The HyperTexts
Hang Seng & HKU SPACE Poetry Page
When I was told by Peter Brokenshire, a teacher of stylistic analysis in earlier years at Hang Seng University in Hong Kong and now
at HKU SPACE (Hong Kong University School of Professional and Adult Continuing Education),
that The HyperTexts is the preferred source of contemporary poems
("much preferred") by his students, I decided to create this poetry page and
dedicate it to the Hang Seng & HKU SPACE students. Since this is a personal
dedication, I have included some of my favorite compositions from my student
days, along with my translations of Chinese poets. — Michael R. Burch, editor, The HyperTexts
For the students of Hong Kong, greetings!
And what better way to meet,
than over a cup of coffee
(and perhaps something sweet?)
while reading the vellum pages
of Li Bai and the Chinese sages!
— Michael R. Burch
Li Bai (701-762) was a romantic figure called the Lord Byron of Chinese poetry.
He and his friend Du Fu (712-770) were the leading poets of the Tang Dynasty
era, the Golden Age of Chinese poetry. Li Bai is also known as Li Po, Li Pai, Li
T'ai-po and Li T'ai-pai.
Lines from Laolao Ting Pavilion
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The spring breeze knows partings are bitter;
The willow twig knows it will never be green again.
Because Peter's students study meter and rhyme, I have created a
rhyming version of this ancient poem especially for them:
Lines from Laolao Ting Pavilion
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The spring breeze knows partings are bitter;
The willow twig knows winter
will splinter
its ancestors.
These are other rhyming translations of Li Bai that
I would like to dedicate to the students of Hang Seng & HKU
SPACE:
Zazen on Ching-t'ing Mountain
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now the birds have abandoned the sky
and the last cloud slips down the drains.
We sit together, the mountain and I,
until only the mountain remains.
A Toast to Uncle Yun
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Although we slice it with our swords, water reforms.
Although we drown it with our wine, sorrow returns.
Quiet Night Thoughts
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Moonlight illuminates my bed
as frost brightens the ground.
Lifting my eyes, the moon allures.
Lowering my eyes, I long for home.
My interpretation of this famous poem is a bit different from the norm. The moon
symbolizes love, so I imagine the moon shining on Li Bai's bed to be suggestive,
an invitation. A man might lower his eyes to avoid seeing something his wife
would not approve of.
Farewell to a Friend
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rolling hills rim the northern border;
white waves lap the eastern riverbank...
Here you set out like a windblown wisp of grass,
floating across fields, growing smaller and smaller.
You've longed to travel like the rootless clouds,
yet our friendship declines to wane with the sun.
Thus let it remain, our insoluble bond,
even as we wave goodbye till you vanish.
My horse neighs, as if unconvinced.
The translation above has slant and internal rhymes: border/smaller,
wane/remain, sun/bond, vanish/unconvinced. The tricks of the translator's trade,
perhaps, when perfect rhymes are not apparent?
Li Qingzhao (c. 1084-1155) was a poet and essayist during the Song dynasty. She is generally
considered to be one of the greatest Chinese poets. In English she is known as
Li Qingzhao, Li Ching-chao and The Householder of Yi'an.
The Migrant Songbird
Li Qingzhao aka Li Ching-chao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The migrant songbird on the nearby yew
brings tears to my eyes with her melodious
trills;
this fresh downpour reminds me of similar spills:
another spring gone, and still no word from you ...
The Plum Blossoms
Li Qingzhao aka Li Ching-chao (c. 1084-1155)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This year with the end of autumn
I find my reflection graying at the edges.
Now evening gales hammer these ledges ...
what shall become of the plum blossoms?
On Parting
by Du Mu
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My feelings are fond, yet "unfeeling" I feign;
we drink our wine, yet make merry in vain.
The candle, so bright!, and yet it still grieves,
for it melts, into tears, as the light recedes.
I began writing poetry as a student and became a "serious poet" at age
14 to 15,
so I have a special fondness for students who study poetry. This is one of my earliest poems:
Styx
by Michael
R. Burch
Black waters,
deep and dark and still …
all men have passed this way,
or will.
The Shijing or Shi Jing ("Book of Songs" or "Book of Odes") is the oldest
Chinese poetry collection, with the poems included believed to date from around
1200 BC to 600 BC. According to tradition the poems were selected and edited by
Confucius himself. Since most ancient poetry did not rhyme, these may be the
world's oldest extant rhyming poems! While the identities and sexes of the poets
are not known, the title of this ancient poem may mean "Aunt" and thus suggest
that it was possibly written by an aunt for a relative.
Shijing Ode #4: "JIU MU"
ancient Chinese rhyming poem (c. 1200-600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
thick with vines that make them shady,
we find a lovely princely lady:
May she repose in happiness!
In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose clinging vines make hot days shady,
we wish warm embraces for a lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!
In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose vines entwining make them shady,
we wish true love for a lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!
How important are good teachers? The next poem of mine may illustrate how very
important good, encouraging teachers are. "Playmates" is a poem I wrote around
age 14 and, thanks to the encouragement of a teacher, it set me on the path of
becoming a poet.
Playmates
by Michael
R. Burch
WHEN you were my playmate and I was yours,
we spent endless hours with simple toys,
and the sorrows and cares of our indentured days
were uncomprehended ... far, far away ...
for the temptations and trials we had yet to face
were lost in the shadows of an unventured maze.
Then simple pleasures were easy to find
and if they cost us a little, we didn't mind;
for even a penny in a pocket back then
was one penny too many, a penny to spend.
