Spring is bright and splendid in the city of Lo-yang;
But the man of Lo-yang grows old in another land.
The willows darken on the Prince of Wei’s embankment;
At this time I am confused and bewildered.
Alongside the blossoming peach, the spring waters run clear;
Mandarin ducks bathe in their freshness.
My regret gathers force in the setting sun;
I think of you, but you do not know it.
translated by Lois M. Fusek
I send my heart out
wrapped in tissue paper
a bow on top
the emotions spring forth
a river overflowing
these feelings I have
when your image appears
on the street before me
the way your eyes shine
when you tell an amusing story
the tilt of your head
when in conversation
your smile when you dance
your bold assertions
leave me without air
to twist and turn
unable to express
what must remain unspoken
and thus reduced to words
my inner character exposed
in what I write
in what I do
but never in what I say
I speak through fictional poses
to the one who exists
in my mind
hoping somehow you’ll hear
the song in my heart
A purple cloud drifts away
and the sky begins to clear.
The snow fallen stealthily in the night
bursts the pine grove into blossom.
Millions of flashing flakes
dazzle in the sunlight.
I gaze on them forgetful
of what happened during the night.
A purple cloud drifts away.
translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch
there are those moments
in life
when someone says
or does
something so astounding
either in brilliance or ignorance
that you go
what was that all about
and today
of all days
as I was out wandering
on these ancient streets
I had such a moment
and thought
they follow me
these people
halfway around the world
to keep me on my metaphoric toes
no sleepwalking here
for this long island kid
you can’t let your guard down
not for a moment
even if you think it’s safe
no sharks in sight
the water warm and inviting
uh huh
sure right
Norman Rockwell country
here in Turkey
but there is no safe harbor
no sign of relief
and no matter how hard you try
you just won’t get
what that was all about
Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent heart, lie still and break:
Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed
For a dream’s sake.
The wind stops.
Nothing is left of Spring but fragrant dust.
Although it is late in the day,
I have been too exhausted to comb my hair.
Our furniture is just the same,
But he no longer exists.
I am unable to do anything at all,
Before I can speak my tears choke me.
I hear that Spring at Two Rivers
Is still beautiful.
I had hoped to take a boat there,
But I am afraid my little boat
Is too small to ever reach Two Rivers,
Laden with my heavy heart.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
“Tommy,” Willie said. “I love you, you son of a bitch, and don’t die.”
Thomas Hudson looked at him without moving his head.
“Try to understand if it isn’t too hard.”
Thomas Hudson looked at him. He felt far away now and there were no problems at all. He felt the ship gathering her speed and the lovely throb of her engines against his shoulder blades which rested against the boards. He looked up and there was the sky that he had always loved and he looked across the great lagoon that he was quite sure, now, he would never paint and he eased his position a little to lessen the pain. The engines were around three thousand now, he thought, and they came through the deck and into him.
“I think I understand, Willie,” he said.
“Oh shit,” Willie said. “You never understand anybody that loves you.”
Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
Out in the world it dies of cold.
translated by Robert Bly
The spirit sees astounding beings, turtles turned to men,
Men turned to angels, when sleep erases the banal.
I think one could say the spirit goes back to its old home;
It no longer remembers where it lives, and loses its fatigue.
It carries around in life so many griefs and loads
And trembles under their weight; they are gone, it is all well.
translated by Robert Bly
Her hands of white jade by a window of snow
Are glimmering on a golden-fretted harp–
And to draw the quick eye of Chou Yü,
She touches a wrong note now and then.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
She comes out of the rain in a silk dress
Leonard Durso 