Short Poems

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

ARISE, O soul, and gird thee up anew,
Though the black camel Death kneel at thy gate;
No beggar thou that thou for alms shouldst sue;
Be the proud captain still of thine own fate!