My old friend, the owner
of a new boat, stops by
to ask me to fish with him,
and I say I will—both of us
knowing that we may never
get around to it, it may be
years before we’re both
idle again on the same day.
But we make a plan, anyhow,
in honor of friendship
and the fine spring weather
and the new boat
and our sudden thought
of the water shining
under the morning fog.
friendship
breakfast with Fred, summer, 1967
every time
I add milk
when scrambling eggs
I go back
to your house
in Massachusetts
you making breakfast
and telling me your secret
that look of joy
mixed with mischief
a twinkle in your eye
ah old friend
dead two years
before I knew
and regret
filling my heart
for losing contact
with eggs and bacon
and the sound
of your clear voice
your guitar
on sandy beaches
of our youth
Thanksgiving Eve, 2024: for David
we talk briefly
of politics
neither one
wanting to offend
the other
we still
on opposite sides
of hope
and then
of your son
my Godson
his two year old
and how time
moves on
withour our
particular involvement
just two old friends
5000 miles apart
drifting inevitably
toward the end
that awaits us
but still thankful
for our joint participation
last night: for JEP
last night you came
again complaining
of the journey
across limitless sky
riding a cloud
like some ancient hero
you always wanted
to be
can’t you find
someone there
to talk to
you ask
some weariness
I notice
in your voice
not like you
I say in reply
not like you
and then there is
your famous twinkle
in your eyes
and the room
grows bright
with remembering
from a poem by Hwang Jini: an endless stream: for JEP
you asked
did we really
drink that much
and I laughed
remembering
the empty glasses
the clinking of bells
on pinball machines
those 3am burritos
your mischievous twinkle
in your eyes
when pulling on beards
of argumentative Texans
and that drunken race
up that hill
in Malibu
we both claimed
to have won
there’s that wistful smile
when I think of parting
and a longing
in my heart
like an endless stream
toward the memory
of we two
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
xmas trees: for Steve
I still remember
chopping down that pine
in some farmer’s yard
after midnight
and dragging it back
to be our xmas tree
that year in Ohio
when we were young
and escapades like that
were our forte
we thought we would live
forever
and now cancer
limits your forever
to 6 months or so
and xmas trees
live in memory
until I join you
on timeless escapades
in a heaven
we both
do not believe in
Oaths of Friendship by anonymous poets of Yüeh
1
If you were riding in a coach
And I were wearing a “li”*
And one day we met in the road,
You would get down and bow.
If you were carrying a “teng,”**
And I were riding on a horse,
And one day we met in the road
I would get down for you.
2
SHANG YA!
I want to be your friend
For ever and ever without break or decay.
When the hills are all flat
And the rivers are all dry,
When it lightens and thunders in winter,
When it rains and snows in summer,
When Heaven and Earth mingle—
Not till then will I part from you.
translated by Arthur Waley
*a peasant’s straw coat
**an umbrella under which wares are sold
an exile come home
I hesitate to write
these lines of your visits
waking me here
asleep in my chair
coffee cold
in my cup
and you trudging
those 5000 miles
over land an ocean
to sit once more
by my side
foretelling what awaits
in a future
void of time
where loneliness fades
an exile
come home
missing you: for JEP
still adrift
in memory
after your visit
in my dreams
once again
drinking bitter coffee
listening to old songs
from those wild begone days
and missing
yes missing
you
old friend
you
Leonard Durso 