More poems and contributor notes in Chinese feature
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Papa Osmubal
Bodhidarma
(after a sculpture by an unknown Chinese carver)
The roots partook
of the fire of the sea and rocks
The tree was like a saintly
monk that paid obeisance
And from its hoary flesh suddenly rose
the bright countenance of a sage
So peaceful and so mystic
like the hillocks and the mountains
Whose voice is that of blooming
flowers and lions and dawns and birds
Ordori-Nembutso
(after a sculpture by Kuyashonin)
Six saintly sages
dwelling in me:—
This I never knew
till last night
When I said my paean
much to my surprise
They came out
silent like the deep sky
And they’re all fireflies
flying towards infinity
And O all perfect eyes
burning in the dark
Intense like the sun
chaste like the sun
Early Macao Morning
The Chinese baker rises
earlier than the sun, the birds.
His motion is meticulously measured, restrained.
He is silent as his shadow.
After planting the joss sticks at the altar,
he pours his warm drink: the trickling of tea
shatters the morning stillness.
Then he sets out for work: the aroma of baking bread
and steaming dim sum wakes the city up.
(from Poet’s Jubilee Anthology, forthcoming The University of Macao, 2006.)
