Now is No Time

A look full glance
the head turned
 returned
by a walking girl
swinging her skirt

should we follow through
the evening street
now fallow 
with the summer heat

lone girl
bare feet walking
turning in a doorway
out of the heat
and passion 
       simmers
             in the street

thinking all the time
ideas all the time tangle

a blue pool
lay in the lap
of green willows

a synthetic idea
compounded by
a bridge
bone china

lulling labels
advertise fables
now is no time



©  Dick Russell, 2013, 2023

 On Once Hearing Tung Play the Lute

for Lady Tsi's melody

music such as a breeze would blow

by a spring among reeds and willow tree

 

eighteen verses sung so sadly hard men cried

our envoy hearing her story

wept tears on his sleeve

shuddered with grief

 

first bass resounded then treble

leaves in the Forest trembled

war warnings by beacons 

fire flashed from wilderness hilltops to home

whole country covered with dark white snow

 

for his melody

Tung like Orpheus learned music from the gods

demons crept from deep forest to hear him

birds flew up circled around

his music gathered all in

 

slow fast

foreboding

brightening

fading

crescendo   clouds

clear skies east

a young swift came flying

now a child screamed in the wilderness

 

dawn

by the shore of a smooth sea

waves flat 

birds silent

exiles in the north 

men living apart

remembering their homes

sadness receded

for a moment

Tung comforts them 

 

melancholy

              majestic

suddenly set free

by a long gust of wind shaking trees

sudden rain drumming on roof tiles

torrents tree trunks

branches swept by flash floods

wild deer come running

 

Don’t make Tung play for the Emperor

let his music stay free

unspoiled by fortune or fame

we wish he’ll visit again

Li Ch’I

translated by David Sen, interpreted by Dick Russell

copyright © Russell and Sen

                2017, 2023

 Near Khan Market, New Delhi 2008

If not for leavings in unswept streets
would cows roam free and stray dogs eat?

to Lodhi Gardens from the Taj at dawn
stepping into the street off the pavement
when not yet light to avoid a family’s sleeping feet
bare white soled where their business was
then before breakfast crossing the road 
to walk a circuit of Muslim tombs
entering well kempt gardens through park gates
joining others brought by car
then back past General Badhwar’s house

to
ham rashers
fried eggs 
toast
not yet reading India Legal

reading Sniffing Papa.


Copyright © Dick Russell 2016, 2023

The Lutenist’s Melancholy

She roams my love

so softly love she roams

these grim districts

where homeless queue

for beds in tenements

to each she brings

to each unsmiling face

she brings her love 

her smile    soft words

her best encouragements

she stays my love

so softly love she stays

by those   these flight-

less wounded doves

she soothes    she sings laments

So roams a child

so hopefully she roams

these streets    these squares

will she survive

all these impediments?

she roams my love

so softly love she roams

by these in need

these folk at bay

huddled on cold pavements

she hears my love

so softly love she hears

the quiet curses

of the poor    words

without embellishments

          © Dick Russell, 2013, 2023

 Death is just a crook

When sleepless I composed these lines of verse   

as if playing chess pieces blind

carefully moving words   no phrase too terse

to check the flow   like paring apple rind

in a curling helix-like state of mind

time like a spring

compresses dreams into plaited strands that bind to 

positions played long ago   ticking

into eternity   self to play thus going

on

awake I review these lines and

plumb those pools of reverie I fished

with barbless hooks that caught not what I wished

but snagged seaweed in my subconscious mind

detritus of times forgotten times missed

when brash and bold once long ago   unkind

memories from long ago flicker 

coffee’d    pick up the threads of life

the mind must clear    must curl up in its nook

to comprehend in absences mistook

more often than silence is   as meaningful

that life plays to win   death is just a crook

in the road   seen moves ahead by careful

players who know a void is a void is annul

© Dick Russell, 2013. 2023