You
Look a while at me,
Look a while at a cloud.
I feel
You are far away while looking at me,
So very close while looking at the cloud.
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
Author: zdunno03
reflections: what my father left me
in the mirror
my father’s face
in my arms
his strength
in my mind
his thirst for knowledge
in my heart
his love
his gifts to me
still reverberating
these many years
after he’s gone
a tiny corner of heaven
standing naked
at 2:30am
in my kitchen
eating cold chicken
olives
an avacado salad
drinking white wine
after reading Pete Hamill
on NYC
no one watching
even the cat asleep
in another room
if that ain’t heaven
at least a tiny corner
of it
I don’t know
what is
walking along the shore
sea breeze rustles my hair
friends share a laugh
on a bench
water, cold water
for sale
mussels & rice
on the half shell
skateboards & bikes
two men asleep
on the nearby grass
this stroll
soon a memory
of my life
in Kadiköy
filed away
with things
worth remembering
overshadowing things
to forget
the long way home
seems to be
the only way
some know
of seeking shelter
one can call
home
those detours
distractions
attractions
on sidestreets
alleyways
causing delays
all adding to
the character of
the one who finally
arrives
A Philosophy of Saws by Liu Shahe
True. The saws are sawing wood,
But wood is also sawing the saw.
Thus saws are becoming dull–
The more they are sharpened the frailer they get,
And eventually they break.
The wood sawn into boards
Is fashioned into furniture.
Saws just break
And are discarded.
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
a analogy for oppressed people everywhere to keep in mind
My Optimism by Shao Yanxiang
I’m an adult
My optimism is adult too
My optimism
Doesn’t smile all the time
It has rolled in the mud
It’s been struck on an anvil
It burst out into sparks under the hammer
It burned in a bonfire that almost went out
For a while people scornfully called it dead ash
It has been worked over with nightsticks
Jerked around every which way
Then floated downriver chilled to the bone
None of its fibres
Is tainted by even a speck of dust
It doesn’t wear coveralls
Not my optimism
My optimism
Isn’t a coat
That you sometimes put on and then take off
Nor does it have a pocket with a conscience inside
That you could sometimes bring with you
Or sometimes leave at home
My optimism
leaped into my arms
And it warmed it up with my body heat
After it had been trampled when those
Who had once embraced it cast it aside
I warmed it up
And it warmed me
Double-crossed
And reported on in secret
It grew up step by step
Yet without encountering obstacles
Without a taste of mean tricks
How could my optimism become adult?
Adult optimism
Isn’t always sweet
Sometimes its face is bathed in tears
I once heard it choking back sobs
But it woke out of its grief
Caught my hand
Comforted my heart
Propped my head in both hands
And tried gently to console me
With a tune that only parents would use for a child
Hello old friend inseparable as body and shadow
My long-suffering weather-beaten optimism
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
Inscription Seen on a Trip to Bao Ji by Liu Shahe
Being misunderstood by someone
Is vexation
Being misunderstood by everyone
Is tragedy
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
the cat moans
he wants attention
so moans
behind my back
hoping
I suppose
I’ll turn around
after 7 years
you’d think he’d know
I’m not so easily
seduced
Thomas Jefferson on newspapers
Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers,
or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.
Leonard Durso 