What is this thing I never saw that poked me from nowhere. I felt a pain that dripped insane and gave me quite a scare. I know it came from outside-in, and not from bones or brain. And yet it's not a break, a bruise, a lesion, or a sprain. Some demon breached a ghost portal, and stabbed me from hell's pit with an inferno-fired poker... oh wait, I'm fine. It quit.
The river runs through the birdlands. Each isle is alive with their nests. The course is skimmed by pelicans, snatching fish to later digest. The croc is hunting those waters, just eyes and stony tail peeks out. It'd love a fish, snake, or otter, but food 's any meat near its snout. The bird that flies into its gullet, the tourist dangling limb from the boat. If it could find freshwater mullet, it wouldn't eat that armless farmer's goat.
A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place your sight can knock on, echoing; but here within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze will be absorbed and utterly disappear: just as a raving madman, when nothing else can ease him, charges into his dark night howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels the rage being taken in and pacified. She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen into her, so that, like an audience, she can look them over, menacing and sullen, and curl to sleep with them. But all at once as if awakened, she turns her face to yours; and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny, inside the golden amber of her eyeballs suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
NOTE: This translation by Stephen Mitchell. Originally titled, “Schwarze Katze,” the poem in German is:
Schwarze Katze Ein Gespenst ist noch wie eine Stelle, dran dein Blick mit einem Klange stößt; aber da an diesem schwarzen Felle wird dein stärkstes Schauen aufgelöst: wie ein Tobender, wenn er in vollster Raserei in Schwarze stampft, jählings am benehmenden Gepolster einer Zelle aufhört und verdampft. Alle Blicke, die sie jemals trafen, scheint sie also an sich zu verhehlen, um darüber drohend und verdrossen zuzuschauern und damit zu schlafen. Doch auf einmal kehrt sie, wie geweckt, ihr Gesicht und mitten in das deine: und da triffst du deinen Blick im geelen Amber ihrer runden Augensteine unerwartet wieder: eingeschlossen wie ein ausgestorbenes Insekt.
the pelican flares to land on a branch with barely a bounce.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
Afar, colorful mountains. Near, silent waters. Spring 's gone but flowers remain. People come but birds aren't startled.
Original: 遠看山有色 近聽水無聲 春去花還在 人來鳥不驚
the glade is ringed
in yellow wildflowers:
astir with bees.
the sunflower
catches warm afternoon sun,
but bees aren’t impressed.
sugarcane waves
with the passing of cars:
silver tassels mussed.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 