Canto XLIX: For the Seven Lakes
For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses:
Rain; empty river; a voyage,
Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain in the twilight
Under the cabin roof was one lantern.
The reeds are heavy; bent;
and the bamboos speak as if weeping.
Autumn moon; hills rise about lakes
against sunset
Evening is like a curtain of cloud,
a blurr above ripples; and through it
sharp long spikes of the cinnamon,
a cold tune amid reeds.
Behind hill the monk's bell
borne on the wind.
Sail passed here in April; may return in October
Boat fades in silver; slowly;
Sun blaze alone on the river.
Where wine flag catches the sunset
Sparse chimneys smoke in the cross light
Comes then snow scur on the river
And a world is covered with jade
Small boat floats like a lanthorn,
The flowing water closts as with cold. And at San Yin
they are a people of leisure.
Wild geese swoop to the sand-bar,
Clouds gather about the hole of the window
Broad water; geese line out with the autumn
Rooks clatter over the fishermen's lanthorns,
A light moves on the north sky line;
where the young boys prod stones for shrimp.
In seventeen hundred came Tsing to these hill lakes.
A light moves on the South sky line.
State by creating riches shd. thereby get into debt?
This is infamy; this is Geryon.
This canal goes still to TenShi
Though the old king built it for pleasure
K E I M E N R A N K E I
K I U M A N M A N K E I
JITSU GETSU K O K W A
T A N FUKU T A N K A I
Sun up; work
sundown; to rest
dig well and drink of the water
dig field; eat of the grain
Imperial power is? and to us what is it?
The fourth; the dimension of stillness.
And the power over wild beasts.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Related quotes
Canto 49
For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses:
Rain; empty river; a voyage,
Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain in the twilight
Under the cabin roof was one lantern.
The reeds are heavy; bent;
and the bamboos speak as if weeping.
Autumn moon; hills rise about lakes
against sunset
Evening is like a curtain of cloud,
a blurr above ripples; and through it
sharp long spikes of the cinnamon,
a cold tune amid reeds.
Behind hill the monk's bell
borne on the wind.
Sail passed here in April; may return in October
Boat fades in silver; slowly;
Sun blaze alone on the river.
Where wine flag catches the sunset
Sparse chimneys smoke in the cross light
Comes then snow scur on the river
And a world is covered with jade
Small boat floats like a lanthorn,
The flowing water closts as with cold. And at San Yin
they are a people of leisure.
Wild geese swoop to the sand-bar,
Clouds gather about the hole of the window
Broad water; geese line out with the autumn
Rooks clatter over the fishermen's lanthorns,
A light moves on the north sky line;
where the young boys prod stones for shrimp.
In seventeen hundred came Tsing to these hill lakes.
A light moves on the South sky line.
State by creating riches shd. thereby get into debt?
Thsi is infamy; this is Geryon.
This canal goes still to TenShi
Though the old king built it for pleasure
K E I M E N R A N K E I
K I U M A N M A N K E I
JITSU GETSU K O K W A
T A N FUKU T A N K A I
Sun up; work
sundown; to rest
dig well and drink of the water
dig field; eat of the grain
Imperial power is? and to us what is it?
The fourth; the dimension of stillness.
And the power over wild beasts.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Water Anew
From mountain high to valley low, the warmth of springs thaw runoff comes clear cold water from the melting snow.
Spring rain, cool and clear, mist and fog, early morning's dew, creeks, rivers, lakes renew.
Though mud stained from the thaw, the water soon will clear, life sustaining, life anew.
With summer weather comes light or heavy rains, sprinkle, mist or fog, life sustaining, life anew.
With autumn arrives the cold, then frost, soon after winter follows, sleet and snow, water turns to ice.
Though covered with ice and winters snow, the water in creeks, rivers and lakes renew until springs thaw, the water still flows.
Whether spring, summer, autumn or winter, water, life sustaining, life anew.
poem by Alvin Schaut
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Scraps of Cloud in Rosy Dusk
Scrap rosy cloud evening rays west lake good
Flower bank duckweed sandbar
Ten qing ripple peaceful
Wild bank without person boat self line
West south moon on float cloud scatter
Veranda railing cool born
Lotus scent clear
Water face wind come wine face sober
Scraps of cloud in rosy dusk- West Lake is good.
