February 2018
Robert Wexelblatt
wexelblatt@verizon.net
wexelblatt@verizon.net
NOTE: Here are two poems by the imaginary Sui Dynasty peasant/poet, Chen Hsi-wei. I have been writing stories about Hsi-wei for some time now. Most of the tales include poems for which the narratives account.
Yellow Moon at Lake Weishan
Weishan lies cool and still as a forgotten bowl of tea,
the moon immobile as a yellow disk embroidered
on a gown of black silk heavy with pearls.
As time is change, so these motionless bamboo leaves,
these reeds standing to attention like proud veterans,
yield a moment without war, decay, turmoil, age.
I too am still in this moment, captivated by
the moonlight on the enchanted lake, silver and gold.
The moon on the water looks so precious and enchanting,
I reach out to touch it and so, with my foolish hand,
spoil eternal peace.
Alas! If only I had refrained.
Justice
Lord Zhang Siyu paced grumpily until
his second wife set things right with
no more than a small adjustment to his sash.
Meiling waited until her brother got up
to pee then moved her toy duck
to the right side of her yellow pillow.
Wu’s mother-in-law looked at what her son’s
new wife had done: nothing in its proper place.
Uncomplaining, she put all the pots to rights.
The world’s a wavering rope-walker whose
apparent stability is really the ceaseless
setting right of countless imbalances.
Yellow Moon at Lake Weishan
Weishan lies cool and still as a forgotten bowl of tea,
the moon immobile as a yellow disk embroidered
on a gown of black silk heavy with pearls.
As time is change, so these motionless bamboo leaves,
these reeds standing to attention like proud veterans,
yield a moment without war, decay, turmoil, age.
I too am still in this moment, captivated by
the moonlight on the enchanted lake, silver and gold.
The moon on the water looks so precious and enchanting,
I reach out to touch it and so, with my foolish hand,
spoil eternal peace.
Alas! If only I had refrained.
Justice
Lord Zhang Siyu paced grumpily until
his second wife set things right with
no more than a small adjustment to his sash.
Meiling waited until her brother got up
to pee then moved her toy duck
to the right side of her yellow pillow.
Wu’s mother-in-law looked at what her son’s
new wife had done: nothing in its proper place.
Uncomplaining, she put all the pots to rights.
The world’s a wavering rope-walker whose
apparent stability is really the ceaseless
setting right of countless imbalances.
© 2018 Robert Wexelblatt
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