abo sa dila

May iniisip ka? Oo. Ano? Ayaw kong sabihin. Baka magkatotoo.

 
Dahil makulit ka
Kilala kita. Oo, ikaw 'yun: Nagkasalubong na tayo minsan, sa LRT, sa Gotohan, sa kanto ng Aurora at Katipunan. Nagkatinginan tayo. Hindi mo ako kinausap, pero alam ko, nakilala mo rin ako. Kaya ka narito, di ba? Para sabihing, Oo, oo, ikaw nga 'yun. Naaalala kita.
O, ha, Plurk, o, ha!
Radyo? Radyo?
Libreng humirit

Mag-exercise tayo tuwing umaga
Tambay ka muna
Lokal Kolor
Ano'ng hanap mo?
Basa lang nang basa
Tropa ko

    na, mula noong 24 Enero, 2006, ang nakitambay dito

wanna try my kung fu?
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Tangina. Kailangan kong matutong mag-intsik. Walang biro. Dahil astig ang mga oldies na makata nila. (Namin?)

Ewan.

***

The Weaker the Wine
Su Tung P'o (1036-1101)

“The weakest wine is better than warm water.
Rags are better than no clothes at all.
An ugly wife and a quarrelsome concubine
Are better than an empty house.”


The weaker the wine,
The easier it is to drink two cups.
The thinner the robe,
The easier it is to wear it double.
Ugliness and beauty are opposites,
But when you’re drunk, one is as good as the other.
Ugly wives and quarrelsome concubines,
The older they grow, the more they’re alike.
Live unknown if you would realize your end.
Follow the advice of your common sense.
Avoid the Imperial Audience
Chamber, the Eastern Flowery Hall.
The dust of the times and the wind of the Northern Pass.
One hundred years is a long time,
But at last it comes to an end.
Meanwhile it is no greater accomplishment
To be a rich corpse or a poor one.
Jewels of jade and pearl are put in the mouths
Of the illustrious dead
To conserve their bodies.
They do them no good, but after a thousand years,
They feed the robbers of their tombs.
As for literature, it is its own reward.
Fortunately fools pay little attention to it.
A chance for graft
Makes them blush with joy.
Good men are their own worst enemies.
Wine is the best reward of merit.
In all the world, good and evil,
Joy and sorrow, are in fact
Only aspects of the Void.

***

Banquet at the Tso Family Manor
Tu Fu (713-770)
The windy forest is checkered
By the light of the setting,
Waning moon. I tune the lute,
Its strings are moist with dew.
The brook flows in the darkness
Below the flower path. The thatched
Roof is crowned with constellations.
As we write the candles burn short.
Our wits grow sharp as swords while
The wine goes round. When the poem
Contest is ended, someone
Sings a song of the South. And
I think of my little boat,
And long to be on my way.

***

Sorrows of Departure
Li Ch'ing Chao (1084-1151)

Red lotus incense fades on
The jeweled curtain. Autumn
Comes again. Gently I open
My silk dress and float alone
On the orchid boat. Who can
Take a letter beyond the clouds?
Only the wild geese come back
And write their ideograms
On the sky under the full
Moon that floods the West Chamber.
Flowers, after their kind, flutter
And scatter. Water after
Its nature, when spilt, at last
Gathers again in one place.
Creatures of the same species
Long for each other. But we
Are far apart and I have
Grown learned in sorrow.
Nothing can make it dissolve
And go away. One moment,
It is on my eyebrows.
The next, it weighs on my heart.

***

Magnolia Hermitage
Wang Wei (701-761)

The autumn hills hoard scarlet from the setting sun.
Flying birds chase their mates,
Now and then patches of blue sky break clear—
Tonight the evening mists find nowhere to gather.

***

Zhu Yin Ta
Xin QiJi (1140-1207)

Precious hairpin, broken, halved
At the Peach-Leaf Ferry where
We parted; darkening mist and willow shround the place.
I dread to climb the tower-top stair;
Nine days out of ten wind raves, rain torrents race:
It breaks my heart to see the scarlet petals scatter one by one.
All this with nobody to care
Above it - who is there
To bid the oriole's singing cease?
From mirrored flowers that frame my face
I pluck the petals, try to foretell your return,
Counting and re-counting them a thousand ways.
By silken curtains dimly lit
Words borne of dreams fight in my throat for release.
It was he, the Spring, who brought on me this agony of grief;
Who knows where Spring now strays?
He did not guess he should have gone
Taking my grief in his embrace.
posted by mdlc @ 2:07 AM  
3 Comments:
  • At 2:06 AM, Blogger dreyers said…

    I read a book on Memory and Chinese Lit once, and it premised that immortality is simply being remembered after one is gone. More than that, that the best way to be remembered is to remember others, and the best way to remember is to write.

    I remembered the book because of "Sorrows of Departure." A similar poem was there, and it brought it all back.

    I wish I had a copy of that book so I could lend it to you. Baka meron sa Rizal lib? Stephen Owen. Remembrances: The Experience of the Past in Classical Chinese Literature.

     
  • At 12:16 PM, Blogger mikael said…

    aha. sige, hahanapin ko 'to. salamat sa timbre.

    at kumusta ka na?

     
  • At 2:48 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    may paborito kami ni Den, si Izumi Shikibu. :) ay pero teka, Japanese siya. hihi.

    - twinkle

     
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