interstate avenue octet

the ladybug, still awake in October,
scurries from one wet fallen leaf to the next—

in mist katsuras shed yellow foliage;
the red oak’s still-green leaves turn nearly silver—

walking the avenue I speak the trees’ names
as if speaking your own name to the wind’s gust—

clanging bell on the light rail barreling north;
canada geese move south through layered clouds


Jack Hayes
© 2016

Autumn Meditation

Autumn Meditation

 
Waning moon, 98.1 %
illuminated, climbing into cloud,
twilight fading - not blind nightfall, though
that will come –  margins of the visible:
blear line of the south mountain, Mars
sinking in the west, the Milky Way
shuttered, Altair and Vega estranged,
Zhinü’s silk endlessly webbing
subtle shiftless air.

Grey head bent over an ancient song –
lying alone by the cold river,
surprised by the evening of the year -
your lamp will not suffice.
And what of that 1.9 %
short of perfection? That ragged edge
of light, mouse-eaten against the dark?
Lyly claimed in all perfect shapes a
blemish brings a liking every way
to the eyes. Go to the window, love.
The nights grow long.


SGS
© 2016 





Image links to its source on Wiki Commons:
“Cloud Study, Moonlight”: Albert Bierstadt, circa 1860: oil on paper.
 Public domain.

wind storm quatrain

a junco in the broken eucalyptus
finds its voice in the wind’s suspended 4th chord—

I’m turning, turning away from jagged rain;
the crow just pecks, pecks in the emerald grass


Jack Hayes
© 2016

Aftermath

Aftermath

I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear
but a silver nutmeg and a golden pear.

So many shades of copper tinted orange,
orange tinted red, red washed out to evening’s
pink tints, late light in the breach,
and certain long shadows missing from the lawn.
Golden light on finches in and out of the hedgerow,
golden leaves of birch just turning,
golden edges of frost burnt hostas…

A point in time – now, for instance –
compression of desire. A point in space –
here, with a third quarter moon rising through
the maple and cows waiting at the gate –
expansion of desire. The walnut, still green, still
bearing pale, unripe fruit, sprawls on the grass, trunk split,
branches fractured; safe there from wind.


SGS
© 2016


Image links to its source:
The image was found at poemshape.wordpress.com. The image is by Eleanor Vere Boyle & dates to the 19th century; thus it’s in the public domain.

For more information on the epigraph, please see this link.

partridge sky

partridge sky


this winter sun—dreary so dreary—climbs past my locked window:
parasol trees must hate frosty nights returning—
wine’s all gone, better savor bitter tea instead;
& my dream’s cut short: borneol’s insistent, aromatic—
autumn’s already used up
but the days remain long:
like Zong Xuan’s homesick heart, but colder, more bitter—
it’s not as if happiness follows the intoxicating cup: don’t
forget yellow chrysanthemums budding by the eastern hedge


Jack Hayes
© 2016
based on Li Qingzhaho: 鷓鴣天
zhègū tiān


Notes:
Partridge Sky: This ci poem is set to an existing tune, which is "Partridge Sky".
Borneol: "Borneol is easily oxidized to the ketone (camphor). One historical name for borneol is Borneo camphor which explains the name.... Borneol is used in traditional Chinese medicine as moxa." 
Zong Xuan: Also known as Wang Can, a Han Dynasty poet, who composed 七哀诗 qī āi shī, usually translated as "The Song of Seven Sorrows". In addition, the final line alludes to some famous lines by Six Dynasties poet, Tao Yuanming, here in Arthur Waley's translation:

I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,
Then gaze long at the distant summer hills.
The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day:
The flying birds two by two return.
In these things there lies a deep meaning;
Yet when we would express it, words suddenly fail us.

The poem is posted today to mark the 重陽節 Chóng yáng jié or Double Ninth Festival; this falls on the ninth day of the ninth month of the lunar calendar, & is also known as the 菊節 Jú jié or Chrysanthemum Festival.

Thanks as always to my partner Sheila Graham-Smith for her invaluable research & editorial work.

Image links to its source on Wiki Commons:
Chrysanthemums: Xue Wu, 17th century, ink and gold on paper, Honolulu Museum of Art, accession 2312.1
Public domain

new moon quatrain

three crows hunched on the chain link fence in drizzle;
black bicycle locked to the corner staple,

which is blue—seven of spades on a sidewalk
dry patch: unseen halo around this black moon



Jack Hayes
© 2016

autumn meditation #1

autumn meditation #1


jade dew withers & maims the maple forest;
on Wu Mountain, in Wu Gorge, the air’s bleak & gloomy—

on the river, waves surge to meet the sky;
above the border pass, wind-blown clouds overshadow the earth—

chrysanthemums twice have brought on tears for the past;
a lonely boat the one link to my heart’s homeland—

reminders everywhere: winter clothes cut & measured;
over Baidicheng, twilight song of pounding stones


Jack Hayes
© 2016
based on Du Fu: 秋興八首 (一)
qiū xìng bā shŏu (yī)



Notes:
Over the next several weeks we’ll be posting our English language versions of Du Fu’s秋興, qiū xìng, or “autumn meditations” series. From a certain perspective, translation is always an impossible endeavor, & translating a poet as great as Du Fu should always be approached with humility. This is even more true when translating a major work like the 秋興, qiū xìng. I do hope our humble versions inspire readers to seek out other versions & also learn more about this truly remarkable poet.

The “meditations” are dense & packed with meaning & allusion, & so notes will be important.  The series was composed in 766 while Du Fu had settled in Kuizhou, specifically in Baidicheng (literally “White Emperor City”) in what is now Chongqing. Du Fu had again moved south after further turmoil in Chengdu forced him to leave behind his “thatched cottage” there, & he spent two years in Baidicheng on the Yangzi, & near Qutang Gorge. During his sojourn in this area, Du Fu wrote around 400 poems, including many of his most notable works.

This is the “Three Gorges” region of the Yangzi, & Wu Gorge, mentioned in the first line, is to the east. It’s also referred to as the Great Gorge, & is the middle of the three. Wu Mountain is north of Wu Gorge. Also in the first line: “jade dew” is a common trope for autumn.

The fourth couplet is of particular interest: based our Sheila’s research, in our reading the preparations for winter are serving to underline Du Fu’s homesickness, already raised in the third couplet. The sound of mallets striking cloth laid out on the pounding blocks was also a trope in Classical Chinese poetry. It typically evokes the melancholy feeling of autumn, as it’s an activity linked to that season. In addition, it can evoke feelings of longing for a spouse who’s absent; for a male poet, it can bring up the idea of a lost domesticity, while for a female poet (or a female speaker written by a male poet) it can bring up feelings of longing for a husband who’s far away, especially one who’s serving as a soldier. In fact, both Du Fu & Li Bai wrote poems in the voice of a woman engaged in clothes pounding while yearning for her husband who’s away in the army, serving in the border passes.

As always, I’m indebted to Sheila for her research & editorial work. We are both indebted to the notes & writings of Burton Watson, Stephen Owen, & William Hung—to name three of the most prominent Du Fu translators—as well as to Tu Fu's "Autumn Meditations": An Exercise in Linguistic Criticism: Tsu-lin Mei & Yu-kung Kao. Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, Vol. 28 (1968), pp. 44-80.



Image links to its source on Wiki Commons:Court Ladies Preparing Newly Woven Silk: Cropped from a Song dynasty painting attributed to Emperor Huizong in the style of Tang dynasty painter Zhang Xuan. Between 1100 and 1133. Indian ink and color on silk
Public domain