Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review


Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review


Article excerpt

Waking once in the midst of night, I see

the moon overhead putting on a very sulky face-

such a perfectly round moon face with a slight dimple.

Not far away, moonlight lowers its face with guilt,

not a tremor in the sky, the stars very still, as if embarrassed;

below, in the water's depths, a few rippling sounds

arise now and then.

It seems a little while ago

something went wrong somewhere-

hasn't anybody written any poetry

about moons, flowers, and birds?

Or somebody has written poetry.

Water should know all the details of this affair

between the beginning and the end.

Wherever water lies

the moon should have a special seat inside its house.

Water holds up its intoxicating mirror

to the moon's tender face;

there is no blemish anywhere in this profound love

between water and the moon.

Then why? Has the contact with water been disrupted?

Some time especially the deep green gondolas of water hyacinth

have unfurled their purple sails and covered the crystals of water. …

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