Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty,

Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems
Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire
The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles


It seems these poets have nothing
up their ample sleeves
they turn over so many cards so early,
telling us before the first line
whether it is wet or dry,
night or day, the season
the man is standing in,
even how much he has had to drink.

Maybe it is autumn
and he is looking at a sparrow.
Maybe it is snowing
on a town with a beautiful name.

"Viewing Peonies at the Temple
of Good Fortune on a Cloudy Afternoon"
is one of Sun Tung Po's.
"Dipping Water from the River
and Simmering Tea"
is another one, or just
"On a Boat, Awake at Night."

And Lu Yu takes the simple rice cake
with "In a Boat on a Summer Evening
I Heard the Cry of a Waterbird.
It Was Very Sad and Seemed To Be Saying
My Woman Is Cruel--Moved,
I Wrote This Poem."

There is no iron turnstile
to push against here
as with headings like
"Vortex on a String,"
"The Horn of Neurosis," or whatever.
No confusingly inscribed welcome mat
to puzzle over.

Instead, "I Walk Out on a Summer Morning
to the Sound of Birds and a Waterfall"
is a beaded curtain brushing
over my shoulders.

And "Ten Days of Spring Rain Have
Kept Me Indoors"
is a servant who shows me into the room
where a poet with a thin beard
is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine
whispering something about clouds
and cold wind,
about sickness
and the loss of friends.

How easy he has made it for me
to enter here,
to sit down in a corner,
cross my legs like his, and listen.

Billy Collins

Posted over on Poemhunter