Tehvitan Ibele

Clarity

It is the quiet

gazing of the ancient moon

        in the cold, cold night

青青河畔草

So I thought hey, wouldn't it be cool to post something about what I was working on to use as a semi-unnecessary subtle explanation for why I have not been posting as much as I should or want to? No? Well anyway, here is my bare bones translation of a poem by Mei Sheng, which was translated about a century ago by Ezra Pound in his work Cathay. The title of this poem in Chinese is the first line, as many ancient poems were not titled and were referred to by their first lines; enjoy:

Green green grass on the bank of the river,
Inside the garden are lush willows.
The lady upstairs is graceful,
Glistening white as she gazes out the window.
Beautiful, the lady wears rouge,
Putting forth a slender white hand.

She used to be a courtesan,
Now she is married to a drunk.
He goes out and does not return;
An empty bed is difficult to guard alone.

 

Reminiscing (Two)

Revenge of the Dead

Screams of souls fill newborn night
As I stand still 'gainst black twilight
Etched upon the forest's sanguine blight.

I cannot say what led me here tonight.
Unrest, perhaps.

These trees I've touched in light of day
Now sputter, cough, as they laugh and sway
Mocking me with branches vile;
Breaking wood forms twisted smiles.

The moon surfaces from the darkened sky—a ray alights—
But only to bring my shadows,
And the third that walks beside us;
I had hid in the daylight.

These trees, familiar trees, violent trees,
Hold and seize,
For I once breathed the mist of the battlefield upon their faces—these familiar faces—
I waited, hoped, for their cold embraces,
Wanting not their lingering traces or humanly graces,
But their hatred, malice, anger, and appetite
Never came.

I hide in the daylight.

Tick Tock

Tick tock,

Tick tock, the time

Taps soft but strongly on

As my tongue trips on the minutes

And hours, years, and lives that flow on by.

 

He strains his eyes ahead to see what lies in wait.

 

Move on,

Move on, the moments

So slowly saunter on.

Fingers grip tight—with breath of new

Direction—‘round threads of silken sunlight.

 

His eyes shut tightly—they burn hot behind his softened skin.

 

The days of celebration

Mark not the lives that we do lead—

They cradle the precious mundane in between their few gleaming peaks.

 

I walk among the shimmering marshes.

Blow soft the winds of fate as not to stir

Blow soft the winds of fate as not to stir
The tempers of those in desperate need of solace;
Even the lovers enjoy the sapphire skies
Serenely cast against their glowing faces.

Set light the sun of love as to arise
Not but brighter still than when they left
Their kissing lips to rest amongst their sighs
Of contented breaths and their starlit eyes.

Oh salty brine filled waves will you not bring
Those salty lips gilded with final rays of sun
That softly arc into angelic smiles
To part with breath of summer's flowing breeze.

In the silent dark of night I can but dream of her;
She walks amongst the crashing waves of mer.

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty like the silent night,
Of dreary eyes and hallowed moon so bright,
That all the world indulge and share her plight,
And in all else the world would turn its sight.

She walks in trembles like the living earth,
Of silken tresses and vibrant sprouting moss,
That all of nature laugh and drink her mirth,
And Her phenomena would turn to dross.

She walks in blazes like the setting sun,
Of piercing golden rays and dancing light,
That all galaxies gaze and praise her calm,

And all the stars would burn with all their might.
And what if you were to this lady kiss; A moment of eternal bliss.

Return

He walks along the river’s flowing edge,
While still his soul and body ache for home;
The half-remembered pains his heart did dredge
Remind how far from his love he did roam.

The blazing sun and amber waves won’t soothe;
Not skies sapphire, nor stark white clouds that soar
Above the still green trees and leaves that move,
Will course as she through every vein and pore.

He stops his breath and haply thinks on her;
Her brilliant eyes that best the eternal sun,
Her lovely voice that, even doves, deters,
And her heart that he still has when all is done.

Though his path to her, Time day by day will pave,
He still will miss the river’s amber waves.

Flowers

And as my tendered eyes are put to rest
From pure white landscapes fraught with gleaming light,
My mind but wanders, tress to flowing tress,
A sight of drifting flowers in the night.

To see such flowers bend and twist in flight
Among the rougher kinds of stems and seeds,
Sad, estranged, alone, yet graceful in their plight,
A sight of drifting flowers deep into the night.

And as my tendered heart is put to sleep
It softens. And though the world has taught it "No",
The flowers dance and sing bright peals of "Yes",
For eternal morning sits upon their glistening petals;

And if the world would have but one regret, one fright,
T'would be to miss the flowers drift into the silent night.