OLAV H. HAUGE ~

I Open the Curtain





Before I go to bed I open the curtains.

When I wake up I want to see the living dark

and the pines and the sky. I know a grave;

if you're there you do not see the stars.



Orion has arrived now in the west, hunting, hunting -

he has not come any farther than I have.

The cherry tree outside my window is naked and black.

The sky is a bell, dizzingly blue, where the hard

fingernail of the new moon is writing something.







Winter Morning




When I woke this morning the panes were frosted over,

but I glowed from a good dream.

And the stove poured out its warmth

from a woodblock it had enjoyed the whole night.






Across the Stump



It is the roots from all the trees that have died

out here, that's how you can walk

safely over the soft places.

Roots like these keep their firmness, it's possible

they've lain here centuries.

And there is still some dark remains

of them under the moss.

They are still in the world and hold

you up so you can make it over.

And when you push out into the mountain lake, high

up, you feel how the memory

of that cold person

who drowned himself here once

helps hold up your frail boat.

He, really crazy, trusted his life

to water and eternity.







One Word




One word

— one stone

in a cold river.

One more stone —

I'll need many stones

if I'm going to get over.







I Look At the Stamp



I look at the stamp on your first letter.

It's a month or more since it came.

During that time you've haunted this house,

called to me, frightened me, changed

from Ate to a green Erinye.

Today I got your photograph:

it is a girl sitting alone on some logs

near the darkening ocean.




___________________

Olav H. Hauge
Trusting Your Life
To Water and Eternity
chosen & translated by Robert Bly
Milkweed Editions, 1987 

TIM DLUGOS ~

New Music





The lovemaking grows more intense, not less.

Ten million men and women out of work

The price of a sound currency. Tim Page

Brings us "The New, The Old, The Unexpected,"

Two hours of new music every day,

Six hours of sleep, eight of work, and art

Simmers on the back burner with desire

For Fame, for Fortune, Rules: choose one, not both.



The reasons for not moving grow more lame.

Ten million stories in this naked city

And one of them is ours. I'm like Tim Miller

Spraying my name in paint upon my chest,

Reminding me of who I am. A man

By any other name's a refugee.

I shall not back away, but take my stand

Where love and honesty are one, not both.



It gets more complicated with the years

And less so. There must be ten million ways

Of making love, but all I need are three:

The new, the old, the unexpected. Grace

Is like New Music hitting with the foce

Of tidal waves, or like the atmosphere

So clear these mornings we forget it's how

We've always lived and breathed as one, no both.



I touch you on the eyes, and chest, and wrist.

Ten million dollars wouldn't change a thing,

The price of a sound mind. "Tim Dlugos knows,"

Voice-over from an old-time radio

Reminding me of where I used to be.

I'm here, and so are you. To make it art

Is easy when you're musical as we.

Live it or live with it: choose one, not both.




_________________________
Tim Dlugos (1950-1990)
A Fast Life
Collected Poems
Nightboat Books, 2011

RAINER MARIA RILKE ~

Buddha In Glory




Center of all centers, core of cores,

almond, that closes tightly in and sweetens, —

this entire world out to all the stars

is your fruit-flesh: we greet you.



Look, you feel how nothing any longer

clings to you; your husk is in infinity,

and there the strong juice stands and crows.

And from outside a radiance assists it,



for high above, your suns in full splendor

have wheeled blazingly around.

Yet already there's begun inside you

what lasts beyond the suns.





____________________

Rainer Maria Rilke
New Poems [ 1908 ]
translated by Edward Snow
North Point 1987

J.A. BAKER ~

My House of Sky by Hetty Saunders from Little Toller Books on Vimeo.

Little Toller Books

U.K.

2017

MIKE O'CONNOR (TRANSLATOR) ~

Overnight At A Buddhist 
Mountain Temple





Massed peaks pierce

the cold-colored sky;

a view the zazen hall

faces.



Shooting stars pass

into sparse-branched trees;

the moon one way,

clouds another.



Few people come

to this mountaintop;

cranes do not flock

in the tall pines.



One Buddhist priest,

eighty years old,

has never heard

of the world affairs.