Flowers on the bank, duckweed on sand,
A hundred acres of peaceful ripples,
On the overgrown bank, no man- just the stroke of a boat.
South-west, across the moon, scattered clouds are drifting.
Cool rises at the terrace rail,
Lotus flowers' scent is clear,
Wind from the water's face makes the wine face sober.
poem by Ouyang Xiu
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Angler's Song
From the river's plashy bank,
Where the sedge grows green and rank,
And the twisted woodbine springs,
Upward speeds the morning lark
To its silver cloud -- and hark!
On his way the woodman sings.
On the dim and misty lakes
Gloriously the morning breaks,
And the eagle's on his cloud:--
Whilst the wind, with sighing, wooes
To its arms the chaste cold ooze,
And the rustling reeds pipe loud.
Where the embracing ivy holds
Close the hoar elm in its folds,
In the meadow's fenny land,
And the winding river sweeps
Through its shallows and still deeps,--
Silent with my rod I stand.
But when sultry suns are high
Underneath the oak I lie
As it shades the water's edge,
And I mark my line, away
In the wheeling eddy, play,
Tangling with the river sedge.
When the eye of evening looks
On green woods and winding brooks,
And the wind sighs o'er the lea,--
Woods and streams,-- I leave you then,
While the shadow in the glen
Lengthens by the greenwood tree.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Night on the West River
No moon
To light my way upon the stair,
Cold comfort
In the wine I drink alone.
Black clouds,
Rain,
The hurried flight of birds,
Water flowing grayly
In the dusk.
A rising storm,
Boats tugging at their mooring ropes.
Or s ails full-spread
To take advantage of the wind.
A moving point of fire
In the dark,
The distant lantern
Of a passing boat.
A Wet Day In July
Such wild and chilly weather with heavy showers of sleety rain
That flood the spouting and the creek and the storm water drain
And the paddocks around the Powlett river seem like an inland sea
And water everywhere about as far as the eyes can see.
The old bloke Mick scratches his head as he looks up at the sky
Saying more rain clouds o'er the ocean 'twill make a wet
July
On either side of the highway from Bass into Wonthaggi there's water everywhere
The paddock by our house is waterlogged 'tis like a quagmire there.
In July in south west Gippsland the weather often wild and cold and wet
But according to Mick from Bass this one the wettest yet
In more than sixty years of life he has known big rainfall
But yesterday is the wettest day he ever can recall.
In the paddocks between Kilcunda and Dalyston water everywhere about
And the Powlett river is overflowing it's banks and it's surplus water is flooding out
Making the land look like an inland sea and cattle on the hill bellow for hay
And in the coastal lands of south west Gippsland another rainy July day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Togetherness was the goal
One day in the morning
It was cold and I was shivering
Enjoying the beauty
Of the snowy Mountain
Sun started rising
Bringing heat and light beaming
Snow started melting
Water started trickling
Down to the River
Flowing in the Plains
Slowly it mingled
With the water in the River
The water looked one
It wasn’t possible to Separate
Water from the Snow
And
Water from the River
Like lovers with two hearts,
One Soul
Togetherness was the Goal
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Morning on the Lièvre
Far above us where a jay
Screams his matins to the day,
Capped with gold and amethyst,
Like a vapor from the forge
Of a giant somewhere hid,
Out of hearing of the clang
Of his hammer, skirts of mist
Slowly up the woody gorge
Lift and hang.
Softly as a cloud we go,
Sky above and sky below,
Down the river; and the dip
Of the paddles scarcely breaks,
With the little silvery drip
Of the water as it shakes
From the blades, the crystal deep
Of the silence of the morn,
Of the forest yet asleep;
And the river reaches borne
In a mirror, purple gray,
Sheer away
To the misty line of light,
Where the forest and the stream
In the shadow meet and plight,
Like a dream.
