Poem of the Moon

                             

                                Poem of the Moon

                                                                 by Po-Chu-Yi

                                            (to those adrift in troubled times)

                                            Now in these times of strife

                                            famines follow disasters

                                            lands unploughed and wasted

                                            our inheritance goes empty

                                            brothers  sisters   drifting

                                            going east going west

                                            while this war continues

                                            they cannot meet   or

                                            direct their steps home

                                            where doors bang in the wind

                                            gardens lie ruined

                                            they are my flesh my blood

                                            yet they drift down strange roads

                                            dragging lonely shadows

                                            through far countries

                                            unable to lean on a friend

                                            like a solitary bird

                                            blown thousands of miles

                                            like uprooted grass

                                            scattered in the wind

                                            alone

                                            cut off from home

                                             now we all look up at the moon

                                             in five different places

                                             the same thought clouds our eyes

                                             and we weep

                                                     Po-Chu-Yi

                                                    T'ang Dynasty

                                            translated by David Sen, Dick Russell

                                Published in 2nd Aeon, Wales, editor Peter Finch,1971
                                Also in Chapman, Scotland; Dick Russell issue, 1975

Seeing North Light

Seeing North Light

Our eyes inhabit all there is to see

our dreams file visions by each shade of light

that exists   like air   like rain   light is free

who does not remember with great delight

a breeze moving leaves   impressions of sight

and sound   that brush us watching silently

aware that we will remember its weight

one day when we ponder eternity

Spring breezes knock cherry blossom down

even while rufous humming birds hover

sipping and waiting in dull green and brown

for the descent of a bright winged lover

stooping to surprise like a windhover

and the weight of a hummingbird is small

as light as the hurt of a plover

dragging its wing with a desperate call

Often one senses a rare moment

in time   in clear sunlight    close to nature

but in dim candlelight meant to foment

emotions   needing only a signature

for completeness   a sign of its stature

among moments   in Moscow Road one night

dining in a bistro   still in rapture

seeing in her eyes glimpses of north light

Was seeing north light in her eyes as true

as watching a kingfisher fish a pool?

lies by dim candlelight enter on cue

leaves in water drawn into a whirlpool

needing her light as a weaver needs wool

wanting her gaze to make his fabric bright

with beautiful colors fed from his spool

that glow at dusk reflecting the sunlight

Rocks erode polished by time's blunt tool

and meaning crumbles brushed by words too long

crows perch on memories   teaching life's school

taint the light with doubts   making right 
                                                         seem wrong

                                                copyright Dick Russell 2014


An earlier version first published in
Chapman, No. 39, 1984; Edinburgh, Scotland
Editor Joy Hendry