Jim's posting of that wonderful Li Po poem reminded me of this one, written after spending a day roaming the halls of an exhibition of T'Ang and Sung artifacts.
Loses himself in eternity"
- Li Po, On A Picture Screen
Unroll the silk scroll carefully . . .
It is a delicate yet timeless thing.
Its colors, faded to subtle tints,
Float above the surface as though
Brush were still poised to paint,
Revealing layers of art and dream.
In the foreground a small village,
A woman bent over a rice paddy,
Children playing by a stream and
The splash of gold and silver koi
They will never quite catch . . .
An ox and cart paused on a path
To a broad valley that rises as
A stream falls from the mountain,
Ominous and majestic, all crags
And forbidding steep ravines worn
By water and wind; stone altars
Rising and falling and rising again
At the whims of ancient gods.
Unroll the silk scroll carefully . . .
In the valley stands a man alone,
Gazing at the thrust of misty rock,
The summit hidden by clouds.
A stranger there, on a pilgrimage
Perhaps, an old man's last wish
To see what he had only dreamed.
He stands near a small waterfall,
Looking up at the rills the stream
Has carved deep in the mountain
With the softness of snow-melt . . .
The heavens waiting there for him.
For four hundred years he has
Been poised there, mist and cloud
And pines obscuring the hidden path . . .
Hearing the silky serenity of water,
The cold haunting laughter of gods
In wind sharpened by the rocky scarp.
Roll the silk scroll carefully . . .
Leave it for another to discover
The mountain shrouded in clouds,
The stream forever falling to valley,
Traveler paused in endless journey;
Know that he, and we, are changed,
Though we never take another step.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 655 times
Written on 2010-11-12 at 16:31
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Sacred Scroll
"Whoever looks on this,Loses himself in eternity"
- Li Po, On A Picture Screen
Unroll the silk scroll carefully . . .
It is a delicate yet timeless thing.
Its colors, faded to subtle tints,
Float above the surface as though
Brush were still poised to paint,
Revealing layers of art and dream.
In the foreground a small village,
A woman bent over a rice paddy,
Children playing by a stream and
The splash of gold and silver koi
They will never quite catch . . .
An ox and cart paused on a path
To a broad valley that rises as
A stream falls from the mountain,
Ominous and majestic, all crags
And forbidding steep ravines worn
By water and wind; stone altars
Rising and falling and rising again
At the whims of ancient gods.
Unroll the silk scroll carefully . . .
In the valley stands a man alone,
Gazing at the thrust of misty rock,
The summit hidden by clouds.
A stranger there, on a pilgrimage
Perhaps, an old man's last wish
To see what he had only dreamed.
He stands near a small waterfall,
Looking up at the rills the stream
Has carved deep in the mountain
With the softness of snow-melt . . .
The heavens waiting there for him.
For four hundred years he has
Been poised there, mist and cloud
And pines obscuring the hidden path . . .
Hearing the silky serenity of water,
The cold haunting laughter of gods
In wind sharpened by the rocky scarp.
Roll the silk scroll carefully . . .
Leave it for another to discover
The mountain shrouded in clouds,
The stream forever falling to valley,
Traveler paused in endless journey;
Know that he, and we, are changed,
Though we never take another step.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 655 times
Written on 2010-11-12 at 16:31
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