Then feelings were feelings and love was just love,
not a strange, complex mystery to be understood;
while "sin" and "damnation" meant little to us,
since forbidden cookies were our only lusts!
Then we never worried about what we had,
and we were both sure—what was good, what was bad.
And we sometimes quarreled, but we didn't hate;
we seldom gave thought to the uncertainties of fate.
Hell, we seldom thought about the next day,
when tomorrow seemed hidden—adventures away.
Though sometimes we dreamed of adventures past,
and wondered, at times, why things couldn't last.
Still, we never worried about getting by,
and we didn't know that we were to die ...
when we spent endless hours with simple toys,
and I was your playmate, and we were boys.
This is probably the poem that "made" me, because my high school English
teacher, Anne Meyers, called it "beautiful" and I took that to mean I was surely
the Second Coming of Percy Bysshe Shelley!
The next poem is an ancient Chinese ode that sounds like a young man complaining
about the airs of rich girls. Truly there is nothing new under the sun! I am
dedicating this translation to any male students who are having
trouble wooing the lovely ladies. Hang in there Hang Seng &
HKU SPACE, because in my next
poem a nerd ends up with the loveliest girl imaginable!
Shijing Ode #9: "HAN GUANG"
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In the South leafless trees
offer men no shelter.
By the Han the girls loiter,
but it's vain to entice them.
For the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.
When firewood is needed,
I would cut down tall thorns to bring more.
Those girls on their way to their palaces?
I would feed their horses.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.
When firewood is needed,
I would cut down tall trees to bring more.
Those girls on their way to their palaces?
I would feed their colts.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.
This poem is a good example of the effective use of repetition in Chinese
poetry. What a marvelous poem, proving the ancient Chinese poets rank with the
best in the world, to this day!
I wrote "Smoke" around age 14 after seeing a trailer for the movie The
Summer of '42. If you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend it. It's
the best "coming of age" movie of all time, in my opinion.
Smoke
by Michael R. Burch
The hazy, smoke-filled skies of summer I remember well;
farewell was on my mind, and the thoughts that I can't tell
rang bells within (the din was in) my mind, and I can't say
if what we had was good or bad, or where it is today.
The endless days of summer's haze I still recall today;
she spoke and smoky skies stood still as summer slipped away ...
"Smoke" appeared in my high school journal, the Lantern, in 1976. It also appeared in my college literary journal, Homespun,
in 1977. (Good Lord, am I really that old?) "Smoke" has since been published by The Eclectic Muse
(Canada), Fullosia Press and Better Than Starbucks, and
translated into Romanian and published by Petru Dimofte in Poezii.
I had The
Summer of '42 in mind when I wrote the poem. Ironically, I didn't see the
movie until many years later (too young for an R-rated movie according to my
parents), but something about its advertisement touched me. Am I the only poet
who wrote a love poem for Jennifer O'Neil after seeing her fleeting image in a
blurb? At least in that respect, I may be unique! In any case, the movie came
out in 1971 or 1972, so I was probably around 14 when I wrote the poem. I think
it's interesting that I was able to write a "rhyme rich" poem at such a young
age. In six lines the poem has 26 rhymes and near rhymes: smoke-spoke-smoky,
well-farewell-tell-bells-still-recall-still, summer-remember-summer-summer,
within-din-in, say-today-days-haze-today-away, had-good-bad.
On
an interesting note, one of my "youngest poems" was published by one
of England's oldest publishing houses, Sampson Low, in the Lost Love
issue of its Potcake Chapbooks series, edited by Robin Helweg-Larsen and
illustrated by Alban Low.
"Smoke" was influenced by ads for The
Summer of '42, by the musical poems of Edgar Allan Poe and Alfred
Tennyson, and by the song "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" by the Platters.
Tzŭ-Yeh (or
Tzu Yeh) was a courtesan of the Jin dynasty era (c. 400 BC) also known as
Lady Night or Lady Midnight. Her poems were pinyin ("midnight songs"). Tzŭ-Yeh was apparently a "sing-song" girl, perhaps similar to a geisha trained
to entertain men with music and poetry. She has also been called a "wine shop
girl" and even a professional concubine! Whoever she was, it seems likely that
Rihaku (Li-Po) was influenced by the lovely, touching (and often very sexy)
poems of the "sing-song" girl. Centuries later, Arthur Waley was one of her
translators and admirers. Waley and Ezra Pound knew each other, and it seems
likely that they got together to compare notes at Pound's soirees, since Pound
was also an admirer and translator of Chinese poetry. Pound's most famous
translation is his take on Li-Po's "The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter." If the
ancient "sing-song" girl influenced Li-Po and Pound, she was thus an influence―perhaps
an important influence―on English Modernism. The first Tzŭ-Yeh poem
makes me think that she was, indeed, a direct influence on Li-Po and Ezra Pound.―Michael
R. Burch
I heard my love was going to Yang-chou
So I accompanied him as far as Ch'u-shan's shore.
For just a moment as he held me in his arms
I thought the swirling river ceased flowing and time was no more.
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I could not sleep with the full moon haunting my
bed!
I thought I heard―here, there, everywhere―
disembodied voices calling my name!
Helplessly I cried "Yes!" to the phantom air!
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I have brought my pillow to the windowsill
so come play with me, tease me, as in the past ...
Or, with so much resentment and so few kisses,
how much longer can love last?
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When he returns to my embrace,
I'll make him feel what no one has ever felt before:
Me absorbing him like water
Poured into a wet clay jar.
