I like to see it lap the Miles --
And lick the Valleys up --
And stop to feed itself at Tanks --
And then - prodigious step
Around a Pile of Mountains --
And supercilious peer
In Shanties -- by the sides of Roads --
And then a Quarry pare
To fit its sides
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid -- hooting stanza --
Then chase itself down Hill --
And neigh like Boanerges --
Then - prompter than a Star
Stop - docile and omnipotent
At it's own stable door --
Once there came a man
Who said:
"Range me all men of the world in rows."
And instantly
There was a terrific clamor among the
people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who stayed in the bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
Whether on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the sun, that now
From antient melody have ceas'd;
Whether in Heav'n ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the earth,
Or the blue regions of the air,
Where the melodious winds have birth;
Whether on chrystal rocks ye rove,
Beneath the bosom of the sea
Wand'ring in many a coral grove,
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!
How have you left the antient love
That bards of old enjoy'd in you!
The languid strings do scarely move!
The sound is forc'd, the notes are few!
Throw the blue ball above the little twigs of the tree-tops,
And cast the yellow ball straight at the buzzing stars.
All our life is a flinging of colored balls
to impossible distances.
And in the end what have we?
A tired arm -- a tip-tilted nose.
Ah! Well! Give me the purple one.
Wouldn't it be a fine thing if I could make it stick
On top of the Methodist steeple?
After choosing one's scope of thought,
Turn the words and note their order.
Embrace the hot ones, feel their burn;
Knock on lines and hear their timbre.
Use the branches to shake the leaves,
And waves can be traced to their source.
Make the hidden come visible;
Make the difficult seem simple.
A tiger's transformation startles --
Birds take flight on sight of dragons.
Sometimes words nest into each other;
Sometimes, jaggedly, they won't mesh.
With a clear, contemplative mind
Hordes filter through to easy speech.
Heaven and Earth contained within:
All things flow from the brush with ease.
Starting timidly with dry mouth,
Ending with a wandering brush.
Meaning is borne by a stout trunk,
Language hangs like leaf and fruit.
Make words and intended meaning match
As moods show clearly on a face.
When happiness comes, laugh & smile,
And with sorrow let loose a sigh.
At times words flow spontaneously;
At times one bites one's brush, musing.
The Original in Simplified Chinese:
然后选义按部，考辞就班。
抱暑者咸叩， 怀响者毕弹。
或因枝以振叶，或沿波而讨源。
或本隐以之显，或求易而得难。
或虎变而兽扰，或龙见而鸟澜。
或妥帖而易施，或岨峿而不安。
罄澄心以凝思，眇众虑而为言。
笼天地于形内，挫万物于笔端。
始踯躅于燥吻，终流离失所于濡翰。
理扶质以立干，文垂条而结繁。
信情貌之不差，故每变而在颜。
思涉乐其必笑，方言哀而已叹。
或操觚以率尔，或含毫而邈然。
Yan grass shimmers like silken jade.
Qin mulberry trees' green leaves droop.
Your homecoming is now at hand
As heartbreak has me thin and stooped.
Spring Winds and I are strangers --
Why, past my curtains, the inward swoop?
Chinese Title: 春思; Original poem in Simplified Chinese:
燕草如碧丝， 秦桑低绿枝；
当君怀归日， 是妾断肠时。
春风不相识， 何事入罗帏？
Note: this is poem #7 in “300 Tang Poems” [唐诗三百首]
When the voices of the children are heard on the green
And whisp'rings are in the dale,
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.
Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Your spring & your day are wasted in play,
And your winter and night in disguise.
Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set
Whose crumbs the crows inspect
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the
Farmer's corn
Men eat of it and die
A birdie with a yellow bill
Hopped upon the window sill,
Cocked his shining eye and said:
"Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head?"
Slender grass waves in a light breeze;
Tall-masted boat rocks in the night.
Stars hang low, over the vast plain;
The river moon struggles for height.
I'll never gain fame by the brush --
Too old for civil service posts...
Wading, wading, what am I like?
A sandpiper on the mud coast!
The original in Chinese (Title: 旅夜書懷):
細草微風岸，
危檣獨夜舟。
星垂平野闊，
月湧大江流。
名豈文章著，
官應老病休。
飄飄何所似，
天地一沙鷗。
This is Poem 113 of “Three Hundred Tang Poems,” i.e. 唐诗三百首
Tiger Riding for Beginners 