Why do sorrows of travel all rise together?—
at twilight I send my old friends back.
Autumn fireflies emerge from the abandoned inn,
cold rains come to the deserted city.
Evening sunlight tosses white dew in wind,
the shadows of trees sweep green moss.
I sit alone, the brooding look of someone apart
the solitary lamp does not dispel with its light.
translated by Stephen Owen
taking the lead from Jia Dao’s Inn at Niyang
in sorrow
they fade
those old friends
of mine
into the mist
of receding time
and I here stranded
in the present
straining to see
their faces
aching to hear
their voices
before I too
fade away
lost to those
I leave behind
drinking tea past midnight
it’s tea now
in those late night hours
moving slowly toward dawn
to ease the mind
not numb it
with whiskey
a peace sought
much needed
these days months years
as the clock ticks
mercilessly
toward the hour it stops
and whatever awaits
is finally here
“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of Me.
Maria takes to the street
the short leather dress
that zips up the front
the soft leather boots
knee length with heels
the broad brim black hat
tilted back jauntily
on her head
of cascading brown hair
hands on her hips
as she stops
a defiant stance
an in your face look
on that beautiful face
as if to say
I know who I am
do you
and if not
well
that’s your loss
isn’t it
untitled poem by Onakatomi No Yoshinobu
The deer on pine mountain,
Where there are no falling leaves,
Know the coming of autumn
Only by the sound of his own voice.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Maria on the beach
she emerges
from the surf
her bikini clad body
glistening in the sun
she strides forward
a lioness
on the prowl
the queen here
on this beach
in her world
she owns the looks
she receives
like so many rose petals
scattered before her feet
that smile of satisfaction
on her lips
that knowledge of her power
in her eyes
Maria
on the beach
This Couldn’t Happen Again by Paul Blackburn
the heavy pressure
of the presence of your body in the room
moving
O love,
is the end of my
imaginings
this late afternoon
feeling again at this window
the sensation of weight received
in that displacement
the small waves
lapping against me
constantly
on reading Su Tung-p’o
I find solace
in reading poetry
written one thousand years ago
the same grief
the same laughter
the same drunken reverie
to know life
then as now
is a moment of joy
amid years of sorrow
is somehow reassuring
to this old man
passing through
Seeing the Year Out by Su Tung-p’o
Want to know what the passing year is like?
A snake slithering down a hole.
Half his long scales already hidden,
how to stop him from getting away?
Grab his tail and pull, you say?
Pull all you like–it does no good.
The children try hard not to doze,
chatter back and forth to stay awake,
but I say let dawn cocks keep still!
I fear the noise of watch drums pounding.
We’ve sat so long the lamp’s burned out.
I get up and look at the slanting Dipper.
How could I hope next year won’t come?
My mind shrinks from the failures it may bring.
I work to hold on to the night
while I can still brag I’m young.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 