—Poems by Li Po
—Anonymous Artwork
AUTUMN RIVER SONG
The moon shimmers in green water.
White herons fly through the moonlight.
The young man hears a girl gathering water-chestnuts:
into the night, singing, they paddle home together.
_____________________
TO HIS TWO CHILDREN
In the land of Wu the mulberry leaves are green,
And thrice the silkworms have gone to sleep.
In East Luh where my family stay,
I wonder who is sowing those fields of ours.
I cannot be back in time for the spring doings,
Yet I can help nothing, traveling on the river.
The south wind blowing wafts my homesick spirit
And carries it up to the front of our familiar tavern.
There I see a peach tree on the east side of the house
With thick leaves and branches waving in the blue mist.
It is the tree I planted before my parting three years ago.
The peach tree has grown now as tall as the tavern roof,
While I have wandered about without returning.
Ping-yang, my pretty daughter, I see you stand
By the peach tree and pluck a flowering branch.
You pluck the flowers, but I am not there
How your tears flow like a stream of water!
My little son, Po-chin, grown up to your sister's shoulders,
You come out with her under the peach tree,
But who is there to pat you on the back?
When I think of these things, my senses fail,
And a sharp pain cuts my heart every day.
Now I tear off a piece of white silk to write this letter,
And send it to you with my love a long way up the river.
ALONE AND DRINKING UNDER THE MOON
Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.
____________________
TO TAN-CH’LU
My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range,
Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills.
At green Spring he lies in the empty woods,
And is still asleep when the sun shines on igh.
A pine-tree wind dusts his sleeves and coat;
A peebly stream cleans his heart and ears.
I envy you, who far from strife and talk
Are high-propped on a pillow of blue cloud.
______________________
There are lots of poetry books and chapbooks appearing these days, one of which is The Grit in Her Mouth by Ann Menebroker from Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press (kylelaws.com), with cover art by Henry Denander of Kamini Press in Stockholm, Sweden (www.kaminipress.com). This is a fine little book; both Ann and Henry have been good friends to Rattlesnake Press over the years. Check it out!
On Friday there will be a book release for Rhony Bhopla's new book, Ceremony, at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., 7:30pm, hosted by Carol Louise Moon. Cover art is by Susan Kelly-DeWitt, layout and design by Robert Grossklaus.
Be sure to let me know if you have a book coming out, and I'll post it here. It's hard for me to keep track of them all unless you send me a shout-out at kathykieth@hotmail.com/.
Still speaking of small presses (as we have lately), this coming Monday, Sac. Poetry Center will feature Patricia Caspers of West Trestle Review (www.westtrestlereview.com), plus Katherine Case of the letterpress shop, Meridian Press (meridianletterpress.com), hosted by Wendy Williams. Should be a very interesting evening.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
ABOUT TU FU
met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat
his face was sad--
in the years since we last parted,
he'd grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then,
he must be agonizing over poetry again.
Today’s LittleNip:
ABOUT TU FU
met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat
his face was sad--
in the years since we last parted,
he'd grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then,
he must be agonizing over poetry again.
______________________
—Medusa
