Luís’s Reviews > Cathay > Status Update

The trees in my east-looking garden
are bursting out with new twigs,
They try to stir new affection,
And men say the sun and moon keep on moving
because they can't find a soft seat.
The birds flutter to rest in my tree,
and I think I have heard them saying,
«It is not that there are no other men
But we like this fellow the best,
But however we long to speak
He can not know of our sorrow.»

(...)
Riu's house stands out on the sky,
with glitter of colour
As Butei of Kan had made the high golden lotus
to gather his dews,
Before it another house which I do not know:
How shall we know all the friends
whom we meet on strange roadways?

The sun rises in south east corner of things
To look on the tall house of the Shin
For they have a daughter named Rauf, (pretty girl)
She made the name for herself: «Gauze veil,»
For she feeds mulberries to silkworms.
She gets them by the south wall of the town.
(...)

The phoenix are at play on their terrace
The phoenix are gone, the river flows on alone
Flowers and grass
Cover over the dark path
where lay the dynastic house of the Go
The bright cloths and bright caps of Shin
Are now the base of old hills

The Three Mountains fall through the far heaven
The isle of White Heron
splits the two streams apart
Now the high clouds cover the sun
And I can not see Choan afar
And I am sad.

Blue mountains to the north of the walls,
White river winding about them;
Here we must make separation
And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass,

Mind like a floating wide cloud,
Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances
Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance.
Our horses neigh to each other
as we are departing.

(...)
And if you ask how I regret that parting:
It is like the flowers falling at Spring's end
Confused, whirled in a tangle.
What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking,
There is no end of things in the heart.
I call in the boy,
Have him sit on his knees here
To seal this,
And send it a thousand miles, thinking.

The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew,
It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings,
And I let down the crystal curtain
And watch the moon through the clear autumn.

(...)
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

Blue, blue is the grass about the river.
And the willows have overfilled the close garden.
And within, the mistress, in the midmost of her youth,
White, white of face, hesitates, passing the door.
Slender, she puts forth a slender hand;

And she was a courtezan in the old days,
And she has married a sot,
Who now goes drunkenly out
And leaves her too much alone.

A partir de uma tradição que vem de Whitman e dos simbolistas franceses o verso livre tornou-se, em boa parte através das propostas imagistas (pelo menos no que respeita à poesia em língua inglesa), numa forma de expressão poética característica do nosso tempo. (...)