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The translation above has slant rhymes: before/water/jar.
Do you not see
that we
have become like branches of a single tree?
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When she approached you on the bustling street, how could you say no?
But your disdain for me is nothing new.
Squeaking hinges grow silent on an unused door
where no one enters anymore.
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I remain constant as the Northern Star
while you rush about like the fickle sun:
rising in the East, drooping in the West.
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Will I ever hike up my dress for you again, expose my lace?
Will my pillow ever caress your arresting face?
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Night descends ...
I let my silken hair spill down my shoulders as I part my thighs over my lover.
Tell me, is there any part of me not worthy of being loved?
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I will wear my robe loose, not bothering with a belt;
I will stand with my unpainted face at the reckless window;
If my petticoat insists on fluttering about, shamelessly,
I'll blame it on the unruly wind!
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bare branches tremble in a sudden breeze.
Night deepens.
My lover loves me,
And I am pleased that my body's beauty pleases him.
―Tzu Yeh,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Li Shen (772-846) is better known in the West as Duke Wensu of Zhao. He was a
Chinese poet, professor, historian, military general and politician of the Tang
Dynasty who served as chancellor during the reign of Emperor Wuzong.
Toiling Farmers
by Duke Wensu of Zhou
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Farmers toil, weeding and hoeing, at noon,
Sweat pouring down their faces.
Who knows food heaped on silver trays
Comes thanks to their efforts and graces?
Reflection
Xu Hui (627–650)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Confronting the morning she faces her mirror;
Her makeup done at last, she paces back and forth awhile.
It would take vast mountains of gold to earn one contemptuous smile,
So why would she answer a man's summons?
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319) is also known as Kuan Tao-Sheng, Guan Zhongji and Lady
Zhongji. A famous poet of the early Yuan dynasty, she has also been called "the
most famous female painter and calligrapher in the Chinese history ...
remembered not only as a talented woman, but also as a prominent figure in the
history of bamboo painting." She is best known today for her images of nature
and her tendency to inscribe short poems on her paintings.
"Married Love" or "You and I" or "The Song of You and Me"
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You and I shared a love that burned like fire:
two lumps of clay in the shape of Desire
molded into twin figures. We two.
Me and you.
In life we slept beneath a single quilt,
so in death, why any guilt?
Let the skeptics keep scoffing:
it's best to share a single coffin.
Pyre
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You and I share so much desire:
this love―like a fire—
that ends in a pyre's
charred coffin.
Du Fu (712-770) is also known as Tu Fu. The first poem, "Moonlit Night," is addressed to the poet's wife, who had fled war with their children. Ch'ang-an is ironic because
it means "Long-peace."
Moonlit Night (I)
by Du Fu
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Alone in your bedchamber
you gaze out at the Fu-Chou moon.
Here, so distant, I think of our children,
too young to understand what keeps me away
or to remember Ch'ang-an ...
A perfumed mist, your hair's damp ringlets!
In the moonlight, your arms' exquisite jade!
Oh, when can we meet again within your bed's drawn
curtains,
and let the heat dry our tears?
Moonlit Night (II)
by Du Fu
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tonight the Fu-Chou moon
watches your lonely bedroom.
Here, so distant, I think of our children,
too young to understand what keeps me away
or to remember Ch'ang-an ...
By now your hair will be damp from your bath
and fall in perfumed ringlets;
your jade-white arms so exquisite in the moonlight!
Oh, when can we meet again within those drawn
curtains,
and let the heat dry our tears?
Lone Wild Goose
by Du Fu
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The abandoned goose refuses food and drink;
he cries querulously for his companions.
Who feels kinship for that strange wraith
as he vanishes eerily into the heavens?
You watch the goose as it disappears;
its plaintive calls cut through you.
The indignant crows ignores us both:
the bickering, bantering multitudes.
Leave Taking
by Michael R. Burch
Brilliant leaves abandon battered limbs
to waltz upon ecstatic winds
until they die.
But the barren and embittered trees,
lament the frolic of the leaves
and curse the bleak November sky ...
Now, as I watch the leaves' high flight
before the fading autumn light,
I think that, perhaps, at last I may
have learned what it means to say—
goodbye.
Several of my early poems were about aging, loss and death. Young poets can be
so morbid! I
think the sounds here are pretty good for a young poet "testing his
wings." This poem started out as a stanza in a much
longer poem, "Jessamyn's Song," that dates to around age 14-16. "Leave
Taking"
has been published by The Lyric, Mindful of Poetry, Silver Stork Magazine and There is
Something in the Autumn (an anthology). The longer version appears later on
this page.
"Leave Taking" was influenced by the sadder poems of John Keats and Percy Bysshe
Shelley.
David Hinton said T'ao Ch'ien (365-427) "stands at the head of the great
Chinese poetic tradition like a revered grandfather: profoundly wise,
self-possessed, quiet, comforting." T'ao gained quasi-mythic status for his
commitment to life as a recluse farmer, despite poverty and hardship. Today he
is remembered as one of the best Chinese poets of the Six Dynasties Period.
Swiftly the years mount
by T'ao Ch'ien (365-427)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Swiftly the years mount, exceeding remembrance.
Solemn the stillness of this spring morning.
I will clothe myself in my spring attire
then revisit the slopes of the Eastern Hill
where over a mountain stream a mist hovers,
hovers an instant, then scatters.
Scatters with a wind blowing in from the South
as it nuzzles the fields of new corn.
Drinking Wine V
by T'ao Ch'ien (365-427)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I built my hut here amid the hurriedness of men,
but where is the din of carriages and horses today?
You ask me "How?" but I have no reply.
Here where the heart is isolated, the earth stands aloof.
Harvesting chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge,
I see the southern hills, afar;
The balmy air of the hills seems good;
migrating birds return to their nests.
This seems like the essence of life,
and yet I lack words.
Returning to Live in the Country
by T'ao Ch'ien (365-427)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The caged bird longs for its ancient woodland;
the pond-reared Koi longs for its native stream ...
Dim, dim lies the distant hamlet;
lagging, lagging snakes the smoke of its market-place;
a dog barks in the alley;
a cock crows from atop the mulberry tree ...
My courtyard and door are free from turmoil;
in these dust-free rooms there is leisure to spare.
But too long a captive caught in a cage,
when will I return to Nature?
All My Children
by
Michael R. Burch
It is May now, gentle May,
and the sun shines pleasantly
upon the blousy flowers
of this backyard cemet'ry,
upon my children as they sleep.
Oh, there is Hank in the daisies now,
with a mound of earth for a pillow;
his face as harsh as his monument,
but his voice as soft as the wind through the willows.
And there is Meg beside the spring
that sings her endless sleep.
Though it's often said of stiller waters,
sometimes quicksilver streams run deep.
And there is Frankie, little Frankie,
tucked in safe at last,
a child who weakened and died too soon,
but whose heart was always steadfast.
And there is Mary by the bushes
where she hid so well,
her face as dark as their berries,
yet her eyes far darker still.
And Andy ... there is Andy,
sleeping in the clover,
a child who never saw the sun
so soon his life was over.
And Em'ly, oh my Em'ly!,
the prettiest of all ...
now she's put aside her dreams
of beaus kind, dark and tall
for dreams dreamed not at all.
It is May now, gentle May
and the sun shines pleasantly
upon this backyard garden,
on the graves of all my children ...
God, keep them safe until
I join them, as I will.
God, guard their tender dust
until I meet them, as I must.
This is a poem I had forgotten for nearly 50 years until another poet, Robert
Lavett Smith, mentioned the poem "We Are Seven" by William Wordsworth. As I read
Wordsworth's poem about a little girl who refused to admit that some of her
siblings were missing, I remembered a poem I had written as a teenager about a
mother who clung as tenaciously to the memory of her children. The line "It is
May now, merry May" popped into my head and helped me locate the poem in my
archives. I believe I wrote this poem about the same time as "Jessamyn's Song,"
which would place it at age 14-15, or thereabouts. I can tell
it's one of my early poems because I was still allowing myself archaisms like "cemet'ry"
which I would have avoided in my late teens. It is admittedly a sentimental
poem, but then human beings are sentimental creatures. I believe the poem was
influenced by Little Women, the first book that made me cry.
Wang Wei (699-759) was a Chinese poet, musician, painter, and politician
during the Tang dynasty. He had 29 poems included in the 18th-century anthology
Three Hundred Tang Poems. "Lu Zhai" ("Deer
Park") is one of his best-known poems.
"Lu Zhai" ("Deer Park")
by Wang Wei (699-759)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Uninhabited hills ...
except that now and again the silence is broken
by something like the sound of distant voices
as the sun's sinking rays illuminate lichens ...
"Lovesickness"
by Wang Wei (699-759)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Those bright red berries you have in the South,
the luscious ones that emerge each spring:
go gather them, bring them home by the bucketful,
they're as tempting as my desire for you!
The Ormosia (a red bean called the "love pea") is a symbol of lovesickness.
Farewell (I)
by Wang Wei (699-759)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Where the mountain began its ascent,
we stopped to bid each other farewell...
Now here dusk descends as I shut my wooden gate.
Come spring, the grass will once again turn green,
but will you also return, my friend?
Farewell (II)
by Wang Wei
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
We dismounted, drank to your departure.
I asked, "My friend, which way are you heading?"
You said, "Nothing here has been going my way,
So I'm returning to the crags of Nanshan."
"Godspeed then," I said, "You'll be closer to Heaven,
among those infinite white clouds, never-ending!"
Spring Night
by Wang Wei
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I'm as idle as the osmanthus flowers...
This quiet spring night the hill stood silent
until the moon arrived and startled its birds:
they continue cawing from the dark ravine.
The osmanthus is a flowering evergreen also known as the devilwood.
Huazi Ridge
by Wang Wei
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A bird in flight soars, limitless,
communal hills adopt autumn's resplendence;
yet from the top to bottom of Huazi Ridge,
melancholy seems endless.
Po Chu-I (772-846) is best known today for his
ballads and satirical poems. Po Chu-I believed poetry should be accessible to
commoners and is noted for his simple diction and natural style. His name has
been rendered various ways in English: Po Chu-I, Po Chü-i, Bo Juyi and Bai Juyi.
The Red Cockatoo
by Po Chu-I (772-846)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A marvelous gift from Annam—
a red cockatoo,
bright as peach blossom,
fluent in men's language.
So they did what they always do
to the erudite and eloquent:
they created a thick-barred cage
and shut it up.
Am I
by Michael R. Burch
Am I inconsequential;
do I matter not at all?
Am I just a snowflake,
to sparkle, then to fall?
Am I only chaff?
Of what use am I?
Am I just a flame,
to flicker, then to die?
Am I inadvertent?
For what reason am I here?
Am I just a ripple
in a pool that once was clear?
Am I insignificant?
Will time pass me by?
Am I just a flower,
to live one day, then die?
Am I unimportant?
Do I matter either way?
Or am I just an echo—
soon to fade away?
This seems like a pretty well-crafted poem for a teenage poet just getting
started. I believe I was around 14 or 15 when I wrote it. The title is a reversal of
the biblical "I Am." This early poem of mine has been published by
Borderless Journal (Singapore).
Time
by Michael R. Burch
Time,
where have you gone?
What turned out so short,
had seemed like so long.
Time,
where have you flown?
What seemed like mere days
were years come and gone.
Time,
see what you've done:
for
now I am old,
when once I was young.
Time,
do you even know why
your days, minutes, seconds
preternaturally fly?
"Time" is a companion piece to "Am I." It appeared in my high school project
notebook "Poems" along with "Playmates," so I was probably around 14
or 15 when I
wrote it.
This seems like a pretty well-crafted poem for a teenage poet just getting
started.
"Time" and "Am I" were written on the same day, or
within a short period of time, if I remember correctly. They were among the
earliest of what I call my "I Am" and "Am I" poems.
The Duke of Zhou (circa 1100-1000 BC), a member of the Zhou Dynasty also
known as Ji Dan, played a major role in Chinese history and culture. He has been
called "probably the first real person to step over the threshold of myth into
Chinese history" and he may be the first Chinese poet we know by name today. He
has also been called
the spiritual ancestor of Confucius. The Duke of Zhou was a capable and loyal
regent for his young nephew King Cheng and he successfully suppressed a number of
rebellions. He has also been credited with writing the I Ching and the
Book of
Songs, also called the Book of Odes, and with creating yayue ("elegant music"),
which became Chinese classical music. "The Owl" was apparently written
while Zhou was away fighting on his nephew's behalf, after court dissenters
accused him of plotting to usurp the throne. Apparently the poem worked, as King
Cheng welcomed his uncle back, and the Duke remained faithful till the end.
Keywords/Tags: China, Chinese, translation, ode, odes, kingdom, king, duke,
homeless, homelessness, homesick, homesickness.
Chixiao ("The Owl")
by Duke Zhou (c. 1100-1000 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Owl!
You've stolen my offspring,
Don't shatter my nest!
When with labors of love
I nurtured my fledglings!
Before the skies darkened
And the dark rains fell,
I gathered mulberry twigs
To thatch my nest,
Yet scoundrels now dare
Impugn my enterprise.
With fingers chafed rough
By the reeds I plucked
And the straw I threshed,
I now write these words,
Too hoarse to speak:
I am homeless!
My wings are withered,
My tail torn away,
My home toppled
And tossed into the rain,
My cry a distressed peep.
Bound
by Michael R. Burch
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of the streetlamp casts strange shadows to the ground,
I have lost what I once found
in your arms.
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of distant Venus fails to penetrate dark panes,
I have remade all my chains
and am bound.
This poem appeared in my high school journal, the Lantern. I seem to remember writing "Bound" around age 14 or 15. It was originally
titled "Why Did I Go?" I have made slight changes but
the poem is essentially the same as what I wrote in my early teens.
I believe "Bound" may have been influenced by the Robert Frost poem "Acquainted
with the Night" and the Paul Simon song "I Am a Rock." It has
been published by Setu (India).
Luo Binwang (c. 619–684) was a Tang Dynasty poet who wrote his famous goose poem
at age seven.
Ode to the Goose
by Luo Binwang
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Goose, goose, goose!
You crane your neck toward the sky and sing
as your white feathers float on emerald-green water
and your red feet part silver waves.
Goose, goose, goose!
Have I been too long at the fair?
by Michael R. Burch
Have I been too long at the fair?
The summer has faded,
the leaves have
turned brown;
the Ferris wheel teeters ...
not up, yet not down.
Have I been too long at the fair?
I wrote this poem around age 15 when my family was living
temporarily with my grandfather in his house on Chilton Street, within walking distance of
the Nashville fairgrounds. That was before my sophomore year of high school. I remember walking to the fairgrounds, stopping at a
Dairy Queen for an ice cream along the way, and swimming at the Fairgrounds' public pool. But I believe the
Ferris wheel only operated during the state fair. So I believe
this poem was written during the 1973 state fair, or shortly thereafter. I
remember watching people hanging suspended in mid-air, waiting for carnies to
deposit them safely on terra firma again. In any case, this poem was
published in my high school literary journal, the Lantern.
Sui Hui, also known as Su Hui and Lady Su, appears to be the first female
Chinese poet of note. And her "Star Gauge" or "Sphere Map" may be the most
impressive poem written in any language to this day, in terms of complexity.
"Star Gauge" has been described as a palindrome or "reversible" poem, but it
goes far beyond that. According to contemporary sources, the original poem was
shuttle-woven on brocade, in a circle, so that it could be read in multiple
directions. Due to its shape the poem is also called Xuanji Tu ("Picture
of the Turning Sphere"). The poem is now generally placed in a grid or matrix so
that the Chinese characters can be read horizontally, vertically and diagonally.
The story behind the poem is that Sui Hui's husband, Dou Tao, the governor of
Qinzhou, was exiled to the desert. When leaving his wife, Dou swore to remain
faithful. However, after arriving at his new post, he took a concubine. Lady Su
then composed a circular poem, wove it into a piece of silk embroidery, and sent
it to him. Upon receiving the masterwork, he repented. It has been claimed that
there are up to 7,940 ways to read the poem. My translation above is just one of
many possible readings of a portion of the poem.
Star Gauge
Sui Hui (c. 351-394 BC or sometime between 304 BC and 439 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So much lost so far away
on that distant rutted road.
That distant rutted road
wounds me to the heart.
Grief coupled with longing,
so much lost so far away.
Grief coupled with longing
wounds me to the heart.
This house without its master;
the bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils.
The bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils,
and you are not here.
Such loneliness! My adorned face
lacks the mirror's clarity.
I see by the mirror's clarity
my Lord is not here. Such loneliness!
An Illusion
by Michael R. Burch
The sky was as hushed as the breath of a bee
and the world was bathed in shades of palest gold
when I awoke.
She came to me with the sound of falling leaves
and the scent of new-mown grass;
I held out my arms to her and she passed
into oblivion ...
This little dream-poem appeared in my high school journal. I believe I wrote it around age 15-16. This feels like one of my
early Romantic effusions. "An Illusion" has been published by Borderless Journal (Singapore).
Zhai Yongming is a contemporary Chinese poet, born in Chengdu in 1955. She was
one of the instigators and prime movers of the "Black Tornado" of women's poetry
that swept China in 1986-1989. Since then Zhai has been regarded as one of
China's most prominent poets.
Waves
Zhai Yongming (1955-)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The waves manhandle me like a midwife pounding my back relentlessly,
and so the world abuses my body—
accosting me, bewildering me, according me a certain ecstasy ...
Monologue
Zhai Yongming (1955-)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I am a wild thought, born of the abyss
and—only incidentally—of you. The earth and sky
combine in me—their concubine—they consolidate in my body.
I am an ordinary embryo, encased in pale, watery flesh,
and yet in the sunlight I dazzle and amaze you.
I am the gentlest, the most understanding of women.
Yet I long for winter, the interminable black night, drawn out to my heart's
bleakest limit.
When you leave, my pain makes me want to vomit my heart up through my mouth—
to destroy you through love—where's the taboo in that?
The sun rises for the rest of the world, but only for you do I focus the hostile
tenderness
of my body.
I have my ways.
A chorus of cries rises. The sea screams in my blood but who remembers me?
What is life?
Sharon
by Michael R. Burch
apologies to Byron
I.
Flamingo-minted, pink, pink cheeks,
dark hair streaked with a lisp of dawnlight;
I have seen your shadow creep
through eerie webs spun out of twilight...
And I have longed to kiss your lips,
as sweet as the honeysuckle blooms;
to hold your pale albescent body,
more curvaceous than the moon...
II.
Black-haired beauty, like the night,
stay with me till morning's light.
In shadows, Sharon, become love
until the sun lights our alcove.
Red, red lips reveal white stone:
whet my own, my passions hone.
My all in all I give to you,
in our tongues' exchange of dew.
Now all I ever ask of you
is: do with me what now you do.
In shadows, Sharon, shed your gown;
let all night's walls come tumbling down.
III.
Now I will love you long, Sharon,
as long as longing may be.
The first and third sections are all I can remember of a "Sharon" poem that I
destroyed in a fit of frustration about my writing, around age 15. The middle
section was a separate poem written around age 17. My "Sharon" poems were
influenced by Lord Byron's famous poem "She Walks in Beauty (Like the Night)."
Su Tungpo (1037-1101) is better known as Su Shi. A towering figure of the
Northern Song era, Su Shi is considered to be one of China's greatest poets and
essayists. More than 2,000 of his poems survive.
"Pining"
by Su Shi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You're ten years dead and your memory fades,
nor do I try to remember,
yet how to forget?
Your lonely grave, so distant,
these cold thoughts—how can I hash them out?
If we met today, you wouldn't recognize me:
this ashen face, my hair like frost.
In a dream last night suddenly I was home,
standing by our bedroom window
where you sat combing your hair and putting on your makeup.
You turned to gaze at me, not speaking,
as tears coursed down your cheeks.
Year after year will it continue to break my heart—
this grave illuminated by ghostly moonlit pines?
Visiting the Temple of the God of Mercy during a Deluge
by Su Shi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The silkworms age,
The wheat yellows,
The rain falls unrestrained flooding the valleys,
The farmers cannot work their land,
Nor can the women gather mulberries,
While the Immortals sit white-robed on elevated thrones.
Our Lives
by Su Shi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
To what can our lives be likened?
To a flock of geese alighting on snow,
leaving scant evidence of their passage.
2.
To what can our lives be compared?
To a flock of geese fleeing an early snow,
all evidence of their passage quickly melting.
3.
To what can our lives be compared?
To a flock of geese alighting on snow,
leaving a few barely visible feathers.
4.
To what can our lives be compared?
To a flock of geese alighting on snow,
leaving a few frozen tailfeathers.
5.
To what can our lives be compared?
To a flock of geese alighting on snow,
leaving invisible droppings.
Mid-Autumn Moon
by Su Shi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sunset's clouds are distant, the air clear and cold,
the Milky Way silent, the moon a jade plate.
Neither this vista nor this life will last long,
so whose eyes will admire this bright moon tomorrow?
Benevolent Moon, an excerpt from "The Moon Festival"
by Su Shi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rounding the red pavilion,
Stooping to peer through transparent windows,
The moon shines benevolently on the sleepless,
Knowing no sadness, bearing no ill...
But why so bright when we sleep apart?
"The Moon Festival"
by Su Shi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
"Where else is there moonlight?"
