The Middlewesterner

AFTER LI CHING-JAU'S
"TUNE: SPRING IN WU-LING"

The wind has stopped.
The dust is pungent.

The flowers are gone.
Evening comes.

I comb my tired hair.
His things remain

but he is gone.
His life is over.

I want to speak, I try,
the tears come rushing.

I hear spring is lovely
still at Double Creek

and I like to go there,
sailing, but I fear

the tiny boats they have
won't carry my sorrow.

~

AFTER SOME LINES
BY GAU SHR FROM "HEARING
JANG LI-BEN'S DAUGHTER SING"

She is alone
in the courtyard
enjoying the night.

With a jade hairpin
she taps the beat
on a tree trunk

and -- high and clear --
she sings her song:
"The moon is like frost."

~

AFTER BAI JYU-YI'S
"AN INVITATION TO
MY FRIEND LYOU"

Green scum on
the new wine.

A red clay
warming pot.

Evening comes,
snow with it.

Won't you drink
a cup with me?

~

AFTER SOME LINES
BY CHYEN CHI
FROM "SEEING OFF
A MONK RETURNING
TO JAPAN"

The moon
on the water

understands
the stillness

of Zen. Even
the fish can

hear your prayers.
Old friend,

I will cherish
your wisdom

across the ten
thousand miles

between us.

~

AFTER BAI JYU-YI'S
"NIGHT RAIN"

A late cricket
chirps and pauses.

The lamp
sputters and flares.

I know it's raining
outside the window.

I heard it first
among the trees.

~