Sunday, November 30, 2014


               Lines For Beckett

                          13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989







                      He who propels life forward to death
                 from April to December
                             by day    by night
                                                   for many cycles of spring
                                                                       musing
                               to blind tides  
                                         deaf skies

                     a kind man
                    with unwithered love
                               of all mankind
                                           he who propels
                                                                        a woman
                            in a wheelchair                                                            towards us
                                       she  who propels                                                             destiny

                    We hide from the knowledge in their eyes
                   we want life to go on forever
                                                                                                                  sun always shining
                                 if it rains
                                        we want a rainbow




                                      © Dick Russell, 2014




Sunday, November 2, 2014



                       Song of the Palace*

                                                                by Po-Chu-Yi 


Heartbroken
hankies drenched with tears
exhausted with grief
they still cannot sleep

at the loneliest time of night
when snatches of song gust through the Palace
music throbs
walls tremble

she who is not even old
who has lost the King’s love
weeps until dawn

by damp clothes spread out to dry
by long dresses maids have laid to one side


ENVOI**



diverting attention
ripened fruit falls
caught by a mosaic floor

perfectly ripe
young women preen
she not even old wipes tiles clean


filled with remorse

a widow who sent her husband to war

to seek fame




            *translated by David Sen
            an early version published in Chapman
            Vol III, No.4 “Dick Russell” issue
            1975; Editors: Walter Perrie, Joy Hendry, R. R. Calder
            re-interpreted Dick Russell © 2014

            **copyright © Dick Russell 2014

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