Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind announces autumn, and the equinox rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. Somewhere beyond the Gorge Li Po is gone, looking for friendship or an old love's sleeve...
Beloved, let us once more praise the rain. Let us discover some new alphabet, For this, the often praised; and be ourselves, The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,...
Senlin sits before us, and we see him. He smokes his pipe before us, and we hear him. Is he small, with reddish hair, Does he light his pipe with meditative stare, And a pointed flame reflected in both eyes?...
Senlin, walking beside us, swings his arms And turns his head to look at walls and trees. The wind comes whistling from shrill stars of winter, The lights are jewels, black roots freeze....
It is evening, Senlin says, and in the evening, By a silent shore, by a far distant sea, White unicorns come gravely down to the water. In the lilac dusk they come, they are white and stately,...
Senlin, walking before us in the sunlight, Bending his small legs in a peculiar way, Goes to his work with thoughts of the universe. His hands are in his pockets, he smokes his pipe,...
In the hot noon, in an old and savage garden, The peach-tree grows. Its cruel and ugly roots Rend and rifle the silent earth for moisture. Above, in the blue, hang warm and golden fruits....
Rustling among his odds and ends of knowledge Suddenly, to his wonder, Senlin finds How Cleopatra and Senebtisi Were dug by many hands from ancient tombs. Cloth after scented cloth the sage unwinds:...
'And am I then a pyramid?' says Senlin, 'In which are caves and coffins, where lies hidden Some old and mocking hieroglyph of flesh? Or am I rather the moonlight, spreading subtly...
In cold blue lucid dusk before the sunrise, One yellow star sings over a peak of snow, And melts and vanishes in a light like roses. Through slanting mist, black rocks appear and glow....
I am a house, says Senlin, locked and darkened, Sealed from the sun with wall and door and blind. Summon me loudly, and you'll hear slow footsteps Ring far and faint in the galleries of my mind....
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise, And do the things my fathers learned to do....
I walk to my work, says Senlin, along a street Superbly hung in space. I lift these mortal stones, and with my trowel I tap them into place. But is god, perhaps, a giant who ties his tie...
That woman, did she try to attract my attention? Is it true I saw her smile and nod? She turned her head and smiled . . . was it for me? It is better to think of work or god....
It is noontime, Senlin says, and a street piano Strikes sharply against the sunshine a harsh chord, And the universe is suddenly agitated, And pain to my heart goes glittering like a sword....
Death himself in the rain . . . death himself . . . Death in the savage sunlight . . . skeletal death . . . I hear the clack of his feet, Clearly on stones, softly in dust; He hurries among the trees...
It is noontime, Senlin says. The sky is brilliant Above a green and dreaming hill. I lay my trowel down. The pool is cloudless, The grass, the wall, the peach-tree, all are still....
The pale blue gloom of evening comes Among the phantom forests and walls With a mournful and rythmic sound of drums. My heart is disturbed with a sound of myriad throbbing,...
It is evening, Senlin says, and in the evening The throbbing of drums has languidly died away. Forest and sea are still. We breathe in silence And strive to say the things flesh cannot say....
It is moonlight. Alone in the silence I ascend my stairs once more, While waves, remote in a pale blue starlight, Crash on a white sand shore. It is moonlight. The garden is silent....