translated from the Japanese by William George Aston
The cry of the cicada
Gives us no sign
That presently it will die.
From A History of Japanese Literature (William Heinemann, 1899) by W. G. Aston. This poem is in the public domain.
Machine
guns
between their brows—
blood flowers bloom.
Child of summer
dawn—
tracing
horses in the mud.
Midnight
Skylarks
under storm, ferrying
bodies one
by one.
Rage
Volcanic
ash
covered highlands:
jittery dance
of
the jewel beetle.
Sunflower
petals,
falling on a
black mass
of
ants.
Copyright © 2019 Ryan C. K. Choi. This poem originally appeared in Kenyon Review, May/June 2019. Reprinted with permission of the author.
translated from the Japanese by William George Aston
A cloud of flowers!
Is the bell Uyeno
Or Asakusa?
From A History of Japanese Literature (William Heinemann, 1899) by W. G. Aston. This poem is in the public domain.
from Swedish, the path moonlight lays over water
The ghost child fastens
his mouth to yours,
breathes your breath
from you so you cannot
cry out.
He drew you creek side,
where you hung terrified,
gripping the deep-shaded
undercut bank above wild
rushing water, until finally
I heard you, came running.
What the drowned boy wants forever:
his mother, in time.
What he found:
a playmate his age.
You,
eyes the color of seafoam,
the shining helmet of your
bowl-cut hair bright as
mångata over dark sea.
Tell me, lost ones: When
the moon melts, what
will we do with all that gold?
Copyright © 2017 Cathie Sandstrom. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in The Southern Review, Spring 2017.