Three Poems
Yi Lu
Look at the Sunset
How large, how red the setting sun
blocked by a building, it shows only a rim
I run to the study window
to see its left half
I run to the kitchen window
to see its right half
I run to and fro in the room
thinking the sun also longs to peek at me
That Bouquet of White Flowers
that bouquet of white flowers
why so white
that bouquet of white flowers
isn't that white
just because at that instant
white was white's bottom line
white above black
Because There is Awakening
plainly for a few hours
the brain is empty
since when
even emptiness is gone
because there is awakening
I know that is sleep
insomnia was once
a small cache of weapons
wrestling in the edgeless dark
emptiness a fruit that life breeds painfully and finely
one after another
bridging together . . .
How large, how red the setting sun
blocked by a building, it shows only a rim
I run to the study window
to see its left half
I run to the kitchen window
to see its right half
I run to and fro in the room
thinking the sun also longs to peek at me
That Bouquet of White Flowers
that bouquet of white flowers
why so white
that bouquet of white flowers
isn't that white
just because at that instant
white was white's bottom line
white above black
Because There is Awakening
plainly for a few hours
the brain is empty
since when
even emptiness is gone
because there is awakening
I know that is sleep
insomnia was once
a small cache of weapons
wrestling in the edgeless dark
emptiness a fruit that life breeds painfully and finely
one after another
bridging together . . .
translated from the Chinese by Fiona Sze-Lorrain