7/7 in a Strange Village and After Shih-Te

7/7 in a Strange Village

7/7 in a strange village, at a transit inn,
the grief of distant wandering sharpens.

No girls busy threading festive needles,
thoughts of my homeworld towers empty,

tangled winds thin summer heat away.
A new moon rises. It climbs into autumn.

Who can bear those Star River distances?
I gaze deep, deep and far, Dipper and Ox.

By Meng Hao-jan

After Shih-Te

my ragged cloak is streaked with mountain shadows
my torn-out sandals scrape bare prints through the moss
home again, I wash my legs, bury my head in my hands...
am I warm? am I cold? I no longer know

By Shih-Shu

A Candlelion Poem and A Good-Talking Candle by Richard Brautigan

A Candlelion Poem

                             

                             For Michael

Turn a candle inside out

and you've got the smallest

portion of a lion standing

there at the edge of the

    shadows.

A Good-Talking Candle

I had a good-talking candle
last night in my bedroom.

I was very tired but I wanted
somebody to be with me,
    so I lit a candle

and listened to its comfortable
voice of light until I was asleep.

By Richard Brautigan from the collection The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster.

Up Early at Fish - Creek Lake by Meng Hao Jan

Dawn spreads early luster across the east.
A clamor of island birds just startled away,

and lying in a bed at the mouth of Fish Creek,
I hear unseen paddles fade into distances.

Sunrise thins mists away, and I start to see
how replete an expanse my river course is:

young women rising late as usual, exquisite
lit reflections traced among drifting froth,

gibbons down to drink, skittish at the river,
otters surfacing to sacrifice captured fish.

On a boat, sorrow's always far off. And today
I'll sail clear skies all wide - open radiance!

By Meng Hao Jan, part of the Mountain Poems of Meng Hao Jan, translated by David Hinton.

Your Catfish Friend, by Richard Brautigan and Lumen - Empty Monastery, Visiting Dharma - Guile with a friend from Cypress Terrace by Meng Hao Jan

Your Catfish Friend

If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
     one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
     of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
      somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
     at peace,
and ask youself,"I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."

From The Pill Versus The Springhill Mine Disaster.


Lumen - Empty Monastery, Visiting Dharma - Guile with a friend from Cypress Terrace

It's a delight to meet, set out, and together
visit Master Dharma - Guile's ch'an stillness

where people never go. At his stone hut
we only find a tiger dozing in a hammock,

shadowy wind harbouring perennial snows,
springwater welling up into pine cascades.

We came from lives so different - but here,
dharma mats offer a joy we share utterly.

New Years Ever at Chang Tzu-jung's House at Lo-ch'eng

Amid seas of cloud sailed in Ou and Min
island anchorages all windblown swells,

somehow it's New Year's, and somehow
I'm gazing at my old village friend here

so far from home. I a sky-raft wanderer,
you caught amid tangles, your path lost:

how many times can we meet in this life
when farewells last ten years and more?

By Meng Hao-jan, The Mountain Poems of Meng Hao-jan translated by David Hinton.

Richard Brautigan "A High Building in Singapore".

It's a high building in Singapore that holds the only beauty for this San Francisco day where I am walking down the street, feeling terrible and watching my mind function with the efficiency of a liquid pencil.

A young mother passes by talking to her little girl who is really too small to talk, but she's talking anyway and very excitedly to her mother about something. I can't quite make out what she is saying because she's so little.

I mean, this is a tiny kid.

Then her mother answers her to explode my day with a goofy illumination. "It was a high building in Singapore," she says to the little girl who enthusiastically replies like a bright sound-coloured penny, " Yes, it was a high building in Singapore!"

Written by Richard Brautigan, part of the collection "Revenge of the Lawn". Published by Rebel Inc, Canon Gate, 1997. First published 1972. 

Chinese Poem

Auspicious Arrival of Yung T'ao

This morning
laughing together-
just a few days
in a hundred.

After birds pass
over Sword Gate, it's calm;
invaders from the south
have withdrawn to the Lu River wilds.

We walk on frosted ground
praising chrysanthemums bordering fields;
sit on the east edge of the woods
waiting for the moon to rise.

Not having to be alone
is happiness;
we do not talk
of failure or success.

By Chia Tao, Translated by Mike O'Connor.