Category Archives: Poetry

“Drunk in the Fairyland” by Huang Tingjian [w/ Audio]

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In the face of heavy morning cloud again
   And drizzling evening rain,
 Leaning on each other, rugged the hills remain.

The Gorge of Witch and lofty peaks
   Lock in the Southern Palace rosy cheeks.

In spring the halberds move in force,
   Maids in fair dress welcome heroes on horse,
 To the riverside town they go only.

I come to the wasteland a thousand miles away,
   With my shadow so lonely.

How can I become cheerful and gay?

It is said the Southern land is so high,
   It nearly scrapes the sky.
 To the capital I stretch my eye,
   I see but misty water far and nigh.

When I drank in the hall,
   My friends were talents all.

Songstresses sang with rosy face
   And dancers danced with grace,
 Drunk, they intoxicated the place. 

Hearing the cuckoo's home-going song
   All the night long, 
 Could I resist my yearning strong?

Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, pp. 191-192.

Submerge [Haiku]

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a turtle
 slips into the water:
  no sound / no ripple.

Aesthete Levels [Free Verse]

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       Anyone
 can see beauty 
     in the flawless.

       Artists
 can see beauty 
     in the flawed.

       Sages
 can see beauty
     in chaos.

“Ode on Solitude” by Alexander Pope [w/ Audio]

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Happy the man, whose wish and care
   A few paternal acres bound,
 Content to breathe his native air,
                    In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
   Whose flocks supply him with attire,
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
                    In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find
   Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
 In health of body, peace of mind,
                    Quiet by the day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
   Together mixed; sweet recreation;
 And innocence, which most does please,
                    With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
   Thus unlamented let me die;
 Steal from the world, and not a stone
                    Tell where I lie.

BOOKS: “One Hundred Poems of Kabir (1915)” Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

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One Hundred Poems of KabirOne Hundred Poems of Kabir by Kabir
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

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Kabir was a fifteenth century Indian poet and mystic. This collection was translated by the Bengali Indian Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore, and Tagore’s stylistic imprint is felt in these poems. The poems are overwhelmingly of a mystic / spiritual nature. Kabir was non-sectarian but extremely oriented towards mystic belief. He references the Koran and Vedas alike, but is more likely to communicate in secular, if mystical, terms.

How much the godly emphasis works for the reader will vary greatly. For me it was a bit excessive, often reading more like prayers than poems, but your results may vary.

The only thing I found actually disturbing was the repeated romanticization of sati, a practice in use during Kabir’s lifetime in which widows would be burned alive on their husband’s funeral pyre. Kabir repeatedly writes of sati as if it was always a completely voluntary act of raw passion and connection and was never motivated by being old and destitute (not to mention being societally pressured or, even, physically forced into it.)

The poems are well composed and engaging, and if you can get past the periodic sati propaganda, it’s a pleasant, almost euphoric, read.

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“Because I Could Not Stop for Death” (479) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

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Because I could not stop for Death —
   He kindly stopped for me —
 The Carriage held but just Ourselves —
   And Immortality.

We slowly drove — He knew no haste
   And I had put away
 My labour and my leisure too,
   For His Civility —

We passed the School, where Children strove
   At Recess — in the Ring —
 We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain -
   We passed the Setting Sun -

Or rather - He passed us -
   The Dews drew quivering and chill -
 For only Gossamer, my Gown -
   My Tippet - only Tulle -

We paused before a House that seemed 
   A Swelling of the Ground -
 The Roof was scarcely visible -
   The Cornice - in the Ground-

Since then - ‘tis Centuries - and yet
   Feels shorter than the Day
 I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
   Were toward Eternity -

Green Fields [Haiku]

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the rice fields 
 are at their most verdant;
  scent of rain.

Cold River Sky [Haiku]

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clouds - low & textured -
 look yet angrier when seen
  in the cold river.

Cormorant Patience [Kyōka]

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the cormorant,
 glistening & dripping,
  must air dry 
 before it’s a bird again;
 humans cramp in the pool.

“There Is a Bird in the Tree” by Kabir [w/ Audio]

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On this tree is a bird:
   It dances in the joy of life.
 No one knows where it is:
   And who knows what the burden
     Of its music may be?
 Where the branches throw a deep shade,
   There does it have its nest:
     And it comes in the evening 
     And flies away in the morning,
     And says not a word 
       Of that which it means.
 None tell me of this bird 
     That sings within me.
   It is neither coloured nor colourless:
   It has neither form nor outline:
   It sits in the shadow of love.
   It dwells within the Unattainable,
     The Infinite, and the Eternal;
       And no one marks 
         When it comes and goes.
 Kabir says, “O brother Sadhu! 
   Deep is the mystery. 
   Let wise men seek to know 
     where rests that bird.”

NOTE: This is the translation by Rabindranath Tagore from the 1915 text, One Hundred Poems of Kabir. This is poem #30 (XXX) of that volume.