From amid a stretch of reeds,
Where the lazy river sucks
All the water as it bleeds
From a little curling creek,
And the muskrats peer and sneak
In around the sunken wrecks
Of a tree that swept the skies
Long ago,
On a sudden seven ducks
With a splashy rustle rise,
Stretching out their seven necks,
One before, and two behind,
And the others all arow,
And as steady as the wind
With a swivelling whistle go,
Through the purple shadow led,
Till we only hear their whir
In behind a rocky spur,
Just ahead.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Y.... River meets desert
A young river,
So strong
Nothing could stop it
Nothing went wrong
Big rocks in its way
No problem at all
It went over them
Around them if tall
But then it met the desert
Water sank deep into sand
Huge problem for the river
It looked like its life was to end
Desperately
It turned to our God
'Please, God help me
To get away from or over this spot'
A voice from above said
'Look at the wind in the sky
It crosses the desert so easily
So just stop to cry! '
'But I am not wind, I am water
How can I cross
Please help me
I am at a loss'
'Did you forget dear river, '
Said the voice from above
'Long time before you were a river
The wind carried you with love'
The river let its water evaporate
Allowed the wind to carry it once more
In its loving arms,
wind held the river as before
Across the desert they went
A lot of water in a big large cloud
And at the other side
The wind let it rain out
There the river again became strong
Even better and stronger than before
With much vigor it ran
For everyone to adore
Dear young men and women alike
If you meet with the desert or anything wrong
Remember who carried you
Before you became a river so strong
poem by Aufie Zophy
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The Frozen Lakes
The lakes are frozen again.
They look like silver glass.
The cold winds from the north do blow
and another winter must pass.
The life that's under this wintry scene
conserves its energy.
It awaits the warmer approach of spring
to lift this canopy.
And when it feels the crackling ice
and the warmth of the sun
it will rise to the surface in its annual search
for food to overcome
the stillness it's known in the deepest water
that now seems to be done.
Life returns to the lakes again
as the ice does disappear.
The water comes alive again
and once again we hear
its life.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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1015 Water Water - Everywhere? ? ?
STRUCTURE & FORM IN POETRY. Classical Poetry always has Structure even though it does not always rhyme. The Structure gives it metere and flow which facilitates reading and recitation. In my book - recitability is an essential character of a good Poem! . A lesser know Poetical Structure is RHYME ROYAL which inposes a strict metre (usually imabic pentameter) and a strict rhyming pattern a b a b b c c. Each verse must consist of seven lines. The number of verses is optional! As an Environmental Scientist I am concerned with the Conservation of Water which is the subject of this Rhyme Royal
Whence comes this water that we need for life?
Where does it go when we flush it away?
A shortage in some countries causes strife
Will it run out like coal and oil one day?
For all resources there's a price to pay.
We all use water - like it was for free
Just turn the tap - it's there for you and me.
God touched the clouds and made the rain - from the rain
Formed the sea and from the sea formed the clouds
To rise and cool and give us rain again.
The rain provides the water for the crowds.
When it evaporates it goes back to the clouds.
Each dropp of water makes our lives secure
But every day we're using more and more.
The Planet Earth has water everywhere
Liquid or a solid or a vapour
In oceans - rivers - lakes and in the air
Icecaps or on frozen lakes like paper.
We scrape it off our windscreens with a scraper!
Mountain stream - boiling steam and freezing snow
A lolly ice? Thanks very nice - It is all H 2 O.
The Water Cycle keeps the water going
Round and round - none's lost to outer space
Precipitation - raining - hailing - snowing
Moves the water round from place to place.
Especially when a snowball hits your face.
Streams and rushing rivers keep it all in motion
Then water falls down waterfalls and ends up in the ocean!
Water Water everywhere - for our daily needs
Turn the tap and use the river and the well
Don't pollute - don't dam the spring that feeds
Without 'clean water' life on Earth is Hell!
Clean Water has no taste - no clour and no smell.
Water Water everywhere - please please stop and think
Water Water everywhere - but not one dropp to drink! ! ! ! !
(John Knight - Frozen Colchester - December 2009)
poem by John Knight
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All This Time
I looked out across
The river today,
I saw a city in the fog and an old church tower
Where the seagulls play.
I saw the sad shire horses walking home
In the sodium light
I saw two priests on the ferry
October geese on a cold winter's night
And all this time, the river flowed
Endlessly to the sea.
Two priests came round our house tonight
One young, one old, to offer prayers for the dying
To serve the final rite,
One to learn, one to teach,
Which way the cold wind blows
Fussing and flapping in priestly black
Like a murder of crows
And all this time, the river flowed
Endlessly to the sea
If I had my way I'd take a boat from the river
And I'd bury the old man,
I'd bury him at sea
Blessed are the poor, for they shall inherit the earth
Better to be poor than a fat man in the eye of a needle
And as these words were spoken I swear I hear
The old man laughing,
'What good is a used up world, and how could it be
worth having'
And all this time the river flowed
Endlessly like a silent tear
And all this time the river flowed
Father, if Jesus exists,
Then how come he never lived here.
