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This old village

This old village-
not a single house
without persimmon trees.

poem by Matsuo Basho
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This old village

This old village--
not a single house
without persimmon trees.

Translated by Robert Hass

poem by Matsuo Basho
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Metaphors of a Magnifico

Twenty men crossing a bridge,
Into a village,
Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges,
Into twenty villages,
Or one man
Crossing a single bridge into a village.

This is old song
That will not declare itself . . .

Twenty men crossing a bridge,
Into a village,
Are
Twenty men crossing a bridge
Into a village.

That will not declare itself
Yet is certain as meaning . . .

The boots of the men clump
On the boards of the bridge.
The first white wall of the village
Rises through fruit-trees.
Of what was it I was thinking?
So the meaning escapes.

The first white wall of the village...
The fruit-trees...

poem by Wallace Stevens
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A Village Far Far Away

Far, far away is my village!
Where fireflies of my childhood
Still glow in thick folliage
Of Pipal trees.

My lisping words
As they fell from my lips
Are still alive
On old, bent, dying stairs
Of the long-deserted house!
Like rapiers thrust into silence.

Far, far away is my village!
Where darkness
Spreads its wing before it is evening
Tick-tocking sound of the flour mill
Long flights of birds
Going far, far away
Tinkling bells
All become a single tune
To drown into the dark lake
Of night.

Far, far away is my village!
Where I saw
Dreams of happy days to come
While learning my lessons
In the dim light
Of hurricane lamp.

Far, far away is my village!
Where reflections of my first love
Still linger
Where paths are shrouded
In sadness
And loneliness laced with secret longings
Peoples fields, ponds, the school
And trees herded together.

Far, far away is my village!
Where wind still finds
Its way in moonlit nights
Through silent streets
And sleepy courtyards
Calls for me in silence
And turns back, not finding me.
Wind has the same old habit
The same old routine
But life has trampled me
Under direction-less feet
Of crowds in cities.

(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)

poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Switches, Pop, And Persimmon Rockets

I remember, well, that tall old persimmon
That stood in the yard, when I was a lad
The soft fruit that fell from that tall old persimmon
When picked up and eaten, what sweetness, it had

It didn’t take long to eat up all the ripe ones
And then what was left laying under the tree
Was firm, shiny fruit that resembled green apples
And it seemed it should also be tasty, to me

I picked up a big one and brushed off the dirt
Then sunk my teeth in its flesh, firm and green
My mouth puckered up like a prune in the sun
I found that persimmons aren’t tasty when green

My brothers and I and the neighbors as well
Would play in its shade most all the day long
Softball or horseshoes or cowboys and Indians
It didn’t much matter ‘cause life was a song

Since no one could eat those hard green persimmons
We wondered if use for such fruit could be found
While playing one day, through a sheer stroke of genius
A discovery was made of gargantuan bounds

Right there on the ground we made our discovery
A single use switch that my pop made me cut
And once he had finished the job it was cut for
He dropped it right there where I, then picked it up

It seemed, such a waste, to get only one use
From such a fine switch as this one I had cut
So, onto its tip I pushed one green persimmon
And reared back and flung it as hard as I could

We couldn’t believe how smoothly it flew
Up through the trees and over the fence
It bounced off the roof of the house on the next street
We all were astounded, how far that it went

A new sport was born that glorious day
Contests were held and a champion was named
We bounced more’n a dozen hard green persimmons
Off of that rooftop the very first day

One day when that neighbor should’ve been working
He found green persimmons all over his lot
He studied awhile on the puzzle before him
Then, as fate would have it, he called up my pop

It didn’t take pop long to figure it out
When he found all our ordnance piled in the ditch
Since I was the oldest, he called me in first
And told me, “young man, go cut me a switch”

I cut you a good one, I said to my pop
But, I feel I must say, as I give it to you
For a switch of this nature, it seems a disgrace
To be wantonly put to such vulgar a use

© C R Clark-6/15/2008

poem by C.R. Clark
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Global Village

Global village

Though we are all human
we are made to be different
by forces beyond our clout

Yet they want remake us
in a new image of their choice
in a village too big to be safe

The world they now call
a single village in the globe
with a big brother to match

As long as we are second class
within that large village fashioned
we would be subjected to
someone’s standards
someone’s culture
someone’s technology
someone’s understanding
someone’s world view
someone’s theories and concepts

They try hard in harder ways
to make us part of that village
but we know we are different
and shall strive to leave outside
that fashioned unsafe village

poem by Yusuf Adamu
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The Crowing of the Roosters

Come to the village
and listen to the crowing roosters
up the branches of the trees
announcing the breaking
of a bright new day.

