If we watch the trail And listen to the trees; Squirrels chatter In ancient languages, A moon can rise From behind a flower, You will capture The wind with your hair, The sun with your eyes, And balance your burden So it is light. —…
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Upon the hard crest of a snow-drift We tread, and grown quiet, we walk On towards my house, white, enchanted; Our mood is too tender for talk. — ANNA AKHMATOVA
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天涯也有江南信, 梅破知春近。 夜阑风细得香迟, 不道晓来开遍、向南枝。 – 黄庭坚《虞美人·宜州見梅作》 Even at the edge of the world, whispers of Jiangnan unfold, Plum blossoms burst, proclaiming spring’s approach. Late in the night, their fragrance drifts on a tender breeze. Unaware that by dawn, blooms full on south-facing branches. — Huang…
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I go down to the edge of the sea. How everything shines in the morning light! The cusp of the whelk, the broken cupboard of the clam, the opened, blue mussels, moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred— and nothing at all whole or shut,…
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time has acquired a stillness, the hour breathes over a wine jug, it’s late, the last blows have been traded, a clinch and a hang on the ropes before the bell—I give the world to anyone who wants it, let them be happy: — Gottfried…
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