This world–
call it an image
caught in a mirror–
real it is not,
nor unreal either
translated by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson
This world–
call it an image
caught in a mirror–
real it is not,
nor unreal either
translated by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson
as I post pictures in albums
of trips I’ve taken
this past year
I find they are devoid
of people
or at least a person
who I would imagine
standing there
filling the frame
with her presence
and though there is no name
nor face
to that presence
I miss her
just the same
Tsui ni yuku
Michi to wa kanete
Kikishi kado
Kino kyo to wa
Omowazarishi wo
I have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
so there’s the weekly conversations
when skype is working
about books music women life work
there’s the plans
the trips to Mission Ranch
where I stayed once
on your recommendation
Izzy’s Steak House
that New Year’s Eve
with Little Chuck
who is actually taller than you
but you’re still Big Chuck
in our eyes
the balloons floating toward heaven
that list of questions
we were instructed by you
to ask all available women
and lo and behold
it did lead to conversation
some of it even interesting
there are the magazines you lay out
the CDs DVDs books
you’re always listening to something
though you tend to watch the same movies
over and over and over
again
you are the kind of friend
whose picture is in the dictionary
under loyalty
and though opinionated
they are opinions worth hearing
you keep coming back to the Jesuits
and I admire that in you
your values
your belief in goodness
and charity
and the power of love
which is God in your eyes
there are the morning masses you go to
the opera
the baseball games at Giant Stadium
basketball at Stanford
you would be called
a Renaissance Man
in a different time
one that would appreciate you better
and though I don’t think
you should tell women which shoes to wear
you do it from love
as you do all things
for you are one of the kindest
most loving persons
I know
you could learn to cook
though
and you may be a bit too obsessive
about haircuts
but an evening at Bics with you
is never dull
your past is checkered
with different careers
you’ve been so many people
done so many things
bookeditorjournalistmusiccritictvproduceragentadvertisingexec
and you play a damned good round of golf
I think
however
you might own a dozen or so
too many polo shirts
but your two tone shoes are mint
you’re part William Powell
part Felix Unger
with a dash of Bing Crosby
thrown in
we’ve only lived in the same city once
a thousand years ago
when you tried to buy my book
for Avon Books
and we played pool to The Police Roxanne
lunch at the Getty Museum
you stayed with me in NY
in Lynbrook
where Charlie bought the beer
an act of kindness
you cannot forget
and in Long Island City
in Bayside too
and I stayed at your place
in Santa Monica
two places actually
in San Francisco
there was The Stones Some Girls on repeat mode
the long play of course
and Sinatra doing Summer Wind
for three hours
while we killed a couple of bottles
of Glenfiddich for you
Jameson for me
what were we thinking
and though I can say
you’ve led an eventful life
why you can’t find
a woman worthy of your heart
is beyond me
Chuck
old friend
you deserve happiness
we all do
of course
but I would forfeit my chance
to see you get yours
for you are a true gentleman
a prince
as they used to say
deserving of that princess
in that castle
in that kingdom
this lifetime
here and now
believing in happiness again
for the last time
and it pains me to hear
you stopped believing in it
these days
Chuck
old friend
these days will pass
and the sun will shine
in San Francisco
for you
again
How long is our life? How long does an eyelash flutter?
The warmth of a poetry gathering is like a single spark.
O Ghalib, the sorrows of existence, what can cure them but death?
There are so many colors in the candle flame, and then the day comes.
translated by Robert Bly with Sunil Dutta
There where the work of the Muslim cloister
Is celebrated, one finds as well the bell
Of the monk’s cell and the name of the Cross.
Although the way station you want to reach
Is dangerous and the goal distant, do not
Sink into sadness: all roads have an end.
translated by Robert Bly
Here! is this you on the top of Fan-ko Mountain,
Wearing a huge hat in the noon-day sun?
How thin, how wretchedly thin, you have grown!
You must have been suffering from poetry again.
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
Almost nowhere now do they appreciate the art of poetry and spiritual talk.
Hafiz says, Don’t worry, to somewhere else that is rich in freedom we will go.
translated by Thomas Rain Crowe
My eyes already touch the sunny hill,
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has its inner light, even from a distance–
and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are;
a gesture waves us on, answering our own wave. . .
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.
translated by Robert Bly
Being Present for the Moment
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Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
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Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
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L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
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