This is the second day of the dead, the time when the veils between worlds are thin, maybe non-existent.
A few years back, I was given news that an acquaintance had died two months previously.
I think the fact that I got the news so late shocked me and there was the confusion that sometimes happens when confronted with the death of someone we never knew very well –
It’s an interesting question.
Because it implies there’s a blueprint for how we should feel in certain situations. But feelings are feelings. We feel how we feel.
That night I wandered around in the cold,
after reading some translations of Li Po (or Li Bai)
by David Hinton.
While I was outside, I saw a light flash on and off up on the mountainside above the road.
Who would be up there in this cold, at this time of night? I waited for a few minutes – no more flashes. Was it a hallucination?
I suppose the poem is centered around mortality, transcience:
mine and everyone else's...
After Li Po
News of a death. Two months gone.
The full moon polishes leftover snow on a distant cliff.
I did not know her well – and what does that mean?
My shadow moves through the shadow of a dead sunflower.
The moon circles through bare branches.
I see her face. What were the last words we said to each other?
Everything, absolutely everything tonight, is porous.
My fingers touch the cold, the reflected light, other shadows …
A small light flickers on the black mountainside, disappears.
Who could be up there? Dry stalks rub together:
The sound of shadows wandering, looking for the Ancient Way.
I love this poem, Christien.JReplyDelete