sorrow
at seeing
a nation
torn apart
its people
suffer
for the sake
of one man’s
ego
sorrow
my father’s eyes: for a certain friend of mine
were tinged
with sadness
even when
he smiled
with occasional flashes
of anger
at what
could only be called
life
this
I grew to understand
came from reading
three newspapers
a day
Song of the Bamboo Stalks by Liu Yu-hsi
Red blossoms: mountain peach, upon the heights.
Shu River: floods of spring caress the mountain, flowing.
The flowers bloom and fade, so like his love.
The waters run on endlessly: my sorrow.
translated by J.P. Seaton
on penance: for my Joes
their day nears
and I hear
my grandfather say
as he lay dying
from Parkinson’s
Sweet Jesus
this is some penance
you gave me
and see
my father’s eyes
when no one else
was looking
the weariness
the sorrow
of the unforgiven
and here I am
far from the home
they tried making
older than either
ever were
and blood
of their blood
with penance
still left
to pay
To the Tune of “Mountain Hawthorn” by Zhu Shuzhen
Every year at the jade mirror stand,
it’s harder to paint myself into a plum flower.
You didn’t return home this year,
and each letter from across the Yangtze fills me with fear.
I drink less since our separation,
my tears exhausted in sorrow.
I see deep Chou clouds when I think of him in distance.
My man is far and the world’s edge is near.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
The Song of A-na by Zhu Shuzhen
Returning from dream, sobering up, I fear spring sorrow.
Smoke dies in the duck-shaped incense burner, but the fragrance lingers.
My thin quilt can’t stop the dawn chill.
Cuckoos sing and sing till from the west tower the moon drops.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
your name
popped up
in conversation
like Marley
it foretold of ghost
memories
of Christmases
though these
firmly rooted
in the past
and it’s not
even December
regret fills
my heart
this morning
as I turn
the page
on my desk
calendar
another month
soon another year
slips away
from what was
could have been
to what is
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.
On a Boat, Awake at Night by Su Tung-p’o0
Faint wind rustles reeds and cattails;
I open the hatch, expecting rain–moon floods the lake.
Boatmen and water birds dream the same dream;
a big fish splashes off like a frightened fox.
It’s late–men and creatures forget each other
while my shadow and I amuse ourselves alone.
Dark tides creep over the flats–I pity the cold mud-worms;
the setting moon, caught in a willow, lights a dangling spider.
Life passes swiftly, hedged by sorrow;
how long before you’ve lost it–a scene like this?
Cocks crow, bells ring, a hundred birds scatter;
drums pound from the bow, shout answers shout.
translated by Burton Watson
Poem of Parting by Tu Mu
Great love could seem indifference.
The only hint before the cup: we cannot smile.
Only the candle’s not heartless:
wept tears for us until the dawn.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Leonard Durso 