Come to the village
Walk the miles of the road
Have a pause from the roaring buses,
The dazzles on the streets
And the endless list of activities.

Come to the village
And learn from the roosters
Resting on the silent trees
Communing with nature
And speaking to man and woman
The great early morning of peace.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Violet

drowned in a pool of violet
the windows pour forth invisible echos
the leaking panes - my decrepit house-
leaking against a flooding ocean.
the fluids mix one in another
the colour is no more diluted.
still violet.
it remains outside
holding the house together -
tape on a house of cards
it does little good to pursue
orange, persimmon or other hues;
for blind are the lanterns
that guide those with-out
soon the lanterns'll drown too,
in a pool of violet hue.

poem by Crystal Korzinsky Chambers
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Single Is Fair

Single
I am single
Question of double
Does not arise.

I am single
Only single.

Single sun
Single moon
Single earth
Single air
Single sky
Sngle water
Single fire
Single soul
Single body
All are there
All are fair.
Single is single
Single is beautiful
Single is fair.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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An Overcast Day in June

Speeding along the highway
There's suddenly a bright
Explosion; unruly color
That calls to you from the passing blur:
The unexpected purple house
It's almost gone before you see it-
As if a river of lavender
Once flowed down that street
Left it's mark only on certain
Vulnerable things
One house coated on all sides
The house next to it seeming to sport
Only a single lavender door
I'm certain that if I could follow it closely
Look for the tell-tale lavender shoe tracks
I would note the lavender trace
Gradually wear thinner, house by house
Dwindle to a trellis or a shutter
Until it was just a slight stain
On a solitary front porch-
As if a child had spilled
His single pot of lavender
And had to finish his painting by number
With some garish dark purple
All the while wishing he could pour out
Collect, all that lavender, there preening itself
Under the trees, under the back lit clouds
As if it had been placed there precognitively
Years before, only to meet his need of a moment
On an overcast day in June.

poem by Patti Masterman
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The Expatriates

My dear, it was a moment
to clutch for a moment
so that you may believe in it
and believing is the act of love, I think,
even in the telling, wherever it went.

In the false New England forest
where the misplanted Norwegian trees
refused to root, their thick synthetic
roots barging out of the dirt to work on the air,
we held hands and walked on our knees.
Actually, there was no one there.

For fourty years this experimental
woodland grew, shaft by shaft in perfect rows
where its stub branches held and its spokes fell.
It was a place of parallel trees, their lives
filed out in exile where we walked too alien to know
our sameness and how our sameness survives.

Outside of us the village cars followed
the white line we had carefully walked
two nights before toward our single beds.
We lay halfway up an ugly hill and if we fell
it was here in the woods where the woods were caught
in their dying and you held me well.

And now I must dream the forest whole
and your sweet hands, not once as frozen
as those stopped trees, nor ruled, nor pale,
nor leaving mine. Today in my house, I see
our house, its pillars a dim basement of men
holding up their foreign ground for you and me.

My dear, it was a time,
butchered from time
that we must tell of quickly
before we lose the sound of our own
mouths calling mine, mine, mine.

poem by Anne Sexton
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Wind

I am no more but you live on,
And the wind, whining and complaining,
Is shaking house and forest, straining
Not single fir trees one by one
But the whole wood, all trees together,
With all the distance far and wide,
Like sail-less yachts in stormy weather
When moored within a bay they lie.
And this not out of wanton pride
Or fury bent on aimless wronging,
But to provide a lullaby
For you with words of grief and longing,

poem by Boris Pasternak
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A Single Woman

Artist: Nina Simone
Album: Single Woman
Song Title: Single Woman
I live alone.
That hasn't always been easy to do.
But just a single woman;
Some times as night the walls talk back to me.
They seem to say
Wasn't yesterday, a better day.
Always alone at home or in a crowd;
A single woman out on a private cloud;
Caught in a world few people understand.
I am what I am.only one single woman.
There was a timeI can't remember when.
The house was full of love but then again
It might have been imaginations plan,
Just to help along,
One single Woman.

song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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GOSH...Another Elegy!

