Short Poems

at high noon

He ate and drank, was never glad,
His boot heels he wore down one side;
Ambition – that he never had,
And finally just upped and died.

White doves of Cytherea, by your quest
Across the blue Heaven's bluest highest air,
And by your certain homing to Love's breast,
Still to be true and ever true - I swear.

The pleasures of friendship are exquisite,
How pleasant to go to a friend on a visit!
I go to my friend, we walk on the grass,
And the hours and moments like minutes pass.

cherukulona baini cheddagunambunna
tipiveyakunna dinaga bosaga
dantipurapu druhi yatadetlundura
viswadhabhirama vinura vema

When you take your pill
it’s like a mine disaster.
I think of all the people
lost inside of you.

The eyes of this dead lady speak to me,
For here was love, was not to be drowned out.
And here desire, not to be kissed away.
The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.

The pheasant cries
as if it just noticed
the mountain.


Translated by Robert Hass

The petals tremble
on the yellow mountain rose –
roar of the rapids

I will perfume all my skin that I may attract lovers. Upon my beautiful legs, in a basin of silver, I will pour the spikenard of Tarsos, and the metopion of Egypt.

Under my arms, crushed mint; upon my eyebrows and upon my eyes, marjolaine of Koos. Slave, take down my hair and fill it with the smoke of incense.

Behold the oinathe (briony) of the mountains of Kypros; I will let it run between my breasts; the liquor of roses which comes from Phaselis, shall embalm my neck and my cheeks.