By my old gate, among yellow grasses,
Still we linger, sick at heart.
The way you must follow through cold clouds
Will lead you this evening into snow.
Your father died; you left home young;
Nobody knew of your misfortunes.
We cry, we say nothing. What can I wish you,
In this blowing wintry world?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
The clear stream girdles the long copse,
Carriage horses amble with ease, with ease.
Flowing water seems to be purposeful.
Evening birds in pairs return.
Barren city walls overlook the cold ford,
Fading sunlight fills the autumn mountains.
Far and distant–below Sung’s height;
I’ve come home, and close the gate.
translated by Paul Kroll
The chrysanthemums are slow to bloom this year,
I have found no autumn joy by the eastern hedge.
Heartless, indeed, is the west wind: it blows
into my greying hair, not yellow chrysanthemums.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
This time
I brought with me
the chill of the streets
in which we once walked.
Your breath and gaze will be filled with
shadows of the eaves falling upon us
and the smell of sweet basil outside the windows
if you hold my hand.
At this crossroads
where everything is lost
and found again
when we are face to face with all that crowd
you will realize
the further
time takes you away from me
the closer
it draws me to you.
translated by Zeyney Bağcı and Suat Karantay
“. . . .You
put that much life in it, baby,
you know you can’t win.”
What’s in the body you’ve forgotten
and that you’ve left alone
and that you don’t want–
or what’s in the body that you want
and would die for–
and think it’s all of it–
if life’s a form to be forgotten
once you’re gone and no regrets,
no one left in what you want–
That empty place is all there is,
and/if the face’s remembered,
or dog barks, cat’s to be fed.
A quiet valley with no one’s footprints,
an empty garden lit by the moon.
Suddenly my dog barks and I know
a friend with a bottle is knocking at the gate.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
At an edge of the sky, I grieve for my youth;
I long for home, but home is still far away.
As spring lets loose the wayward east wind,
no one owns the wild peach, but it bursts into bloom.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
Snow melts and swells the stream,
crows fly toward the clouds at dusk.
Sobered by the scene from drunkenness,
I write this poem and think of you.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
“Something
by which
all else
can be measured.”
Something
by which
to measure
all else.
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
Leonard Durso 