A Kind of Poetry
by Chi Lingyun
To discover a tree's memories is impossible.
To seek a pebble's experience is also impossible.
We spy on water's motion
but in the end we still can't touch its core.
The cloud has always been there, we exhaust our energy
to understand its will, yet there's no hope
it will reveal the sky's mysteries.
Poetry also has the will of clouds
with words like rain, to avoid madness
it creates more madness. Just as when love
is written down, it loses half of its sincerity.
When explained, there is only a layer of sticky
mist left. No one is quick or deft enough
to capture poetry for long. Everything perfect
contains a dark cave.
To discover a tree's memories is impossible.
To seek a pebble's experience is also impossible.
We spy on water's motion
but in the end we still can't touch its core.
The cloud has always been there, we exhaust our energy
to understand its will, yet there's no hope
it will reveal the sky's mysteries.
Poetry also has the will of clouds
with words like rain, to avoid madness
it creates more madness. Just as when love
is written down, it loses half of its sincerity.
When explained, there is only a layer of sticky
mist left. No one is quick or deft enough
to capture poetry for long. Everything perfect
contains a dark cave.
(the rest of the poem is here -- scroll down to the third poem)
My brother found this poem and shared it with me. I loved it in March, but I love it even more after poetry month. The line, "Just as when love/is written down, it loses half of its sincerity" seems to have been written just for me and my PO-EMotion collaborators! And I found so many dark caves last month...
For more Poetry Friday "spelunking," visit Michelle's roundup at Today's Little Ditty.