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Poems in Scotland, 2013
DATE: 26 February — 13 March 2013
PLACE: Edinburgh, St.Andrews, Nethy Bridge
The Meadows
A cocker spaniel runs through the park,
the long ears sweep the trailing eastern wind.
A rugby ball flies in heaven
ike a clown on the spinning top.
A lover cuddles up together in green,
without looking a bench.
An older isn’t nostalgic at his young days,
and gives a kiss to his wife walking abreast.
A herring gull folds their wings on the top of a chimney,
a baby opens their wings in pram.
A misty rain gives a song to our lips,
a girl student starts waving a baton in a silent orchestra.
The Meadows —
the park named that indifferently, today, is chatty.
(The Meadows, Edinburgh)
Greyfriars
Verses overflowed all of the sewers.
It was the gentle rain, but water was rising in my mind,
and my dying heart sought shelter at a kirkyard.
“My shelter is…a kirkyard ?”
When I was almost at a loss about it,
I saw a figure in front of a nodding grave on a wet lawn.
I asked him “Do you sought shelter too?”
He said nothing but his faint smile spoke “yes.”
He looked quite a gentleman.
I offered him shortbread, and he treated me
to a cup of crimson tea from a rusty graceful pot.
My dim lips sipped it, my heart was born again
or as if by knitting lamb’s wool into clothes.
As I was about to thank him from my new heart,
but he already was a deathly pale unspoken grave.
I go out to town and collect deadly verses again.
When I decay someday, I will sit close to a stray sheep
and treat him to a cup of warm silence from my pot.
(Greyfriars, Edinburgh)
Far North
Last night, at a pub,
a boy student said to me,
―Two main streets, and one beach.
that town has only these.
there is an end,
there is empty save for them.
At that town,
I’m walking on a hidden street,
I’m going down stairs melted by briny air,
and now I’m being blown by a grey sea.
Time reduced a cathedral to rubble,
a kirkyard have been laid down nakedly
on the ground ever since.
Young herring gulls lost sight of
their destination among land or sea,
and then, they are simply circling in the empty sky.
This sight looks like the edge of the world,
but sometimes, it glimmers dully like a ray of hope.
A gull suddenly cries behind me turning away.
―Empty.
That’s wilderness to begin,
that’s a voyage to begin.
(St.Andrews)
Zoo
I’m sitting at the window in foreign land,
and my eyes are looking out of vacant sky in silence.
They wonder about me
with walking along the street in orderly lines.
Nobody knows that
one poem is about to come into being in my eyes.
Armadillo,
you think so in the depths of your heart.
But you might as well know nothing who they are.
Camel elopes with Penguin
for unable longer to endure the loneliness of the desert.
Dolphin take up her paintbrush at her atelier
for unable to fit into swimming in groups.
You miss their life
though they are just now walking along the street
outside the window.
Loneliness are about to write a poem,
fall in love and paint a painting.
The universe is like a lonely zoo.
But nobody knows such a thing.
And meanwhile
the zoo greets the morning every day.
(St.Andrews)
And she is fifteen.
People are possessed, poets have past away long ago.
Nobody knows,
a red raincoat walking
in the tourists crowd on Lawnmarket,
a gray tree swaying silently like a specter
in the mists of kirkyard, Grayfrairs,
a black beggar dog roaming around Candlemaker Row
in the shape of a spiral,
a blue high dry sky sitting on the bench
at the top of Blackford Hill.
Nobody doubts all of these may be poets.
Then I was a little child.
He haunted in a garret in my house,
and my father talked with him about rugby
on the sofa of the living room night after night.
The lamp lighting up them, it invited sleep,
and I had a blanket in my arms with mutual regret,
I kissed my father good night, and strangely, him too.
The kiss bore poetry to my lips.
Now, lonely verse always bugs me to show the world,
with faking crying.
People are possessed, poets have past away long ago.
You don’t know that some of your verse were born
when your eyes met to poets’.
(the Frasers, Edinburgh)
Snow
I’ll tell you that day
Boy crossed the park for the first time in his life.
He had always wanted to walk,
on the grass green lawn spread all over the ground.
“This is the earth! It’s worth walking over there!”
Tiny insects whispered from the grass.
He sat on the bench and sucked candies.
He read comics, fell in love with a girl.
But he couldn’t know that
he could walk one way other than sidewalks in the park.
One day, the sky was jeweled with snow,
sidewalks were slick, roads were closed to traffic.
Adults walked slowly,
and his toes were cheerily dancing in his new snow boots.
I’ll tell you that day
Boy crossed the park for the first time in his life.
White roads, white sky, white houses, white woods―
A big greyhound galloped like a horse in the all white world.
Boy run after the greyhound avidly.
Boy run after his future that he couldn’t reach,
on the white lawn, in the all white world,
having only his beautiful pure white soul.
