There ought to be a better way of living To find catharsis in these twilight years, But I am no misanthrope, My dreams can give me hope And help to wipe away my tensions and my tears.
So let me lead you now into my dreamworld, A land where vanished wishes can come true. Where life and love and pleasure, And all those things we treasure, Will follow from our final rendezvous.
A land where angels sing glad songs of romance, Where the bells remember chimes they’d long forgot; Where they now forever ring, And with those angels sing, And we at last are happy with our lot.
For my frequent dream is one of youth recurring; A new start in life to live it once again. To eliminate the stress, To start again afresh, And live my life devoid of stifling pain.
But the place where dreams are stored is fast receding, A library of books once felt and read. Now they will never come to life Before they meet the pruning knife, And all those thoughts they bred remain unsaid.
ancient ice increasingly encircles as we move silently with stealth into the ice fiord hesitantly making a zig-zag passage towards the unstable terminus of the glacier as it erodes into the ocean’s edge
increasingly smotheringly enclosed by walls of white and blue immense ridge-flanked jagged-backed menacingly still a maze through which the miniscule craft threads a passage towards the minotaur the glacier’s lowering face as it crumbles tumbles its fronting phalanx fragmenting with the occasional sudden grinding cracking turmoil of yet another frozen offshoot adding to the welter the crowded pack of new-born creatures as the ice mass breaks and calves to join the myriad of off-spring in the ice ocean
Tu Fu ( or Du Fu), who was born in Gongyi in 712 A.D., was one of the foremost poets of the Chinese Tang dynasty. He and Li Bai, are normally thought of as the greatest of all Chinese poets. He died in Changsha, China, in 770 A.D.
I print below, two of his poems, both, as the majority of his poems, exemplify his intense relationship with nature, wildlife, and with the seasons, even amidst the turmoil of the times in which he lived.
(Both designs are my own pen and wash drawings in an attempt at capturing a Chinese style.)
A Spring View
Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure; And spring comes green again to trees and grasses Where petals have been shed like tears And lonely birds have sung their grief. … After the war-fires of three months, One message from home is worth a ton of gold. … I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin To hold the hairpins any more.
A View of Taishan
What shall I say of the Great Peak? – The ancient dukedoms are everywhere green, Inspired and stirred by the breath of creation, With the Twin Forces balancing day and night. …I bare my breast toward opening clouds, I strain my sight after birds flying home. When shall I reach the top and hold All mountains in a single glance?