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
Also in Chapman, Scotland; Dick Russell issue, 1975
I remember reciting this at a poetry reading held in the grounds of the Moravian Close, Chelsea, just off the King's Road. Peter Porter read, as did Lucie-Smith, Norman Hidden and I. There was an Irishman among the small crowd that attended, a friend of the poet Joan Thomas who lived in one of the residences of Moravian Close. After I finished, he announced: "now there's a poem!" So I recited it again! A week or so later, I got a card from Joan Thomas when I was back up at Roughside, my rustic cottage in Northumberland. The Irishman had died within days of that poetry reading!
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