Humans have been hunters,
gatherers,
farmers,
machines,
thinkers,
and creators,
And have no idea what we'll next be.
I think that people will next be
-- simply --
Human Beings,
Full-time Human Beings --
More Human,
More Being...
And many will fail spectacularly.
She's slender hands and pretty lips,
And seafoam and rosemary.
Her ears are pointed at the tips,
She stayed so long in Fairy.
Towards noon fleecy clouds waft in the gentle breeze;
I cross the stream amid flowers and willow trees.
What do the worldlings know about my hearty pleasure?
They'd only take me for a truant fond of leisure.
Note: This is the joint translation of Xu Yuanchong and Xu Ming found in the edition of Golden Treasury of Quatrains and Octaves on which they collaborated (i.e. China Publishing Group: Beijing (2008.))
We should not mind so small a flower
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the Lawn again -
So spicy her Carnations nod -
So drunken, reel her Bees -
So silver, steal a hundred flutes
From out a hundred trees -
That whoso sees this little flower
By faith, may clear behold
The Bobolinks around the throne
And Dandelions gold.
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.
mountain springtime:
dust cleared by falling water,
climbers swell & green.
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!
old stone bridge:
weeds grow in its cracks,
its river ran dry.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 