Posts tagged poem
Posts tagged poem
This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed… . Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see… . Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.
- Edna St. Vincent Millay
O my love, you should have come, this rainy afternoon!
All morning I rocked alone in my orchid boat;
My sails are all crumpled and damp with spray.
All day I put nothing in my mouth
But sweet ginger tea and the stem
of my pipe. O my love, you should have come!
My hair exhales its perfume.
O my love, you should have come!
I peeled grapes and lychees and dropped them
into glasses of sweet wine, waiting for you.
My chamber is empty, but in its cage my beautiful bird sings.
O my love, you should have come—
My bed is draggled—I am eaten up with hunger—
My hair is unwashed. My bird screeches.
O my love—you should have come.
so basically this is a hot mess that i can’t decide if i want to fix or not. but i like it as it is, for now. and i hope you do, too!
Warm windy night—
The moon floats in velvet darkness
Above the glare of the streetlights.
A beautiful quilt
Soaking on a laundry line
In the sudden rain.
The loves of a little while ago
and the smoke of tobacco
little by little leave
- anonymous geisha, translated by Kenneth Rexroth
On the half-finished bridge.
- Basho, trans. by Robert Hass
bent to the shape
of the cold.
- Kobayashi Issa, trans. by Robert Hass
It is a bright house;
not a single room is dim.
It is a house which rises high
on the cliffs, open
as a lookout tower.
When the night comes
I put a light in it,
a light larger than the sun and the moon.
how my heart leaps
when my trembling fingers
strike a match in the evening.
I lift my breasts
and inhale and exhale the sound of love
like the passionate daughter of a lighthouse keeper.
It is a bright house.
I will create in it
a world no man can ever build.
- Fukao Sumako, trans. by Kenneth Rexroth
Black chest hairs, soft sudden mass.
Washed up on her breast his pale and startled face.
Pine scent, lake scent, gorse scent, bark.
- Rita Dove
They’ve opened up a road in the jungle and found
a dark palace. Now almost humus.
Boots thunder in the rooms. Echoes and birds
fly up from another time. Light maddens them. Winds
flooding the dry lungs of the room
loosen ponderous curtains which fall swishing
to the floor.
When armchairs are touched by a future astonished heart
they dissolve in their own ashes;
worms pile dust upon dust,
digging the marrow out of mahogany and silks,
eating rugs and mirrors. Roses
in the rugs collapse under footsteps. Nothing.
- Julia Uceda, trans. by Willis Barnstone