Tell them it’s not just me,
Others too.
It happened,
And I couldn’t change a thing.
Repeat the words again,
Translate them into two or three languages
And look into their eyes, see how understanding
Rises in them. And how it dies like smoke.
And in the end, call in another voice,
A voice that folds into your heart.
Not for them anymore. See
They start their supper. Don’t sup with them.
Come back to me.
translated by Benjamin & Barbara Harshav
And after all that–the rain.
When we learned to read the book of lingering
And the book of parting,
When our hair learned all the winds
And our sweet free hours
Are trained to run all around
In the ring of time.
After all that–the rain.
A big salty sea
Comes to us, stammering
Sweet and heavy drops.
And after all that–the rain.
See, we too
Pour down
To the one who receives us and doesn’t remember,
the spring earth.
translated by Benjamin & Barbara Harshav
even the river stands still
The fiery rose–
a crisp cutout in the quiet air–
looks like a drawing.
The pears–
drops of golden sap
under the boughs’ green overhang–
as though they will never fall.
And my heart–
joyful and calm
like the midday sun–
far from rising
or setting down.
The honey on the lips–
still glowing
in the middle of the road–
a brief taste
of immortality.
translated by Ludmilla G. Popova-Wightman
Of course, we must die.
How else will the world be rid of
the old telephone numbers
we cannot forget.
The numbers
it would be foolish–
utterly useless–
to call.
Charles Reznikoff
Blue water
burning moon
on South Lake
he gathers lillies
the lotus flowers
whisper
the lone boatman
sighs
translated by David Young
to have come all this way
to find nothing but distance
and the bronze columns of the gods
long since vanished
translated by David Young
meditating
to chase away
the poison dragon of emotion
translated by David Young
no words can describe
the emotions of spring
translated by David Young
The evening river is level and motionless–
The spring colours just open to their full.
Suddenly a wave carries the moon away
And the tidal water comes with its freight of stars.
translated by Arthur Waley
A brocade curtain parts: there’s
the legendary beauty, Madam Wei!
embroided quilts, meantime,
still cloak the boatman’s shoulders. . .
or think of the slow dance, Hanging Hands,
and carved jade dangling from a sash
and the fast dance, Bending Waist,
with a fluttering saffron skirt!
colors flaring from candles
a rich man never thinks to trim
and fragrance like that of the holy man
who needed no incense or perfume. . .
I dreamed I was that poor poet
who got hold of a genius’s brush:
wanting to create such leaves, such blooms,
that I could send to you
my lady of dawn clouds,
my peony.
translated by David Young
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 