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I have to say that on a scale of awfulness this knackers the balance: 'It is an hour of magic' 'the small strings talk like a whisper' 'Sorrow between mandarin ducks' 'Ah false desire and fate' 'The bass strings are something like rain' - Jeez!! Best (laughing because it's a better choice than crying) Dave 2008/12/13 Jon Corelis <[log in to unmask]>: > Two Excerpts from The Classic Noh Theatre of Japan by Ezra Pound and > Ernest Fenollosa > > i > > A moon hangs clear on the pine-bough. The wind rustles as if > flurried with rain. It is an hour of magic. The bass strings are > something like rain; the small strings talk like a whisper. The deep > string is a wind voice of autumn; the third and the fourth strings are > like the crying stork in her cage, when she thinks of her young birds > toward nightfall. Let the cocks leave off their crowing. Let no one > announce the dawn. > > A flute's voice has moved the clouds of Sushinrei. And the > phoenix came out from the cloud; they descend with their playing. > Pitiful, marvelous music! I have come down to the world. I have > resumed my old playing. And I was happy here. All that is soon over. > > -- from Tsunemasa > > > ii > > Sorrow! -- > Sorrow is in the twigs of the duck's nest > And in the pillow of the fishes, > At being held apart in the waves, > Sorrow between mandarin ducks, > Who have been in love > Since time out of mind. > Sorrow -- > There is more sorrow between the united > Though they move in the one same world. > O low 'Remembering-grass', > I do not forget to weep > At the sound of the rain upon you, > My tears are a rain in the silence, > O heart of the seldom clearing. ... > > The stag's voice has bent her heart toward sorrow, > Sending the evening winds which she does not see, > We cannot see the tip of the branch. > The last leaf falls without witness. > There is an awe in the shadow, > And even the moon is quiet, > With the love-grass under the eaves. ... > > Ah false desire and fate! > Her tears are shed on the silk-board, > Tears fall and turn into flame, > The smoke has stifled her cries, > She cannot reach us at all, > Nor yet the beating of the silk-board > Nor even the voice of the pines, > But only the voice of that sorrowful punishment. ... > > -- from Kinuta (The Silk-Board) > > -- > =============================================== > > Jon Corelis http://jcorelis.googlepages.com/joncorelis > > =============================================== > -- David Bircumshaw Website and A Chide's Alphabet http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/ The Animal Subsides http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk