Of Distress Being Humiliated by the Classical Chinese Poets
by Hayden Carruth
Masters, the mock orange is blooming in Syracuse without scent, having been bred by patient horticulturists
To make this greater display at the expense of fragrance.
But I miss the jasmine of my back-country home.
Your language has no tenses, which is why your poems can never be translated whole into English;
Your minds are the minds of men who feel and imagine without time.
The serenity of the present, the repose of my eyes in the cool whiteness of sterile flowers.
Even now the headsman with his great curved blade and rank odor is stalking the byways for some of you.
When everything happens at once, no conflicts can occur.
Reality is an impasse. Tell me again
How the white heron rises from the reeds and flies forever across the nacreous river at twilight
Toward the distant islands.
[from Tell Me Again How The White Heron Rises And Flies Across The Nacreous River At Twilight Toward The Distant Islands (1989): New Directions]
Copyright © 1989, Hayden Carruth.
Reproduced for personal use only: do not circulate.