Love me
but do not come too near
leave room for love
to laugh at its happiness
always let some of my blond hair
be free
translated by Nadia Christensen
poetry
At One Glance by Mihri Hatun
At one glance
I loved you
With a thousand hearts
They can hold against me
No sin except my love for you
Come to me
Don’t go away
Let the zealots think
Loving is sinful
Never mind
Let me burn in the hellfire
Of that sin
translated by Talat S. Halman
My Baby Has No Name Yet by Kim Nam-jo
My baby has no name yet;
like a new-born chick or a puppy,
my baby is not named yet.
What numberless texts I examined
at dawn and night and evening over again!
But not one character did I find
which is as lovely as the child.
Starry field of the sky,
or heap of pearls in the depth.
Where can the name be found, how can I?
My baby has no name yet;
like an unnamed bluebird or white flowers
from the farthest land for the first,
I have no name for this baby of ours.
translated by Ko Won
from Twenty-three Horse Poems: No. 5 by Li He
The great desert of sand is snow
and the Yeh Mountain moon is a hook.
When will I be harnessed with golden reins,
galloping clear autumn beneath my hooves?
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Shown to My Younger Brother by Li He
After three years away from you
I’m back at last for one day, and more.
We drink green Luling wine this evening
and I see yellow cloth-wrapped books, like when I left.
My sick bones still exist,
so nothing is impossible in this world!
Why bother to plead with the crows-and-horses dice,
just throw and let them roll!
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Hops by Boris Pasternak
Beneath the willow wound round with ivy
we take cover from the worst
of the storm, with a greatcoat round
our shoulders and my hands around your waist.
I’ve got it wrong. That isn’t ivy
entwined in the bushes round
the wood, but hops. You intoxicate me!
Let’s spread the greatcoat on the ground.
translated by Jon Stallworthy & Peter France
At The Dark Hour by Paul Dehn
Our love was conceived in silence and must live silently.
This only our sorrow, and this until the end.
Listen, did we not lie all of one evening,
Your heart under my hand.
And no word spoken, no, not even the sighing
Of pain made comfortable, not the heart’s beat
Nor sound of urgency, but a fire dying
And the cold sheet?
The sailor goes home singing; the lamplit lovers
Make private movements in a public place.
Boys whistle under windows, and are answered;
But we must hold our peace.
Days, too, broke silently. Before the blackbird,
Before the trouble of traffic and the mist unrolled,
I shall remember at the dark hour turning to you
For comfort in the cold.
The Old Fisherman by Liu Tsung-yuan
The old fisherman spends his night beneath the western cliffs.
At dawn, he boils Hsiang’s waters, burns bamboo of Ch’u.
When the mist’s burned off, and the sun’s come out, he’s gone.
The slap of the oars: the mountain waters green.
Turn and look, at heaven’s edge, he’s moving with the flow.
Above the cliffs, the aimless clouds go too.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Coda by James Tate
Love is not worth so much;
I regret everything.
Now on our backs
in Fayetteville, Arkansas,
the stars are falling
into our cracked eyes.
With my good arm
I reach for the sky,
and let the air out of the moon.
It goes whizzing off
to shrivel and sink
in the ocean.
You cannot weep;
I cannot do anything
that once held an ounce
of meaning for us.
I cover you
with pine needles.
When morning comes,
I will build a cathedral
around our bodies.
And the crickets,
who sing with their knees,
will come there
in the night to be sad,
when they can sing no more.
The Swordsman by Wu Pen
Ten long years I’ve honed this sword:
frost white blade as yet untried.
Today, like any other gentleman,
it’s looking for injustice.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Leonard Durso 