The teacher told us, the Romans built this place
They built a wall and a temple, an edge of the empire
Garrison town,
They lived and they died, they prayed to their gods
But the stone gods did not make a sound
And their empire crumbled, 'til all that was left
Were the stones the workmen found
And all this time the river flowed
In the falling light of a northern sun
If I had my way I'd take a boat from the river
Men go crazy in congregations
But they only get better
One
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All This Time
I looked out across
The river today
I saw a city in the fog and an old church tower
Where the seagulls play
I saw the sad shire horses walking home
In the sodium light
I saw two priests on the ferry
October geese on a cold winters night
And all this time, the river flowed
Endlessly to the sea
Two priests came round our house tonight
One young, one old, to offer prayers for the dying
To serve the final rite
One to learn, one to teach
Which was the cold wind blows
Fussing and flapping in priestly black
Like a murder of crows
And all this time, the river flowed
Endlessly to the sea
If I had my way Id take a boat from the river
And Id bury the old man,
Id bury him at sea
Blessed are the poor, for they shall inherit the earth
Better to be poor than a fat man in the eye of a needle
And as these words were spoken I swore I hear
The old man laughing
what good is a used up world and how could it be
Worth having
And all this time the river flowed
Endlessly like a silent tear
And all this time the river flowed
Father, if jesus exists,
Then how come he never lived here
The teachers told us, the romans built this place
They built a wall and a temple, an edge of the empire
Garrison town,
They lived and they died, they prayed to their gods
But the stone gods did not make a sound
And their empire crumbled, til all that was left
Were the stones the workmen found
And all this time the river flowed
In the falling light of a northern sun
If I had my way Id take a boat from the river
Men go crazy in congregations
But they only get better
One by one
One by one...
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Red River Voyageur
Out and in the river is winding
The links of its long, red chain,
Through belts of dusky pine-land
And gusty leagues of plain.
Only, at times, a smoke-wreath
With the drifting cloud-rack joins,-
The smoke of the hunting-lodges
Of the wild Assiniboins.
Drearily blows the north-wind
From the land of ice and snow;
The eyes that look are weary,
And heavy the hands that row.
And with one foot on the water,
And one upon the shore,
The Angel of Shadow gives warning
That day shall be no more.
Is it the clang of wild-geese?
Is it the Indian's yell,
That lends to the voice of the north-wind
The tones of a far-off bell?
The voyageur smiles as he listens
To the sound that grows apace;
Well he knows the vesper ringing
Of the bells of St. Boniface.
The bells of the Roman Mission,
That call from their turrets twain,
To the boatman on the river,
To the hunter on the plain!
Even so in our mortal journey
The bitter north-winds blow,
And thus upon life's Red River
Our hearts, as oarsmen, row.
And when the Angel of Shadow
Rests his feet on wave and shore,
And our eyes grow dim with watching
And our hearts faint at the oar,
Happy is he who heareth
The signal of his release
In the bells of the Holy City,
The chimes of eternal peace!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The tale of the sparkling white river
At the sparkling white river
that cuts its way through the earth,
some green reeds grew in bushes into the water.
Tranquillity and the magic
of water, sun and wind
was the spirit that dwelt in the reeds.
a Really ugly god appeared and started to cry,
as no beautiful nymph
would set an eye on him.
He washed his face in the water
to try and transfix some of its healing magic
to himself and washed his face again,
but the image reflected upon the gentle pool
remained the same
and deeper into the water he went.
Half blind by his crying,
he stumbled into the reeds
and walk still deeper in,
to hide away from the creatures
that lived upon the water
and dwelt in the sparkling stream.
There was power in his tears
and where they fell upon the reeds,
they were cut from the stems.
To Pan on that day,
the river and the reeds
came as a blessing.
With reeds in his hands
he walked to the shore
and the setting and sounds did something to him.
