Tomorrow I will sink into darkness
Like a wing-broken china bird
Eternally
Falling toward midnight.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
like good foreign ambassadors: for David
memories of bulls
roaming the streets
at night
in the village
of your father
appear tonight
in my dream of you
remembering we two fresh
from the only bar
open so late
mesmerized by the sight
and bowing humbly
before them
like good foreign ambassadors
from lands to the west
not nearly as ancient
as this one
where bulls owned the streets
and residents slept
behind unlocked doors
Boudoir Lament by Yü Hsüan-chi
With a handful of weeds I weep in the slanting sun
To hear a neighbor’s husband coming home.
When you left, the first southern swans were flying north.
This morning northern geese go south.
Spring comes, fall goes, love stays.
Fall goes, spring comes, messages are rare.
My scarlet door is closed, he doesn’t knock;
Only the sound of washboards through silk curtains.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
Regretful Thoughts by Yü Hsüan-chi
1
Fallen leaves are scattered by evening rain.
I sing and brush red strings alone.
Unmoved by heartless friends,
I go within, beyond the bitter sea.
Outside my gate rumble rich men’s carts.
By my pillow Taoist books are rolled.
Now in simple cottons, no more a guest of clouds,
No more green water and blue hills.
2
Too much pain to sigh alone:
How can I face the windy courtyard filled with the autumn moon?
In dark rooms, I hear the watch sound.
Every night, by my lamp, hair turning white.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
The Fisherman’s Wife by Amy Lowell
When I am alone,
The wind in the pine-trees
Is like the shuffling of waves
Upon the wooden sides of a boat.
6:30 Friday morning on Bahariye Caddesi, Moda
he sits
straddling his bench
like some Turkish cowboy
still drunk come morning
singing a song
he learned
during his school days
long since faded
except from his heart
Staying in the Mountains in Summer by Yü Hsüan-chi
I’ve moved here to the Immortal’s place:
Flowers everywhere we didn’t plant before.
The courtyard trees are bent like clothes-horses.
At the feast, winecups float in a new spring.
Dark balcony. Path through deep bamboo.
Long summer dress. Confusion of books.
I sing in the moonlight and ride a painted boat,
Trusting the wind to blow me home again.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
To Song by Olga Berggolts
Wake as you will, but wake in me,
in the cold, to the voiceless depths of me.
I will not beg for words, but give
me a sign that you are still alive.
Not for long—just a moment of your time.
If not a verse, just a sigh, just a cry.
Just a whisper or just a moan.
Just the muffled clink of your chains.
translated by Daniel Weissbort
Wind and Silver by Amy Lowell
Greatly shining,
The Autumn moon floats in the thin sky;
And the fish ponds shake their backs and flash their dragon scales
As she passes over them.
Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redress
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing
As an empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs,
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Leonard Durso 