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World Literature readings (poetry)

KASHMIRI SONGby Juma

You never loved me, and yet to save me,One unforgetable night you gave meSuch chill embraces as the snow-covered heightsReceive from clouds, in northern, Auroral nights.Such keen communion as the frozen mereHas with immaculate moonlight, cold and clear.And all desire,Life failing fire,Died slowly, faded surely, and sank to restAgainst the delicate chillness of your breast.

(translated into English by Laurence Hope, 1865-

1904)

* * *

SUTTEEby Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949)

Lamp of my life, the lips of DeathHath blown thee out with their sudden breath;Naught shall revive thy vanished spark...Love, must I dwell in the living dark?

Tree of my life, Death's cruel footHath crushed thee down to thy hidden root;

Nought shall restore thy glory fled...Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?

Life of my life, Death's bitter swordHath severed us like a broken word,Rent us in twain who are but oneShall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?

* * *

LI FU-JENby Wu-ti (157-87 B.C.)

The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.On the marble pavement dust grows.Her empty room is cold and still.Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.Longing for that lovely ladyHow can I bring my aching heart to rest?

(Li Fu-jen was written by Wu-ti, sixth emperor of

the Han dynasty, when his mistress, Li Fu-jen died.

Unable to bear his grief, he sent for wizards from all

parts of China, hoping that they would be able to puthim into communication with her spirit. This English

translation by Arthur Waley is reprinted from One

Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems.)

* * *

LAMENT OF HSI-CHNby Hsi-chn

My people have married meIn a far corner of Earth:Sent me away to a strange land,

To the king of the Wu-sun.A tent is my house,Of felt are my walls;Raw flesh my foodWith mare's milk to drink.Always thinking of my own country,

My heart sad within.Would I were a yellow storkAnd could fly to my old home!

(About the year 110 B.C. a Chinese Princess named

Hsi-chn was sent, for political reasons, to be the

wife of a central Asian nomad king, K'un Mo, king ofthe Wu-sun. When she got there, she found her

husband old and decrepit. He only saw her once or

twice a year, when they drank a cup of wine together.

They could not converse, as they had no language in

common. English translation by Arthur Waley)

* * *

Basho, Matsuo (1644-1694).

The name Basho (banana tree) is a sobriquet he

adopted around 1681 after moving into a hut with a

banana tree alongside. He was called Kinsaku in

childhood and Matsuo Munefusa in his later days.

Basho's father was a low-ranking samurai from

the Iga Province. To be a samurai, Basho serviced for

the local lord Todo Yoshitada (Sengin). SinceYoshitada was fond of writing haikai, Basho began

writing poetry under the name Sobo.

During the years, Basho made many travels

through Japan. On his last trip, he died in Osaka,

and his last haiku indicates that he was still thinking

of traveling and writing poetry as he lay dying:

Fallen sick on a journey,In dreams I run wildlyOver a withered moor.

At the time of his death, Basho had more than

2,000 students.

Haikus:

An old pond!A frog jumps in -The sound of water.

The first soft snow!Enough to bend the leavesOf the jonquil low.

Povertys child he starts to grind the rice,and gazes at the moon.

No blossoms and no moon,and he is drinking sakeall alone!

Wont you come and seeloneliness? Just one leaffrom the kiri tree.

Temple bells die out.

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The fragrant blossoms remain.A perfect evening!