Moving through the Great Spontaneous, Blender blades barely missing -- In fact, sometimes nicking.
The accumulation of those nicks Is aging. It takes an ever-defter dance to keep The damage buildup to a constant pace -- Not letting it blitz one, Or pull one into the turbine: Like a goose through The turbofans of a 787. A goose may kill a plane, But becomes dust in the process. When one surrenders to the choppers One will not have the satisfaction Of killing the vehicle, Of bringing it all down. The Universe will go on, And one's molecules will become Something new.
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth, Stealing my breath of life, I will confess I love this cultured hell that tests my youth. Her vigor flows like tides into my blood, Giving me strength erect against her hate, Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood. Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state, I stand within her walls with not a shred Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer. Darkly I gaze into the days ahead, And see her might and granite wonders there, Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand, Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons, All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old, Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love, A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother, Chair’d in the adamant of Time.
The summer sun is sinking low; Only the tree-tops redden and glow: Only the weathercock on the spire Of the neighboring church is a flame of fire; All is in shadow below.
O beautiful, awful summer day, What hast thou given, what taken away? Life and death, and love and hate, Homes made happy or desolate, Hearts made sad or gay!
On the road of life one mile-stone more! In the book of life one leaf turned o'er! Like a red seal is the setting sun On the good and the evil men have done,-- Naught can to-day restore!
My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish'd air, By love are driv'n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.
His face is fair as heav'n, When springing buds unfold; O why to him was't giv'n, Whose heart is wintry cold? His breast is love's all worship'd tomb, Where all love's pilgrims come.
Bring me an axe and spade, Bring me a winding sheet; When I my grave have made, Let winds and tempests beat: Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!
In half of the wide courtyard only mosses grow; Peach blossoms all fallen, only rape flowers blow. Where is the Taoist planting peach trees in this place? Only I come again after my new disgrace.
Note: This is the joint translation of Xu Yuanchong and Xu Ming found in the edition of <em>Golden Treasury of Quatrains and Octaves</em> on which they collaborated (i.e. China Publishing Group: Beijing (2008.))
The “new disgrace” referenced was Liu Yuxi’s second exile.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 