"Tell brave deeds of war."
Then they recounted tales, --
"There were stern stands
And bitter runs for glory."
Ah, I think there were braver deeds.
Along the smooth and slender wires, the sleepless heralds run,
Fast as the clear and living rays go streaming from the sun;
No pearls of flashes, heard or seen, their wondrous flight betray,
And yet their words are quickly caught in cities far away.
Teeth sensitive to the sand
in salad greens--
I'm getting old.
Translated by Robert Hass
OH BOY YOU MADE HER CRY YOU WERE WEAK SO AT FRIST YOU RAN FROM THE TROUBLES THAT YOU CAUSED AND YOU CANT UNDERSTAND WHY. SO SHE IS HURTING ON THE INSIDE SO YOU GO BACK AND TELL HER THE TRUTH YOU WERE SCARED AND YOU ARE WILLING TO STAY AND BE THE FATHER YOU SHOULD BE THAT YOUR BABY NEEDS.SEE NOW WITH THAT SHE KISSES YOU AND YOU HUG HER AND SAY I WONT LET YOU GO. NOW YOUR A MAN FOR ACCEPTING RESPONSIABLITY. SO ALL YOU BOYS OUT THERE THAT HAS A KID NEEDS TO STEP UP AND TAKE CARE OF IT AND BE THERE TO INFLUNCE THEIR LIVES............................................
I am the criminal whose chest is tattooed with a poinard above which are graven the words 'mort aux bourgeois'. Let us each tattoo this on our hearts.
I am the soldier with a red mark on my nakedness-when in a frenzy of love the mark expands to spell Mad Queen. Let us each tattoo our Mad Queen on our heart.
I am the prophet from the land of the Sun whose back is tattooed in the design of a rising sun. Let us each tattoo a rising sun on our heart.
Af Tre er den eene den anden ey liig:
Een har det i Ryggen, i det han er riig;
Een har det i Ryggen, i det han er stærk;
Een har det i Ryggen af Brud og af Værk;
I Rige, I Stærke, o hielper et Skrog,
Saa eenes Tre Meeninger vel i eet Sprog.
Her slaaer jeg ald min Sorg reent hen i Veyr og Vind,
Og morer med min Sang mit misfornøyet Sind;
Her svinger Hiertet sig ved Aandens Vinger op
Fra Bochims Græde-Dal til Thabors Glæde-Top;
Min Siæl, saa øv din Røst! din Fryd skal blive stor,
Naar Gud vil høre dig en Gang i Engle-Chor-
in memory of
the spring now passing
I drew
the long clusters of wisteria
that move like waves
I remember plucking
buds of bush clover
long ago with
Satsuma geta on my feet and
a walking stick in my hand
