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Returning to the Fields and Gardens (II)
I plant beans below the southern hill:
there grasses flourish and bean sprouts are sparse.
At dawn, I get up, clear out a growth of weeds,
then go back, leading the moon, a hoe over my shoulder.
Now the path is narrow, grasses and bushes are high.
Evening dew moistens my clothes;
but so what if my clothes are wet –
I choose not to avoid anything that comes
Arthur Sze
The Unmoving Client
I
The clouds have gathered, and gathered,
and the rain falls and falls,
The eight ply of the heavens
are all folded into one darlmess,
And the wide, flat road stretches out.
I stop in my room toward the East, quiet, quiet,
I pat my new cask of wine.
My friends are estranged, or far distant,
I bow my head and stand still.
II
Rain, rain, and the clouds have gathered,
The eight ply of the heavens are darkness,
The flat land is turned into river.
“Wine, wine, here is wine!”
I drink by my eastern window.
I think of talking and man,
And no boat, no carriage, approaches.
III
The trees in my east-looking garden
are bursting out with new twigs,
They try to stir new affection,
And men say the sun and moon keep on moving
because they can’t End a soft Seat.
The birds flutter to rest in my tree,
‘ and I think I have heard them saying,
“It is not that there are no other men
But we like this fellow the best,
But however we long to speak
He can not know of our sorrow.”
Ezra Pound
Begging Food
The pangs of hunger drove me from my home;
with no idea of where to go
I travelled on for miles
until I reached a village,
knocked on the nearest door,
blurted out some clumsy words.
The owner understood my need
his warmth dispelled my shame
that I’d come empty-handed.
We played and sang till sunset,
the wine-cups often tilted,
with the pleasure of new-found friends
we chanted and composed verses.
I remember the story of the washerwoman. *
Ashamed that I lack the skills of general Han,
how can I show my gratitude?
I can only repay him in the world to come.
Mike Farman
My home here
My home here
Beyond ways
And why not
Earth centers
‘Mums pluck East
South lifts eyes
Sunset peaks
Birds wheel past
Here’s meaning
No word makes
Cid Corman
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