to past loves,
And won’t let me sleep for melancholy.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
bereft of dreams
there they are
those faces
from the past
filtering through
my dreams
causing confusion
asking questions
that can no longer
be answered
about their take
on events
long gone
and I break
an oath
pour whiskey
down my throat
in the vain attempt
to find sleep
bereft of dreams
Outside My Office, Wandering In Moonlight by Wei Ying-wu
Outside this office, night such luminous depths,
the lovely moon’s a delight wandering with me.
Descending across the river, it comes halfway
adrift on dew-tinged air, then suddenly startles
autumn, scattering color through open forests,
scrawling its disk on the current’s utter clarity.
And reaching mind, it bestows boundless light
all silver-pure azure eluding us to perfection.
translated by David Hinton
Leonard Durso 