I spot the hills 
With yellow balls in autumn. 
I light the prairie cornfields 
Orange and tawny gold clusters 
And I am called pumpkins. 
On the last of October 
When dusk is fallen 
Children join hands 
And circle round me 
Singing ghost songs 
And love to the harvest moon; 
I am a jack-o'-lantern 
With terrible teeth 
And the children know 
I am fooling.

White sheep, white sheep,
On a blue hill,
When the wind stops,
You all stand still.
When the wind blows,
You walk away slow.
White sheep, white sheep,
Where do you go?

(Lines on the loss of the "Titanic")

I

     In a solitude of the sea
     Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

II

     Steel chambers, late the pyres
     Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

III

     Over the mirrors meant
     To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

IV

     Jewels in joy designed
     To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

V

     Dim moon-eyed fishes near
     Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?". . .

VI

     Well: while was fashioning
     This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

VII

     Prepared a sinister mate
     For her—so gaily great—
A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.

VIII

     And as the smart ship grew
     In stature, grace, and hue
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

IX

     Alien they seemed to be:
     No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history.

X

     Or sign that they were bent
     By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one August event,

XI

     Till the Spinner of the Years
     Said "Now!" And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

   Under the harvest moon, 
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker, 
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

   Under the summer roses 
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories, 
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

^{translated by Muna Lee}

Yes, I move, I live, I wander astray—
   Water running, intermingling, over the sands.
I know the passionate pleasure of motion;
   I taste the forests; I touch strange lands.

Yes, I move—perhaps I am seeking
   Storms, suns, dawns, a place to hide.
What are you doing here, pale and polished—
   You, the stone in the path of the tide?

¿Y Tu? 

Sí, yo me muevo, vivo, me equivoco;
Agua que corre y se entremezcla, siento
El vértigo feroz del movimiento:
Huelo las selvas, tierra nueva toco.

Sí, yo me muevo, voy buscando acaso
Soles, auroras, tempestad y olvido.
¿Qué haces allí misérrimo y pulido?
Eres la piedra a cuyo lado paso.

Every day, 
Every day, 
Tell the hours 
By their shadows, 
By their shadows.

^{To see a world in a grain of sand …
—from “Auguries of Innocence” by William Blake}

We are Starseeds  
                   every one of us –  
                                                     you & me,  
                       & me and you  
                           & him & her,  
                                                    & them  
                                                    & they  
                                                    & those  
                    Who know of this  
                         are truly blessed  …  

 True for all  
                    living beings,  
                                        beings living –  
                                                               not humans only,  
                                         but ants & trees  
                                              & the open breeze,  
                                                  things that breathe  
                                                      air or fire,  
                                                         water, earth  
                                       all  kinds of dust  
                                                                & dirt,  
                                                                   particles  
                                        a  part of all,  
                                                            all a part  
                                                                          of  
  Everything  
            that is  
        in everything;  
                                 Thus, it Sings!!!  
                                                      & its song  
                                                                    is Life,  
                                                                       & Life
                                                                                 is!!! …  
  a  seed of Stars,  
                      the dust of Suns  
                                                & Moons  
                                                        rocks & dust  
                                       &  outer smoke  
                                                    in outer space  
  Floating  
        in a bath of timelessness,  
                                           counted, measured  
                                                  numbered  
                                   by some species –  
                                                      others caring not;  
  Science & Mathematics  
                     trying to plot  
                                             Poetry in motion,  
                                                                                Motion  
                                                in a Helix’s curve,  
                                And Life  
                                       on Earth
                                           becomes visible
                                                                  to You
                                         through the naked I!

^{translated from the Maltese by Ruth Ward}

I’m a stone but at night I turn into a woman:
A face is born, arms and a pair of legs.
I go forth in the dark, as I need no light to make my way—
which I know well: through the breath
I exhale, inhale; the breath that
moves, moves me, lifts me
to that summit where no one approaches.
I alone can reach this place,
as only I can see it.

Ġebla

Jien ġebla, ’mma billejl ninbidel f’mara:  
jitwieled wiċċ, dirgħajn u par riġlejn; 
nimxi fid-dlam—m’għandix bżonn dawl biex nimxi 
triqti magħrufa minn ġewwa—bin-nifs 
li niġbed, bin-nifs li narmi, bin-nifs 
li jiċċaqlaq, li jċaqlaqni, jeħodni 
lejn dak l-imkien fejn ħadd aktar ma jersaq. 
Jien biss nifhem dal-post għax jien biss nagħrfu.  

