but this one made perfect sense.
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married my Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
For ever and for ever and for ever.
Why should I climb the look out?
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-yen, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noises overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the west garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-sa.
yes that one resonated. i think of it often. often when i am mundanely going to meet someone—my mind hears me saying something like ‘yeah and i can come meet you’ and quietly adds ‘As far as Cho-fu-sa.’
i just got the text up there from here—an essay on a website called Ralph Mag—which essay seems to be largely about how weird ezra pound is when you are in college. i dig! :
To most of us English majors from so many years ago, the poet Ezra Pound made no sense whatsoever. We tried to figure out whatever appeared in our anthologies. We often wondered if our professors could help: they usually couldn’t….Pound was the poet’s poet but to us he came from another planet. Not the least of his bizarre activities was his broadcasting over Italian short-wave during WWII long eulogies for the Mussolini government…. We could be in love with the drunken Dylan Thomas throwing up during his readings and then going out feeling up young ladies who attended his parties, but speeches In Praise of Benito Mussolini? No.