CHINESE POETRY SAMPLER: TOWN LIFE

Sun’s in the East,

her loveliness

Comes here

To undress.

Twixt door and screen

at moonrise

I hear

Her departing sighs.

ALITER

Rabbit goes soft-foot, pheasant’s caught,

I began life with too much elan,

Troubles come to a bustling man.

“Down Oh, and give me a bed!”

Rabbit soft-foot, pheasant’s in trap,

I began life with a flip and flap,

Then a thousand troubles fell on my head,

“If I could only sleep like the dead!”

Rabbit goes soft-foot, pheasant gets caught.

A youngster was always rushin’ round,

Troubles crush me to the ground.

I wish I could sleep and not hear a sound.

HUANG NTAO

Yaller bird, let my corn alone,

Yaller bird, let my crawps alone,

These folks here won’t let me eat.

I wanna go back whaar I can meet

the folks I used to know at home.

I got a home an’ I wanna’ git goin’.

Yalla’ bird, let my trees alone,

Let them berries stay whaar they’z growin’,

These folks here ain’t got no sense,

can’t tell ’em nawthin’ without offense,

Yalla’ bird, lemme, le’mme go home.

I gotta home an’ I wanna’ git goin’.

Yalla’ bird, you stay outa dem oaks,

Yalla’ bird, let them crawps alone,

I just can’t live with these here folks,

I gotta home and I want to git goin’

To whaar my dad’s folks still is a-growin’

RENDEZ-VOUS MANQUE

Neath East Gate willows

’tis good to lie.

She said:

“this evening.”

Dawn’s in the sky.

Neath thick willow boughs

’twas for last night.

Thick the close shade there.

The dawn is axe-bright.

“PLANNERS” RAW DEAL

770 B.C. approx.

Heaven’s worry, scurries to earth;

twisty planning, what’s to block it?

At sight of good plan, they turn to rotten again,

the sight of their planning

gives me a pain.

First say yes, then say no;

good plan, no go,

but a rotten they dress in flummery,

the sight of their planning worries me …

Our active designers

don’t like old ways—

irked by the solid symmetrical—

but let ’em hear the sound of a phrase,

they’ll quarrel over it days and days

as builders who change for the last thing told ’em

never get a house to hold ’em.

State

all a wobble,

scanners and boobs—

a few left to gobble—

bright boys and planners,

some who’ll “take trouble”

all of a bubble

down into quicksand.

DECADE OF T’ANG

The “people” are not in the least perverse

the high-ups rob, cheat ’em and do worse,

then tell you they haven’t sufficient power,

polite while you’re there,

jip you next hour,

and then say calmly: It wasn’t me.

I have therefore compiled this balladry.