Du Fu; Li Shangyin; Du Mu
Translated from the Chinese by Wong May
Two Golden Orioles
by Du Fu

Two
Golden orioles sing willows green

Sing willow, willow
Green

One
Row of white cranes go sky blue
                                                 To heaven
Heaven,

This
Window frames little,
Famous
Little

                     Holds West Mountain's
                        Timeless
                      Snow

                      Bound for the long voyage
                      East

                      At my front door
                      Docked
A boat
Bounding

Bob/ Boat/ bobs
 


Late Autumn on a Lone Walk
by Li Shangyin

Lotuses
Brimful, surfacing —
                  Cap & bud

Spring is ample,
                 Sumptuous
With regrets.

Lotuses fanning out
                 Shudder & recede,
One resents Autumn.

We all know love begins
& dies
With the body.

The sound of water

Where you stand

At the pier's end

Fills the eyes.
 


The Garden of Golden Valley
by Du Mu

Vanities of the world sent up
                In dust,

                I believe
                Is called scent.

                Flowing water can't grieve.
                Comes Spring,
                The grass is green.

                After dark
                In the east wind
                                        A bird

                A bird laments.

                                        Blossoms fall,

                     A prodigious drift

                Like a girl leaping
                Off the porch
from the book IN THE SAME LIGHT: 200 TANG POEMS FOR OUR CENTURY / Carcanet Press
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Meghan O'Rourke on Adrienne Rich's "The Burning of Paper Instead of Children"

"The title stopped me in my tracks: it was at once violent and knowing, and it knew something I didn't, but it knew it in language that did something to my limbic system, making my neck go cold. I read the poem over and over, shaken into a reckoning with it: with the way the poem invoked the Holocaust and its aftermath, startled to attention by the poem's invocation of the way that political pressure can crumple individuals who come under it." 

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What Sparks Poetry:
fahima ife (New Orleans) on Ecopoetry Now


"That I required a desert to write poetry of the swamp. I open another poetry collection, wander inside the wet density of word, step outside world as we know it. As if poets hold access to the mycelial inner-dimensionalities of Earth as we continue singing in its wake. Something about lack of old forest in the DeepSouth—as you say: the woods here are less than one-hundred years old, on a billions of years old planet, in a newly-contested country, written in the lineage of descent."
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