‘Wild Sunflower’
Three poems by one of China’s most influential contemporary lyric poets The post ‘Wild Sunflower’ appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.
ValVades
Three poems by one of China’s most influential contemporary lyric poets
Photo by Jordan Cormack
The following poems are from From Here to Here, a collection of poems by the eminent Chinese poet Lan Lan. On Wednesday, July 22, Tricycle is hosting a reading at Poetry Society of America in Brooklyn featuring Lan Lan, Wang Jiaxin, and two other prominent contemporary poets. Sign up here to attend.
Wild Sunflower
Come autumn, this wild sunflower’s head
will be severed,
someone passing by
suddenly recalling in the early dusk
her face melding
with the sunset’s golden smoke
the whole boundless summer.
What passage then? What crossed horizons of buckwheat blooms?
Old tales drowned in grief
for which once more I perish.
Unreal wild sunflower. Unreal
voice, singing.
Autumn wind the poison thorn stabbing in my chest.
In My Village
In my village, time runs swift.
One flock of birds takes wing
as another lands.
Wind tells the scarf
summer’s coming.
Summer comes. Quail at noon
plunge through tall grass.
In the fields, foxtail
sees the wheat breed grain.
Whoever stops to cherish this
shall cherish me.
In my village
candlelight saves its window for a serenade.
Through the fragrance of roses,
go there. All night long,
the murmuring creek
restless in moonlight.
Rain in a Small Town
In rain, everything draws close,
wood-wheeled carts, black umbrellas,
the red door of home, freshly painted,
and just off work
my parents
at the worn table
recalling ordinary things
from years ago, their faces
plain as sculptor’s clay.
In rain, everything moves off,
the dripping Chinese parasol trees, blurred roads,
dim headlights. Past a curtain
sway dark human forms.
Gusts thresh the far grove.
A creaky windlass raises water.
Outside our rainy house
storefronts gaze on pavement.
Less familiar people.
Less familiar noise and silence.
I stand below a fir tree,
hear the old temple bell.
The harvest of the fields is in.
Through foggy mist,
a flame licks itself
like a Buddha lamp in a rundown temple.
♦
From From Here to Here: New and Selected Poems by Lan Lan, translated by Diana Shi and George O’Connell. Reprinted by permission of Slapering Hol Press.
Thank you for subscribing to Tricycle! As a nonprofit, we depend on readers like you to keep Buddhist teachings and practices widely available.
This article is only for Subscribers!
Subscribe now to read this article and get immediate access to everything else.
Already a subscriber? Log in.
