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Sunday, June 12, 2011

In Answer to a Poem by Subprefect Zhang

In my old age, I want only peace.
The ten thousand things are not my concern.
I've no plan for the rest of my life
but to come back to this, my ancient woods.
Piney wind blows my girdle open.
Mountain moon lights upon the lute I play.
So where's the warp and weft of the world?
Fishermen's songs come far up the inlet.
--Wang Wei, my tr.

Playing the Zheng for General Zhou

While playing the zheng
with millet-gold posts,
her fair hands moving
over the jade frame,
hoping that Zhou Yu
will turn and look,
every so often
she plucks the wrong note.
--Li Duan, my tr.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Did you know that the U.S. conducts a yearly immigration lottery for people who want to come here but have no particular qualifying criteria for admission? Several million people apply for about 20,000 slots. Because of some error in the lottery process, in 2010 the government invalidated the results after the 20,000 winners had been notified. In trying to rationalize immigration policies, we must remember that those policies apply not just to those crossing the southern border from Mexico without having gone through the prescribed application procedure.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

A Compromise with the Dead

Who wanted to rest
in her most-mended panties
was laid down instead
in her muddy garden shoes.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Know God by the Perfection of His Works

There once was a world with no God
Where poodles came already shod
And the value of pi
Was slightly awry
So wheels just sank in the sod.


There was another world with no God
Where all the girls got named Todd
And no one could hear
For they shit through an ear
And so would just smile and nod.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Why Didn't They Just Say So in the First Place?

Recently heard an interview with the imam who wants to build the "Ground Zero Mosque." It was mentioned pretty much incidentally that he's a Sufi. A Sufi fer chrissake! It's like being afraid of Quakers or Unitarians because they're Christian like the KKK. Sufis, who are much more mystical than grimly legalistic, are widely persecuted by Muslim fundamentalists. Sufis are Whirling Dervishes, the poet Rumi, the late, and truly great, qawwali singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

LI BAI: My Versions in English

Blue mountains to the north of town.
White water to the east of town.
We stop here for a last goodbye:
Thistledown flies a thousand li.
Now you must be a floating cloud,
and your old friend, the setting sun.
Waving, each goes his separate way.
Parting horses nicker and neigh.





As flowers bloom and leaves unfold,
my friend sets out, west for Guanling.
His solitary sail recedes,
vanishing where river meets sky.





Two versions of "Jade Stairs"

Resentment on the Jade Stairs

Midnight on the stairs of jade,
white dew soaks her silken hose.
Draw down then the crystal shade:
fall's moon glitters in its gems.



Stood Up on the Jade Stairs

Midnight on the stairs of jade,
white dew soaked your silken hem.
Draw down then the crystal shade:
moonlight glitters in its gems.




High Summer

Lazing in the mountain wood,
waving a white feather fan,
I get up, open my clothes,
hang my headband on a rock.
Green pine wind plays through my hair.




Wine with the Mountain Hermit

We drink amid the mountain flowers.
A cup, one more, and then another.
I'm in a stupor, you stagger off.
Come back with your lute, when you can.




Alone in My Cups

Drinking wine, unaware
of nightfall. Fallen flowers
fill the folds of my clothes.
Getting up and walking
to the moonlit river,
where no birds and few men
remain.