Translations of Female Poets
These are my modern English translations of female poets who include Kajal Ahmad, Renée Vivien, Tzu Yeh, Ono no Komachi, Sappho, Enheduanna, and others you won't want to miss.
Kajal Ahmad is a talented Kurdish poet who speaks eloquently for women and children in a male-dominated society.
Mirror
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My era's obscuring mirror
shattered
because it magnified the small
and made the great seem insignificant.
Dictators and monsters filled its contours.
Now when I breathe
its jagged shards pierce my heart
and instead of sweat
I exude glass.
The Lonely Earth
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The pale celestial bodies
never bid her "Good morning!"
nor do the creative stars
kiss her.
Earth, where so many tender persuasions and roses lie interred,
might expire for the lack of a glance, or an odor.
She's a lonely dusty orb,
so very lonely!, as she observes the moon's patchwork attire
knowing the sun's an imposter
who sears with rays he has stolen for himself
and who looks down on the moon and earth like lodgers.
Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there's nowhere left to nest, no refuge from their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don't think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.
Haiku and Tanka by Female Poets
Because morning glories
hold my well-bucket hostage
I go begging for water
― Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ah butterfly,
what dreams do you ply
with your beautiful wings?
― Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Along with spring leaves
my child's teeth
take root, blossom
― Nakamura Kusatao, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I remove my beautiful kimono:
its varied braids
surround and entwine my body
― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This day of chrysanthemums
I shake and comb my wet hair,
as their petals shed rain
― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Because he’s slow to wrath,
I tackle him, then wring his neck
in the long grass
― