He lodged us in a spacious house,
And plenteous was our fare.
But now at every frugal meal
There's not a scrap to spare.
Alas! alas that this good man
Could not go on as he began!
A cold rain starting
And no hat --
So?
Every critic in the town
Runs the minor poet down;
Every critic--don't you know it?
Is himself a minor poet.
I have worn this day as a fretting, ill-made garment,
Impatient to be rid of it.
And lo, as I drew it off over my shoulders
This jewel caught in my hair.
A cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away.
Translated by R.H. Blyth
The Seraph-song of morning's prime
That hail'd Messiah's birth,
The charter of a coming time
When Love shall rule the earth,
Rings from yon far Judaean hill —
While changing Seasons run their course,
Controlled and guided from above,
It is thy part to re-enforce
The broadening stream of Light and Love.
'While the trees grow,
While the streams flow,
While the winds blow,
We will be free:
Free as trees growing,
Free as streams flowing,
Free as winds blowing,
Evermore free.'
A change of season
Exposes something
Hidden in her fear:
A way across that island
Lit by the pain in her eyes
[Translated by Nukhbah Langah and Lavinia Greenlaw]
shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ass
shot like a flower in the dance