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

An angel, robed in spotless white,
Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.
Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.
Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.

In the beginning, there was your mouth:
soft rose, rose murmur, murmured breath, a warm

cardinal wind that drew my needle north.
Magnetic flux, the press of form to form. 

In the beginning, there was your mouth—
the trailhead, the pathhead faintly opened,

the canyon, river-carved, farther south,
and ahead: the field, the direction chosen.

In the beginning, there was your mouth,
a sky full of stars, raked or raking, clock-

wise or west, and in the close or mammoth 
matter, my heart’s red muscle, knocked and knocked.

In the beginning, there was your mouth,
And nothing since but what the earth bears out.

With a ring of silver,

        And a ring of gold, 

    And a red, red rose

         Which illumines her face, 

The sun, like a lover

    Who glows and is bold, 

Wooes the lovely earth 

   To his strong embrace. 

Thy shadow, Earth, from Pole to Central Sea,

Now steals along upon the Moon’s meek shine

In even monochrome and curving line

Of imperturbable serenity.

How shall I link such sun-cast symmetry

With the torn troubled form I know as thine,

That profile, placid as a brow divine,

With continents of moil and misery?

How again today our patron star
whose ancient vista is the long view

turns its wide brightness now and here:
Below, we loll outdoors, sing & make fire.

We build no henge
but after our swim, linger

by the pond. Dapples flicker
pine trunks by the water.

Buzz & hum & wing & song combine.
Light builds a monument to its passing.

Frogs content themselves in bullish chirps,
hoopskirt blossoms

on thimbleberries fall, peeper toads
hop, lazy—

            Apex. The throaty world sings ripen.
Our grove slips past the sun’s long kiss.

We dress.
We head home in other starlight. 

Our earthly time is sweetening from this.
 

^{translated from the Vietnamese by Phương Anh}

^{Bundoora, February 05, 2016, one afternoon full of birds’ sound}

the afternoon has seeped in well under the roof
you hear
bitterly inundates the sunset’s shatter
the wing-clouds.lost in thoughts
the rocky banks.ease at heart
the roaring waves bathe the sunset melancholia

let’s go home, dear
the evening breaks the shadow under the rain
trees & leaves
whistle green 
mountains & forests
so magnificent.tomorrow

the closing afternoon closes my eyes
drops of birds’ coo.amber pearls overflow
lonesome soul.pensive wind as still as still-life.

let’s 
go home.dear
the yin-yang song has mossed the roof!

Chiều tĩnh vật,

^{Bundoora 05 tháng hai 2016, một chiều rộn tiếng chim …}

chiều đã ngấm sâu dưới mái
cm nghe không
ngập đắng tiếng hoàng hôn giập vỡ
những cánh mây.lơ lãng
những kè đá.cam lòng
những sóng gào tầm tã nỗi tà dương …

về thôi.em
đêm gẫy bóng dưới mưa
cây & lá
hồi còi lam lục diệp
núi & rừng
đẹp tha thiết quá.ngày mai

chiều đã khép nâu trong mắt
giọt chim gù. Hổ phách ngước tràn ly
hồn mông quạnh.gió trầm tư tĩnh vật …

về 
thôi.em
khúc âm dương đã rêu mờ mái ngói!

                      Midnight is come,
And thinly in the deepness of the gloom
Truth rises startle-eyed out of a tomb,
                      And we are dumb.

                      A death-bell tolls,
And we still shudder round the too smooth bed,
For truth makes pallid watch above the dead,
                      Freezing our souls.

                      But day returns,
Light and the garish life, and we are brave,
For Truth sinks wanly down into her grave.
                      Yet the heart yearns.

Sombre,
Sombre is the night, the stars’ light is dimmed
With smoky exhalations of the earth,
Whose ancient voice is lifted on the wind
In ceaseless elegies and songs of tears.
O earth, I hear thee mourning for thy dead!
Thou art waving the long grass over thy graves;
Murmuring over all thy resting children,
That have run and wandered and gone down
Upon thy bosom.   Thou wilt mourn for him
Who looketh now a moment on these stars,
And in the moving boughs of this dark night
Heareth the murmurous sorrow of thy heart.