They came
From the vast desert
To the shores of an expansive sea

G
O
S
H!

Giridhar
Om
Shivam…

I can’t understand anything
Not a single word
I’m from a village!

That’s Giridhar’s declaration
At the first encounter
The cynosure of his village
A would be first engineer form the village
Sent to learn the ship building with
Contributions form the entire village

Easy, you can! You will!

And he proved himself!

First few minutes of the class were his:
Spoke of his village
His family
Himself
His friends…

Shivam and Om fared pretty well though

On an evening of fun and frolic
When the moon up above was
Increasing its radius and radiance
The volleyball that stealthily hid their destiny
Changed its course in the air
And decided to float on the waves
Teasing the three to follow it

The hardy desert boys
Lured by the watery net
Were thrown up by the sea
Stiff and frozen a few days later!

Mam, see I now can speak…

Man, see I now can speak…

Giridhar’s voice repeatedly
Wakes me up from sleep…

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Transitions....

at first the house is one kind of a party
more friends are coming
you even let the mailman to have a drink
and stay for a while
though he has nothing to say just like
the masons and some carpenters

then the house was almost burned
there was so much panic that day
the whole village talked about it for weeks

of course, the house as usual is silent like
most rocks
to regain its solidity
it listens to the refreshes of the sea breeze
it resumes its pacific nature
facing the sea and learning from the past storms

then something so horrible happens
but no one in the house is telling about it
the pillars shook and some walls gave in
a part of the roof was taken by the hurricane
but the house is still in tact

changes come into play
the gates are closed
the mailman is having a hard time pressing the door bell
the mail box is broken
and some thieves are anticipating that someday
they can get in and make their presence felt
perhaps to take
what is essential

what they did not know is that
no one lives in this house anymore
all the memories are put into boxes and kept in the cellars
the house has become one mummified pharaoh
a pyramid that points to the sun
the village only talks about the built-in mysteries

it is one kind of a cadaver surrounded by flowers
whose heart has been removed a few days ago

and then the talk stops
and that was only when the last prayer was said.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Every House

Every house has a sun and moon,
And a little porcelain cup,
And a little silver spoon;
Every house has laughter and pain,
And feels the kiss of a needed rain.

Every house has a pet or two,
A cat in the tree,
A dove that coo;
Every house has a little mouse,
Lives in a hole he never comes out.

Every house has a window or two,
And some grass and trees,
And a sky that's blue;
Every house has a child that dreams,
As he plucks at raw reality's seams.

poem by Patti Masterman
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HOE HOUSE...by talile ali

HOE HOUSE

IF YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS
WHEN DOIN IT RUNS AMUCK
HOE HOUSE

