A GOOD RAIN
I am an Oriental Occidental,
sounds like Gilbert and Sullivan
or Broadway at its best, perhaps.
I long for the brush of Li Po,
who paints a river town at dusk with
“a pair of fallen rainbows for bridges…”
But, in truth, it’s Tu Fu’s rain
that flows within my veins,
slips secretly into my night:
“a good rain knows its season.”
These Chinese poets of twelve
hundred years ago, they live in me
and I in them, except, alas, there’s
still much of Manhattan
May 7, 2003
No comments:
Post a Comment