So much easier these days to appear middle-aged!
Moon’s out walking too – only its topmost perimeter,
frosted white, is visible in this nearly spring blue noon sky.
Maybe that’s how I’m seen today
as I pass through quiet intersections:
almost invisible but for the borders of my graying temples.
日從東溟轉, 夜向西海沉.
The unhurried day drizzles, turns
westward and sinks beneath the sea.
羣物各已息, 衆星燦然森.
All things hold their breath, the stars
just right, glorious like the forest.
蝦蟇將食月, 魑魅爭出陰.
The toad on the moon eats,
the demons strive to come out of the clouds.
阮籍獨不寐, 徘徊起彈琴.
The city dozed fitfully, alone, hesitated,
then rose and picked up its instrument.
*
[Note: This is a first draft of a work based on a poem of Mei Yao-ch’en (1002-1060), about whom I have written many poems on this blog. As with the previous poem I shared, this will likely change greatly from its current state to a final accurate version more worthy of being called a translation. The method I’m following is unusual but feels most natural for me — To write an impression of the poem gathered into my own poem in English, and then to continue to write a poem in English, and another, with the hope that each one gets closer and closer to my friend Sheng-yu’s poem in its traditional Chinese characters, till they are at least close enough to nod at each other or share a bottle of wine. Chen Zhang, who is busy at Harvard finishing her dissertation while teaching as the Chinese Literary Preceptor up there in Cambridge, furnished me with the traditional characters for Mei’s poem. I will keep you updated on any new versions. ]
Tonight, with nothing to say, with all the absent things
crowding around me like a teapot with a parade
of friendly continental guards and crows encircles
tea from China, with all present concerns poured
into an empty cup and spilled for good luck
before drinking, with a mild wind from the south
whispering threats in another language to the last
of the hard-packed plowed snow on the streets,
I remind myself of nothing, and the long envelopment,
and the cup filling with jasmine and spring, and earth.
Icicle depending from the gutter and clarity of tree shadow on a snowy roof
Sky the blue of belief though nothing to hold on to
Like us the icicle hanging on lengthened by what’s leaving its way
Beneath it five drops of water like a memory are frozen in time
No telling what is still and what is moving
In your memory like a memory that drop will never change
In an image all about movement nothing will move
The icicle’s shape never seen before never again when I turn again
It has dropped from the gutter like it was never there the blue sky showing no surprise
The shadow of the maple’s high branches on the snowy roof
icicle and full moon
one grows from its attachment
one shines in the divide
Out of the blue, or maybe the overcast, a moon poem. I’m making this author (if he doesn’t mind) an unwitting participant in our fullmoonsocial!
Ron explores the dark side of the moon–wait, I mean the back-side…
When you die it’s the dark moon
that keeps you company in the eternal evening.
No reflection — just deep space
rippling and bending around you.
No light can find you here
where the moon is a black stone
in a black pocket.
No increase, no decrease,
no connection to the flow of tides and time.
No time has ever passed. No illusion of light, illumination
or radiance. Not here among the dying stars
where memory spills its last drop
into the night and vanishes.
No vanishing. No dying. Only being.
Free of form. No form. Free.
M on the moon, in her unique haiku style.
If you don’t already follow Len Durso, go check him out. I have learned more from his site in the last year and change than I even want to admit.
the air tonight
is chilly
returning home
from a night out
I stand hunched
on the front balcony
looking up
to the moon
a glass
in hand
to warm
this bruised soul
my thoughts drift
to another city
another person
standing under
this full moon
my glass is raised
my heart full
and the moon
looks down
approving
a humble gesture
let the winds
blow across
space and time
to brush the cheek
of an absent friend
This is for the FULL MOON SOCIAL hosted by Jeff Schwaner at Translations from the English.
Check out his site and come in or out to the moon above.
Translations from the English 