______________________
Chia Tao (779-843)
Colors of Daybreak and Dusk
Tangram
1995

YOKEL ( 28 ) ~

Peaceable Kingdom

1

We went to the town fair

For the first time in our lives

To watch the work horses and

The work horses were there,

Somehow they never disappoint you

Led out from trailers in wraps

Of leather harness, some gilded

And special for the day —

The horses could teach anyone how

To stand, how to wait

Their heads turned the other way

From a stone sled loaded by six

Men and one more on a tractor

Who are having a difficult

Enough time managing each

Block weight onto the sled,

One after the other until

What is expected to pull

Gains to 3500 pounds and

Later double that

Three-man teams talked

Amongst themselves soon

Showing they had trouble

Of their own making

A horse pair obey —

Names Frank, Chris, Josey

Revealed an intimacy from

These tough men with bloody

Elbows dragged by reins

Along the stone sled down

A twelve foot course hollering

Hold up there! and watching

Their feet and legs aren’t

Crushed by this plowing

Entertainment drive

How does a trophy and 

One hundred fifty dollars

Grab you — awarded to the

Winner — the horse teams

Feel none of this, it is

Another day blinking

Flies and hasty sun,

Horse paired up to

Horse because they

Work best together

The least we could do

Would be to hope a little

More grain and hay came

Pitched down for them

That night, a rightful

Pat on the hind quarters,

And any of us can walk

Over to where horses

Huddle and with

No celebration or

Much of a sound,

Wait until one

Lifts his head and

Large eyes brighten

We meet

Manure

Has a way

When you’re not sure

Of having you place

That finger to your nose

Makes No Difference

Work horses

Stand in the rain

The sun, more rain

Bright leaves and snow

2

At the fair

This cow who

Knows this farmer

Won’t go easily

To the strange

Water tub tugged

By rope and hind

Legs holding back

The pinkest nostrils

Breathing ahead of

All its body along

A porcelain edge and

Always how massive

But somehow terrified

The great animal

3 

Head down grazing

Goose thumps into

Fence post

4

Out in the open midway

Of flea market sellers

Unwrapping their tables

Look to the sky

Wondering with a

Neighbor hawker if it

Will rain — and who

Knows, none of us —

But one old-timer

Under a canopy

Slowly unpacking his

Nest of goods took no

Mind to the rain that

Seemed to be falling

All of a sudden as he

Stepped out of the

Tent and dusted off

His hat announcing

To no one it was

Only fizzling

(to be continued next week)

______________

Bob Arnold

Yokel

Longhouse

2011

THE DIAMOND SUTRA ( RED PINE ) ~

R E A D       M E

HOBO COMPOSER ( HARRY PARTCH ) ~

University of Rochester Press

U.K.

2015

MIROSLAV HOLUB ~

Whale Songs


At two o'clock in the morning

I hear my mitral valve

from the depth of the dim, blood-filled tunnel

which is me. Cellular receptors

fit with a metallic click

into the locks

and the cells are me and the locks are me.

From some symphonic distance

there sounds the song of the whales,

and it contains me.



In some black castle

Sleeping Beauty has pricked herself on a thorn,

which is me. The clock has stopped

— in our house clocks stop at any moment

because she will prick herself at any moment,

on a tiny crock shard,

on a word,

on a milk tooth,

on a toy that has fallen into the gutter —

and so there's a still life, nature morte,

with me in the genetic background.



A paper kite stiffens in the air,

and yet, Einstein says, Time is always going, but never gone,

and yet, my mother says, ten years after her death,

Oh yes, oh yes,

and a clock starts again,

the Invisible passes through the room like a ball of lightning,

Sleeping Beauty lays eggs full of little spiders,

the whales re-enter the tunnel



and I start again

being the machine

for the production

of myself.



__________________

Miroslav Holub
The Rampage
translated from the Czech by David Young, 
Dana Habova, Rebekah Bloyd and the author
Faber 1997

TSERING WANGMO DHOMPA ~

from  a geography of belonging




Time, pinker than the dots

on her blue shirt. A name

wasn't decided because

the lama was travelling

in a foreign country. We

were careless with our

affections. Tiny clouds

were stitched on the baby's

cap. Would she need

happiness or money?

Clouds are for the sky,

says the elder. Breasts

are for milk. Would

we have walked across

the mountains if we

listened to our feet?





~





First came pictures of animals

not found in our zoo.

Then apparatus assembled

for our benefit because

we had no money in the bank.

Even in the old country

grass was boiled for dinner.

We learn from our elders

so when they said we were

poor, we knew our job

as children. The eldest

gave up school so the youngest

could be polished for reward.

How does this translate in

your language? How can

it be that the rich are thin and

the poor are fat where you live

wrote a little boy from far away.






______________________
Tsering Wangmo Dhompa
In the Absent Everyday
Apogee Press
2002




Tsering was raised in India and Nepal

KEITH WILSON ~