Poetry Magazine | Guildford Poets Press

SHADOW SWORDSMAN


The old man in the Shanghai street
wields his sword
in slow, controlled movement.

Oblivious of passers-by,
hurrying shoppers, sailors, rickshaw-men,
he concentrates on his ritual —
the balanced grace
of his grave shadow-play.

With dignity
he expresses his poem
of sweeping stillness,
his harmony of self and nature.

Tranquil in fluid meditation,
he does not hurry to be somewhere else.
Only in the here and now
does he find himself,
his oneness
with the ten thousand things.

The mean street is transformed
into an Emperor's garden.

                              Margaret Pain

TWO SHORT POEMS

Sunset
- a rush of wings - plump chickens
coming home to roost


Dark night
two foxes
pluck the wings of angels

 

MOON ROCK

Today I touched moon rock
- it was grey and smooth
a mecca for kisses at the finger's end,
astronaut fruit.


          Jeffery Wheatley



YEREVAN IM OKTOBER

Der September war heiss.
Dann wusch Regen
die staubige Stadt:
Aufatmen,
kurzfristig.
Der Strassenverkehr rollt
Tag um Tag.
Nichts karn ihm hindern..
Neue Abgase,
Wind wirbelt Staub
auf das Grau der Dächer.
Neuer Regen? Bald.


YEREVAN IN OCTOBER


September was hot,
then rain
washed the dusty city.
Take a breath, shortly.
Road traffic keeps rolling
day by day,
no way to stop it.
New waste gases.
Wind whirls the dust
onto grey tin roofs.
Another rain? Soon.


German and English by
Lore Ajemian-Schäfer

flying swans, a symbol of people travelling