Wine cup in hand, I ask the dark sky,
Not knowing the hour of the night
in those distant celestial palaces.
I long to ride the wind home,
Yet dread those high towers' crystal and jade,
Fear freezing to death amid all those icicles.
Instead, I begin to dance with my moon-lit shadow.
Better off, after all, to live close to earth.
Rounding the red pavilion,
Stooping to peer through transparent windows,
The moon shines benevolently on the sleepless,
Knowing no sadness, bearing no ill...
But why so bright when we sleep apart?
As men experience grief and joy, parting and union,
So the moon brightens and dims, waxes and wanes.
It has always been thus, since the beginning of time.
My wish for you is a long, blessed life
And to share this moon's loveliness though leagues apart.
Su Shi wrote this famous lyric for his brother Ziyou (1039-1112), when the
poet was far from the imperial court.
"Red Light District"
by Su Shi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A lonely sick old man,
my frosty hair disheveled by the wind.
My son's mistakenly pleased by my ruddy complexion,
but I smile, knowing it's the booze.
Untitled
For fear the roses might sleep tonight,
I'll leave a tall candle as a spotlight
to remind them of their crimson glory.
—Su Shi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
For fear the roses might sleep tonight,
I'll light a candle to remind them of their crimson glory.
—Su Shi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Elegy for a little girl
by Michael R. Burch
... qui laetificat juventutem meam ...
She was the joy of my youth,
and now she is gone
... requiescat in pace ...
May she rest in peace
... amen ...
Amen.
I was touched by this Latin prayer, which I discovered in a novel I read as a
teenager. Actually, I was sneak-reading one of my sister's steamy historical
romance novels! I decided to incorporate the prayer into a poem, which I wrote
in high school and revised later as an adult. From what I now understand, "ad deum qui laetificat
juventutem meam" means "to the God who gives joy to my youth," but I am sticking
with my original interpretation: a lament for a little girl at her funeral. The
phrase can be traced back to Saint Jerome's translation of Psalm 42 in the Latin
Vulgate Bible (circa 385 AD). I can't remember exactly when I read the novel or
wrote the poem, but I believe it was around my junior year of high school, age
16-17 or thereabouts. This was my first translation. I revised the poem slightly
in 2001 after realizing I had "misremembered" one of the words in the Latin
prayer. I dedicated the poem to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, after her death,
because she was always a little giggly girl at heart.
Red Peonies
by Zhou Bangyan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
Such bitterness defies expression:
thus I accept that she's gone for good,
and too far for letters.
Even if cleverer fingers could preserve both rings, [1]
what we had has dissipated, like windblown mists,
like clouds thinning.
Now the apartment we shared stands empty
and dust has long since settled to an ashen seal,
making me think of roots removed and leaves shed,
of those red peonies she planted then deserted.
2.
On a nearby island the iris blossoms,
but by now her boat nears some distant shore,
with us at opposite ends of the world.
It's vain to recall her long-ago letters:
all idle talk now, all idle chatter.
I'd like to burn the whole lot of them!
When spring returns to the river landing,
perhaps she'll send me a spray of plum blossoms; [2]
then, for the rest of my life,
wherever there are flowers and wine,
I'll weep for her.
[1] The Empress Dowager of Qi separated complexly linked rings of carved jade
by smashing them to pieces.
[2] In Chinese poetry the pear blossom symbolizes the transience of life and
the ephemeral beauty of nature.
A Song of Two Voices
by Zhou Bangyan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
"About to depart, still I linger in the lamplight,
broken-hearted. The vermilion door beckons.
But there's no need for waterfalls to stain your cheeks:
I'll return by the time the wild roses fade."
"Dancing here with your hand on my waist, keeping time,
allowing others to watch as I try not to cry,
do you see the glowing embers in the golden brazier?
Don't let your love so easily become ashes!"
Untitled
A cicada drones sadly in the distance
as I contemplate my journey.
What use are ten thousand tender sentiments,
with no one to receive them?
—Zhou Bangyan, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Departure
by Zhou Bangyan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Dawn's clouds hang heavy,
frost stiffens the grass,
mist obscures the battlements.
The well-oiled carriage stands ready to depart,
the cup of parting nearly drained.
Hanging low enough to brush our faces, willow limbs invite being tied into
knots.
Concealing rouged tears, she breaks one off with her jade hands.
Here on the banks of the Han she wonders where the wild goose wandered:
For so long now there's been no word of him.
The land is vast, the sky immense,
the dew cold, the wind brisk,
our surroundings devoid of other people,
the water-clock disconsolate.
Here arise a myriad complications,
but hardest of all is to separate so easily.
The wine cup is not quite empty,
so I counsel the clouds to hold back,
the setting moon to remain above the western tower.
The silken girdle's sheen safely hidden;
the patterned quilt discreetly folded up;
the linked rings severed;
the delicate perfume dispersed...
Observance
by Michael R. Burch
Here the hills are old and rolling
carefully in their old age;
on the horizon youthful mountains
bathe themselves in windblown fountains ...
By dying leaves and falling raindrops,
I have traced time's starts and stops,
and I have known the years to pass
almost unnoticed, whispering through treetops ...
For here the valleys fill with sunlight
to the brim, then empty again,
and it seems that only I notice
how the years flood out, and in ...
"Observance" is an early poem that made me feel like a "real poet." I vividly remember
writing it in the break room of the McDonald's where I worked as a high school
student. I believe that was around age 16-17. I eventually pared a longer poem down to its best lines. This poem was
originally titled "Reckoning," a title I still like and may return to one day.