THE MOMMA LIKES TO DO IT
SO DO HER LITTLE DUCKS
HOE HOUSE

SHE DOESN'T WANT THEM DOIN
SOME LAZY KNOTHEAD CHUMPS
HOE HOUSE

THEN SHE GETS ALL DRUNKED UP
AND DOES SOME LAZY BLIND KNOTHEAD CHUMP
HOE HOUSE

THE CHILDREN THEY CAN HEAR HER
WHEN SHE STARTS TO WAIL
HOE HOUSE

DOING ANY FELLA
BEFORE SHE GOES TO HELL
HOE HOUSE

SHE WILL DO'EM NASTY
IN THE RAW OR IN THE MOUTH
HOE HOUSE

WHILE HER BABIES LISTEN
THEY DRESS AND LEAVE THE HOUSE
HOE HOUSE

SHE TELL'S THEM 'IT'S NOT NOTHING'
'JUST A LIL FIX'
HOE HOUSE

THEY COULD NEVER BELIEVE HER
SHE'S JUST UP TO HER TRICKS
HOE HOUSE

WHAT THEY WANT TO KNOW IS
IF THEY GET FUCKED, I SWEAR
HOE HOUSE

THESE BABE'S THEY JUST CANT HELP YOU
CAUSE THEY ARE RUNNING SCARED
HOE HOUSE

YOU'RE THEIR GOD, THEIR TEACHER
THEIR EVER SHINING LIGHT
HOE HOUSE

THE SUCCUBUS IN SEX
THE BLIND, AND DICK, AND SCARY
HOE HOUSE

IS SHE SO SURPRISED
WHEN HER GIRL'S ARE DEAD AND BURIED
HOE HOUSE

WHATS GOOD FOR THE GOOSE
AINT SO GOOD WHEN THEY'RE DUCKLINGS
HOE HOUSE

DON'T BE SO SURPRISED
WHEN THE FRUIT IS REALLY RANCID
HOE HOUSE

WITH THE FELLA'S IN THEIR RAGE
FINISHED HER STOUT BEFORE THEY LANCE IT
HOE HOUSE

SHE'S SO PISSED
HER BABE'S JUST CAN'T HELP HER
HOE HOUSE

WITH A BUNCHA SAD JACKS
HANGIN ALL AROUND TO ENHANCE HER
HOE HOUSE

THEY CAN SMELL THE BREWERY
WAITING TO GET POUND
HOE HOUSE

CHILDREN CAN ONLY SEE
WHAT THEY LEARN AND WHAT THEY FOUND
HOE HOUSE

IF MOM IS DEEP INTO DOING IT
THE GIRLS WILL TRY AT LEAST
HOE HOUSE

YOU DON'T NEED TO LOSE THEM
THE'RE STILL NEW TO THE FEAST
HOE HOUSE

I LIVED IN A HOE HOUSE
I DON'T HAVE A LOT
THERE'S NOT A SINGLE THING
I CAN SAY TO MAKE IT STOP

TO ALL THAT LOVE HOEING,
THE BLOWING, AND WHAT NOT
THE LUST FOR NOT GROWING
IS ALL THAT THEY'VE GOT

IT WAS MY BIGGEST FEAR
EVERY NIGHT, EVERY YEAR
CAUSE IN EVERY SINGLE ROOM
MY GIRLS ARE NOW DOING IT, IT'S CLEAR

WHAT CAN I SAY?

I DIDN'T WANT TO LOSE THEM THAT WAY!

SO IF YOU SEE THAT YOU
ARE LIVING LIKE ME
HOE HOUSE

GRAB UP ALL YOUR BABIES
AND LEAVE THIS INSANITY
HOE HOUSE

poem by Talile Ali
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A miser and his persimmon seeds.

Japanese proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Astonishing Forest

Where the house filled with living
The house continuously giving
Where the house filled with nature
The house filled with adventure
Anything can survive
With the nature it provides
Where the house filled with grass
The house filled with hedges, bushes and plants
Canopy trees be it rain or shine
Will be there for you at any time
Where the green house filled with fresh air
Will shelter you in the heavy rain
O the house of beauty
O the house of sound
So much variety is yet to be found

poem by Sehar Zaman
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Song - Monie a Smile, Monie a Tear

There’s monie a smile and monie a tear
On the mystery tour that brings us here
It’s monie a mile and monie a year
Since you and I sailed fae the crumbling stane pier
It’s time noo tae quit the ocean o’ dreams
Tae gan hame tae the village by the trees

And the wun was fair; we had followin’ seas
Your een were glowin and your heart was free
I lost myself in an whirlpool of words
In a world of hunger, egos and swords
I searched for a song to make it alright
Way back whun everything was black an’ white

And time was wi' us for monie a mile
When the starlight was bright and filled the night
Our hopes reached the sky, and strangers were friends
The waves weren’t breakers between us back then
When we were the morning, fresh as the breeze
Blowin’ oot fae the village by the trees

Noo the loch and glens, and the trees and the hills
The oul stane harbour, they’re all waiting still
And roon the ledges o’ galloway’s cliffs
There’s flocks o' herring gulls and razor bills
And doon by the surge at the Yellow Isle
There’s monie a curse and monie a smile

Or is this me back to the dreamin’ again
Oe'r the bridges of time consigned to flames
When kids fell in love by the oul village shop
And stole tender kisses doon by the White Loch
Tae set them aff doon the road that leads here
Windin’ far fae the village by the trees

poem by Jim Hogg
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Single Day

Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not in his thoughts
Not a single day goes by..........
Where his heart does not feel
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not want to reach out
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he dreams of his love for her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not dream of kissing her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not dream of holding her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not ask. Why?
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not his first thought on waking.
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not his last thought before sleeping.
Not a single day goes by..........

RG/NB

poem by Robert Green
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