poetry

The Sun Swing by Melih Cevdat Anday

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The sun swing swings back and forth
While I arrange the clouds in my window.
Everything’s in the same place, stone of nothingness,
Zenith of the timeless sea, buried
Earth and a wind that goes nowhere.

As if time said it is because of the sun swing
Swinging back and forth.

translated by Sidney Wade & Efe Murad

Silent Stones by Melih Cevdet Anday

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Evening is your village where we arrive on mules,
I see your salt, your flour, your cattle,
Your heart darkened in its crackling seeds
Like a writhing caterpillar.
Dreams come heavily to us like life,
Gathering your visions piece by piece.
You extract the provisions of your beauty one by one
And spread your skirts out at your side
Like a flight of birds dragging on the ground.

I see old pictures in your eyes,
Your rain, your sea in the brimming dawn.
I see masts in the dark and in the sea,
Your protected old forests and glaciers.
I’ve had enough, leave me the courtesy
That your gaze has filled like a river.
Now I’ll line your silent stones
Up to the summits of your breath-taking knees.

translated by Sidney Wade & Efe Murad

Written in the Mountains by Kuan Hsiu

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A mountain’s palace
for all things crystalline and pure;
there’s not a speck of dust
on a single one of these flowers.
When we start chanting like madmen
it sets all the peaks to dancing.
And once we’ve put the brush to work
even the sky becomes mere ornament.
For you and me the joy’s in the doing
and I’m damned if I care about “talent.”

But if, my friend, from time to time
you hear sounds like ghostly laughter. . .
It’s all the great mad poets, dead,
and just dropping in for a listen.

translated by J.P. Seaton

Sending Off a Friend amid the Cries of Gibbons by Chiao Jan

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You’ll go ten thousand miles
beyond those ancient mountains. . .
Three gibbons’ cries,
a chasm full of moonlight. . .
How long’s this road been here?
How many travelers
have wet their sleeves beside it?
A broken wall divides the drooping shadows.
Rushing rapids sing a bitter song.
In the cold, when we have finally parted,
it will be all the more wounding to hear.

translated by J.P. Seaton

Goodbyes by Chiao Jan

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I’ve heard that even “men of feeling”
don’t treasure the feeling of parting.
Frosty sky drips a chill
on the cold city wall.
The long night spreads
like water overflowing.
There’s the sound of the watch-horn, too.
The zen man’s heart is empty, yes,
of all but these.

translated by J.P. Seaton

“Fallen faded petals” by Li Ch’ing-chao

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Fallen faded petals the color of my rouge. . .
One year, another spring,
willow catkins lightly fly, bamboo shoots become bamboo
and alone and sad I face the garden’s new-sent green.
But though he’s not done roaming, that time must be near.
In a clear dream of last year come from a thousand miles
cloudy city, winding streams, ice on the ponds
for a while I gazed on my friend.

translated by James Cryer

Tune: “Pure Serene Music” by Li Ch’ing-chao

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Year after year in the snow
we’d pick plum blossoms while we drank,
Pulling at the petals to no good purpose,
drenching our clothes with pure white tears.

This year I’m at the end of the world,
strand by strand my hair turns grey.
Judging by the force of the evening wind
plum blossoms will be hard to come by.

translated by Eugene Eoyang

Thoughts from the Women’s Quarters by Li Ch’ing-chao

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On her face, hibiscus lovely, an incipient smile.
Poised in flight, the jeweled duck’s beak. Incense wreathed
eyes alight, beneath the quilt she suspects
his frivolity hides a more expressive depth;
folds his elegant letter,
places it next her secret heart.
When the moon has gone,
the flowers in shadow,
I will come again.

translated by James Cryer