As a young poet with high aspirations, I felt that "Infinity" and "Reckoning/Observance"
were my two best poems, so I didn't publish them in my high school or college
literary journals. I decided to hang onto them and use them to get my foot in
the door elsewhere. And the plan worked pretty well. "Observance" was originally
published by Nebo as "Reckoning." It was later published by
Tucumcari Literary Review, Piedmont Literary Review, Verses, Romantics Quarterly,
the anthology There is Something in the Autumn and Poetry Life &
Times.
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955), also known as Phyllis Lin and Lin Whei-yin, was a
Chinese architect, historian, novelist and poet. Xu Zhimo died in a plane crash
in 1931, allegedly flying to meet Lin Huiyin.
The Day after the Rain
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the day after the rain
and the meadow's green expanses!
My heart endlessly rises with wind,
gusts with wind ...
away the new-mown grasses and the fallen leaves ...
away the clouds like smoke ...
vanishing like smoke ...
Music Heard Late at Night
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
for Xu Zhimo
I blushed,
hearing the lovely nocturnal tune.
The music touched my heart;
I embraced its sadness, but how to respond?
The pattern of life was established eons ago:
so pale are the people's imaginations!
Perhaps one day You and I
can play the chords of hope together.
It must be your fingers gently playing
late at night, matching my sorrow.
Xu Zhimo's most famous poem is this one about leaving Cambridge. English titles
for the poem include "On Leaving Cambridge," "Second Farewell to Cambridge,"
"Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again," and "Taking Leave of Cambridge Again."
Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again
Xu Zhimo (1897-1931)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
quietly I wave good-bye
to the sky's dying flame.
The riverside's willows
like lithe, sunlit brides
reflected in the waves
move my heart's tides.
Weeds moored in dark sludge
sway here, free of need,
in the Cam's gentle wake ...
O, to be a waterweed!
Beneath shady elms
a nebulous rainbow
crumples and reforms
in the soft ebb and flow.
Seek a dream? Pole upstream
to where grass is greener;
rig the boat with starlight;
sing aloud of love's splendor!
But how can I sing
when my song is farewell?
Even the crickets are silent.
And who should I tell?
So quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
gently I flick my sleeves ...
not a wisp will remain.
(6 November 1928)
Infinity
by Michael R. Burch
Have you tasted the bitterness of tears of despair?
Have you watched the sun sink through such pale, balmless air
that your heart sought its shell like a crab on a beach,
then scuttled inside to be safe, out of reach?
Might I lift you tonight from earth's wreckage and damage
on these waves gently rising to pay the moon homage?
Or better, perhaps, let me say that I, too,
have dreamed of infinity ... windswept and blue.
This is the second poem that made me feel like a "real" poet. I remember
reading the poem and asking myself, "Did I really write that?"
Many years later, I'm still glad that I wrote it, and it still makes me feel
like a real poet.
This is another poem that was longer and got "pared down" to its best lines.
I believe I wrote the original, longer version around 1976, at age 18.
"Infinity" was originally published by TC Broadsheet Verses (for a
whopping $10, my first cash payment) then subsequently by Piedmont Literary
Review, Penny Dreadful, the Net Poetry and Art Competition, Songs of
Innocence, Setu (India), Better Than Starbucks, Borderless Journal
(Singapore), Poetry Life & Times, Formal Verse (Potcake Poet's Choice)
and The Chained Muse.
Will There Be Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?
And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?
And will she find treasure
or will she find pain
at the end of this rainbow
of moonlight on rain?
If I remember correctly, I wrote the first version of this poem toward the end
of my senior year in high school, around age 18, then forgot about it
for 15 years until I met my future wife Beth and she reminded me of the
poem's mysterious enchantress. I dedicated the poem to her on September 21,
1991, the same day I wrote "Seasons, for Beth." Since then "Will There Be
Starlight" has been published by The Chained Muse, Famous Poets and Poems,
Grassroots Poetry, Inspirational Stories, Jenion, Poetry Webring, Starlight
Archives, TALESetc, The Word (UK) and Writ in Water. David
Hamilton, an award-winning Australian composer, has set the lyrics to music.
(***) Myth, circa age 18, *LJ
[#22], published by There is Something in the Autumn
(Anthology)
by Michael R. Burch
Here the recalcitrant wind
sighs with grievance and remorse
over fields of wayward gorse
and thistle-throttled lanes.
And she is the myth of the scythed wheat
hewn and sighing, complete,
waiting, lain in a low sheaf—
full of faith, full of grief.
Here the immaculate dawn
requires belief of the leafed earth
and she is the myth of the mown grain—
golden and humble in all its weary worth.
I believe I wrote the first version of this poem toward the end of my senior
year of high school, around age 18, in late 1976, but it could have been written
later.
To my recollection this is my
only poem directly influenced by the "sprung rhythm" of Dylan Thomas (moreso
than that of Gerard Manley Hopkins). But I was not happy with the fourth line
and put the poem aside until 1998, when I revised it. But I was still
not happy with the fourth line, so I put it aside and revised it again in 2020,
nearly half a century after originally writing the poem! I believe this remains
my only attempt at sprung rhythm.
Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark ...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?
Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, along with its companion poem
"Tomb Lake." I think the questions are
interesting. Do all lovers love first in the dark? Is love an oration, or is it
a word? David Hamilton, an award-winning Australian composer,
has set the lyrics to music and the song has been performed by one of
Australia's best choirs, Choralation.
The HyperTexts