Now don’t cry, Summer! In that furrow dies
one rose that is born again so many times . . .
translated by Rebecca Seiferle
remembering LA, 1978: for Maureen on her birthday
no matter what year
it’s still 1978
we’re sitting in Bruno’s
you’re drinking White Russians
I’m drinking bourbon
the sun is shining
outside the dark bar
and all the life
I need to see
is in your eyes
from Visiting Gold Mountain Temple by Su Tung-p’o
I went back to bed puzzled, uncertain what I’d seen—
not human, not ghostly, what could it have been?
All these river hills, and I don’t go home to hills of my own—
the river god sent this wonder to chide my stupidity!
Apologies to the river god, but right now what can I do?
If in the end I don’t return to homeland fields, let him punish me as he will!
translated by Burton Watson
for my Mother on Mother’s Day: aiming toward heaven
Once again, this poem, this picture for my mother on Mother’s Day, 2023
therein Moda, Istanbul: early morning, May 14, 2023
the chill
in the air
as a future
teeters
on the edge
of a century
slowly burns off
as the sun
climbs high
in the sky
over the city
The Southern Room Over the River by Su Tung-p’o
The room is prepared, the incense burned.
I close the shutters before I close my eyelids.
The patterns of the quilt repeat the waves of the river.
The gauze curtain is like a mist.
Then a dream comes to me and when I awake
I no longer know where I am.
I open the western window and watch the waves
Stretching on and on to the horizon.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Spring Night by Su Tung-p’o
The few minutes of a Spring night
Are worth ten thousand pieces of gold.
The perfume of the flowers is so pure.
The shadows of the moon are so black.
In the pavilion the voices and flutes are so high and light.
In the garden a hammock rocks
In the night so deep, so profound.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
a fine memory: for Misook
without a partner
she dances
in the center
of the room
oblivious to the couples
with abandon
she twirls whirls
her dress floating
above her knees
and my eyes mist
remembering this
a fine memory
The Turning Year by Su Tung-p’o
Nightfall. Clouds scatter and vanish.
The sky is pure and cold.
Slowly the River of Heaven turns in the Jade Vault.
If tonight I do not enjoy life to the full,
Next month, next year, who knows where I will be?
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Epigram by Su Tung-p’o
I fish for minnows in the lake.
Just born, they have no fear of man.
And those who have learned,
Never come back to warn them.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Leonard Durso 