Wanderer’s Song by Meng Chiao

The thread in the hand of a kind mother
Is the coat on a wanderer’s back.
Before he left she stitched it close
In secret fear that he would be slow to return.
Who will say that inch of grass in his heart
Is gratitude for all the sunshine of spring?

translated by A.S. Graham

Red Azalea on the Cliff by Xu Gang

Red azalea, smiling
From the cliffside at me,
You make my heart shudder with fear!
A body could smash and bones splinter in the canyon–
Beauty, always looking on at disaster.

But red azalea on the cliff,
That you comb your twigs even in a mountain gale
Calms me down a bit.
Of course you’re not willfully courting danger,
Nor are you at ease with whatever happens to you.
You’re merely telling me: beauty is nature.

Would anyone like to pick a flower
To give to his love
Or pin to his own lapel?
On the cliff there is no road
And no azaleas grow where there is a road.
If someone actually reached that azalea,
Then an azalea would surely bloom in his heart.

Red azalea on the cliff,
You smile like the Yellow Mountains,
Whose sweetness encloses slyness,
Whose intimacy embraces distance.
You remind us all of our first love.
Sometimes the past years look
Just like the azalea on the cliff.

translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Diung, & Edward Morin

One Hundred Roses by Tang Yaping

One hundred spring mornings weep for me
They become one hundred autumn twilights
The sword is the longest of paths
One hundred roses bring no comfort to the tomb
One hundred winters I will sleep in your arms
I am a child who has run himself ragged
Only you can embrace all my dreams
And calm me to the rhythm of my own heartbeat

Sleeping soundly in your arms I am transformed into a hundred infants
I curl to your breast and suck in your body’s heat
I am a child crying bitterly with fatigue
Only your kiss can sip my tears
Can give me peace as deep as an ancient well

In your arms I’ll sleep soundly for one hundred winters
I’ll divide into one hundred nude young women and one hundred roses
I’ll brew a choking liquor and hot blood
I am a child tired out from loneliness and growth
Only your crazy rhythm gives birth to my confidence and pride
I accept the comfort of strength

translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin

unquiet night: thoughts turn toward Soma

horns in the night
the chanting continues
so much anger
at what cannot be undone
death toll mounts
while one is torn with grief
silent prayers
shouting protests
neither brings back the dead
nor brings comfort to the living
the fate we face
raging in the night
at what we are powerless
to change

A remembrance is moving by Juan Ramon Jimenez

A remembrance is moving
down the long memory, disturbing
the dry leaves with its delicate feet.

—Behind, the house is empty.
On ahead, highways
going on to other places, solitary highways,
stretched out.
And the rain is like weeping eyes,
as if the eternal moment were going blind—.

Even though the house is quiet and shut,
even though I am not in it, I am in it.
And. . .good-bye, you who are walking
without turning your head!

translated by Robert Bly