Blossoms at night,
and the faces of people
moved by music.


Translated by Robert Hass

Today the children
left their desks,
and asked questions

outside, in the streets
their mouths open,
their voices strong

Bliv ved, bliv ved, med Klokkerne at kime!
Synk, arme Folk, hen i din Afmagts Lænke!
Selv i en Liigfærds stille Alvorstime
Vil man, at du skal gloe, og ikke tænke.

a blazing sky ~
I look at the eagles
still flying high
...

Why shall I keep the old name?
What is a name anywhere anyway?
A name is a cheap thing all fathers and mothers leave each child:
A job is a job and I want to live, so
Why does God Almighty or anybody else care whether I take a new name to go by?

an eve in the hills ~
blackbirds in the bushes
mimicking...
...

By the bridge over Qin-wei River,
Wild flowers and grass had grown over.
In Black Shirt Lane, nothing much differed,
And at the entrance it was the same sunset ever.
Into the halls of dignities , the swallows once flown,
But now they are finding their way in ordinary homes.

Black riders came from the sea.
There was clang and clang of spear and shield,
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of sin.

Black on the depths of blackest skies
whence even the levin seems withdrawn,
the cities threaten: burning eyes
ask what dread hand hath slain the dawn.

Black light of the dead
In the middle of it, I alone of a kind.