He cut the reeds into pipes
of different lengths
with notches and holes
and blew life in to them
and to this very day,
that instrument bears his name.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The hijol* tree’s shade
Her fault was she had been to the river to look at herself
The god of the river took her down to the water and that’s that
The one who jumped in to bring her from the water
Had a boat of ejar* wood and his calves too were ejar-hued
Leaving boat and oar meandering under water
The light house of truth glimmered in the distance easy as a straight line
Exhausted swimming as they got out of water on to land
Under the shade of the hijol by the river they looked at their eyes
The colour of breath under water was green on land it’s like land
The shade of the hijol hides all unwritten annals of the earth
***
* The Indian oak, Barringtonia acutangula.
* A species of timber tree, Lagerstroemia reginae.
(Translated from Assamese by Prof. Pradip Acharya)
poem by Kushal Dutta
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Goodbye To A River
(don henley/stan lynch/jai winding/frank simes)
The rains have come early, they say
Were all gonna wash away
Well, thats all right with me
If heavens torrent can wash clean
The arrogance that lies unseen
In the damage done since we have gone
Where we ought not to be
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Lakes and levees, dams and locks
They put that river in a box
It was running wild
And men must have control
We live our lives in starts and fits
We lose our wonder bit by bit
We condescend and in the end
We lose our very souls
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
The dirty water washes down
Poisoning the common ground
Taking sins of farm and town
And bearing them away
The captains of industry
And their tools on the hill
Theyre killing everything divine
What will I tell this child of mine
(solo)
I make a church out of words
As the years dull my senses
And I try to hold on to the world that I knew
I struggle to cross generational fences
And the beauty that still remains
I can touch it through you
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
Roll on
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Farewell To Secretary Shuyun At The Xietiao Villa In Xuanzhou
Since yesterday had to throw me and bolt,
Today has hurt my heart even more.
The autumn wild geese have a long wind for escort
As I face them from this villa, drinking my wine.
The bones of great writers are your brushes, in the School of Heaven,
And I am a Lesser Xie growing up by your side.
We both are exalted to distant thought,
Aspiring to the sky and the bright moon.
But since water still flows, though we cut it with our swords,
And sorrows return, though we drown them with wine,
Since the world can in no way answer our craving,
I will loosen my hair tomorrow and take to a fishing boat.
Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles
It seems these poets have nothing
up their ample sleeves
they turn over so many cards so early,
telling us before the first line
whether it is wet or dry,
night or day, the season the man is standing in,
even how much he has had to drink.
Maybe it is autumn and he is looking at a sparrow.
Maybe it is snowing on a town with a beautiful name.
"Viewing Peonies at the Temple of Good Fortune
on a Cloudy Afternoon" is one of Sun Tung Po's.
"Dipping Water from the River and Simmering Tea"
is another one, or just
"On a Boat, Awake at Night."
And Lu Yu takes the simple rice cake with
"In a Boat on a Summer Evening
I Heard the Cry of a Waterbird.
It Was Very Sad and Seemed To Be Saying
My Woman Is Cruel--Moved, I Wrote This Poem."
There is no iron turnstile to push against here
as with headings like "Vortex on a String,"
"The Horn of Neurosis," or whatever.
No confusingly inscribed welcome mat to puzzle over.
Instead, "I Walk Out on a Summer Morning
to the Sound of Birds and a Waterfall"
is a beaded curtain brushing over my shoulders.
And "Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors"
is a servant who shows me into the room
where a poet with a thin beard
is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine
whispering something about clouds and cold wind,
about sickness and the loss of friends.
How easy he has made it for me to enter here,
to sit down in a corner,
cross my legs like his, and listen.
poem by Billy Collins
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Your Cloud
where the river cross
crosses the lake
where the words
jump off my pen
and into your pages
do you think
just like that
you can divide
this you as yours
me as mine to
before we were us
if the rain has to separate
from itself
does it say "pick out your cloud?"
pick out your cloud
if there is
a horizontal line
that runs from the map
off your body
straight through the land
shooting up
right through my heart
will this horizontal line
when asked
know how to find
where you end
where i begin
"pick out your cloud"
how light can play
and form a ring of rain
that can change bows into arrows
(i found a thrill)
who we were isn't lost
before we were us
indigo in his own
blue always knew this
if the rain
has to separate
from itself
does it say pick out your cloud
song performed by by Tori Amos from Scarlet's Walk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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