(The Meadows, Edinburgh)
A cocker spaniel runs through the park,
the long ears sweep the trailing eastern wind.
A rugby ball flies in heaven
ike a clown on the spinning top.
A lover cuddles up together in green,
without looking a bench.
An older isn’t nostalgic at his young days,
and gives a kiss to his wife walking abreast.
A herring gull folds their wings on the top of a chimney,
a baby opens their wings in pram.
A misty rain gives a song to our lips,
a girl student starts waving a baton in a silent orchestra.
The Meadows —
the park named that indifferently, today, is chatty.
(The Meadows, Edinburgh)
Greyfriars
Verses overflowed all of the sewers.
It was the gentle rain, but water was rising in my mind,
and my dying heart sought shelter at a kirkyard.
“My shelter is…a kirkyard ?”
When I was almost at a loss about it,
I saw a figure in front of a nodding grave on a wet lawn.
I asked him “Do you sought shelter too?”
He said nothing but his faint smile spoke “yes.”
He looked quite a gentleman.
I offered him shortbread, and he treated me
to a cup of crimson tea from a rusty graceful pot.
My dim lips sipped it, my heart was born again
or as if by knitting lamb’s wool into clothes.
As I was about to thank him from my new heart,
but he already was a deathly pale unspoken grave.
I go out to town and collect deadly verses again.
When I decay someday, I will sit close to a stray sheep
and treat him to a cup of warm silence from my pot.
(Greyfriars, Edinburgh)
Far North
Last night, at a pub,
a boy student said to me,
―Two main streets, and one beach.
that town has only these.
there is an end,
there is empty save for them.
At that town,
I’m walking on a hidden street,
I’m going down stairs melted by briny air,
and now I’m being blown by a grey sea.
Time reduced a cathedral to rubble,
a kirkyard have been laid down nakedly
on the ground ever since.
Young herring gulls lost sight of
their destination among land or sea,
and then, they are simply circling in the empty sky.
This sight looks like the edge of the world,
but sometimes, it glimmers dully like a ray of hope.
A gull suddenly cries behind me turning away.
―Empty.
That’s wilderness to begin,
that’s a voyage to begin.
(St.Andrews)
Zoo
I’m sitting at the window in foreign land,
and my eyes are looking out of vacant sky in silence.
They wonder about me
with walking along the street in orderly lines.
Nobody knows that
one poem is about to come into being in my eyes.
Armadillo,
you think so in the depths of your heart.
But you might as well know nothing who they are.
Camel elopes with Penguin
for unable longer to endure the loneliness of the desert.
Dolphin take up her paintbrush at her atelier
for unable to fit into swimming in groups.
You miss their life
though they are just now walking along the street
outside the window.
Loneliness are about to write a poem,
fall in love and paint a painting.
The universe is like a lonely zoo.
But nobody knows such a thing.
And meanwhile
the zoo greets the morning every day.
(St.Andrews)
And she is fifteen.
People are possessed, poets have past away long ago.
Nobody knows,
a red raincoat walking
in the tourists crowd on Lawnmarket,
a gray tree swaying silently like a specter
in the mists of kirkyard, Grayfrairs,
a black beggar dog roaming around Candlemaker Row
in the shape of a spiral,
a blue high dry sky sitting on the bench
at the top of Blackford Hill.
Nobody doubts all of these may be poets.
Then I was a little child.
He haunted in a garret in my house,
and my father talked with him about rugby
on the sofa of the living room night after night.
The lamp lighting up them, it invited sleep,
and I had a blanket in my arms with mutual regret,
I kissed my father good night, and strangely, him too.
The kiss bore poetry to my lips.
Now, lonely verse always bugs me to show the world,
with faking crying.
People are possessed, poets have past away long ago.
You don’t know that some of your verse were born
when your eyes met to poets’.
(the Frasers, Edinburgh)
Snow
I’ll tell you that day
Boy crossed the park for the first time in his life.
He had always wanted to walk,
on the grass green lawn spread all over the ground.
“This is the earth! It’s worth walking over there!”
Tiny insects whispered from the grass.
He sat on the bench and sucked candies.
He read comics, fell in love with a girl.
But he couldn’t know that
he could walk one way other than sidewalks in the park.
One day, the sky was jeweled with snow,
sidewalks were slick, roads were closed to traffic.
Adults walked slowly,
and his toes were cheerily dancing in his new snow boots.
I’ll tell you that day
Boy crossed the park for the first time in his life.
White roads, white sky, white houses, white woods―
A big greyhound galloped like a horse in the all white world.
Boy run after the greyhound avidly.
Boy run after his future that he couldn’t reach,
on the white lawn, in the all white world,
having only his beautiful pure white soul.
(The Meadows, Edinburgh)