Through shallow fields
of dwarf bamboo
clinging to our waist
We cannot soar through the sky
but must go on foot.
We go through the sea,
and through the water
clinging to our waists
on a broad river,
we hesitate in the sea.
The beach plover
does not fly over the beach
but follows the rocky strand.
Jasmine bloom and butchered bull.
Endless paving. Map. Room. Harp. Dawn.
The girl feigns a jasmine bull
and the bull’s a bleeding sunset, bellowing.
If the sky were a tiny child,
half the jasmines’ night would be darkness,
the bull a blue arena without matadors,
and a heart at the foot of a column.
But the sky’s an elephant,
and jasmine bloodless water.
The girl’s a bough by night
on the huge dark paving.
Between the bull and the jasmine
either marble claws or people sleeping.
In the jasmine, an elephant and clouds
and in the bull the girl’s skeleton.
Federico Garcia Lorca
This perfectly still
Spring day bathed in the soft light
From the vaulted sky,
Why do the cherry blossoms
So restlessly scatter down?
Ki no Tomonori
In early dawn,
The setting moon still glimmers
Above the mountain rim,
But even were no such wall to hide it,
The rising haze would still obscure the sky.
Fujiwara no Teika
…And human life shall seem
Like a short and happy dream
Ere we wake in the daybeam of the skies.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
He was walking a frozen road
in his pocket iron keys were jingling
and with his pointed shoe absentmindedly
he kicked the cylinder
of an old can
which for a few seconds rolled its cold emptiness
wobbled for a while and stopped
under a sky studded with stars.
The stars shone…as if they were zero signs
written in the sky
which was like a hide black with the ink of darkness,
with the Moon as a piece of chalk,
by the Creator reckoning the extent of the universe,
because of the total emptiness (of the universe)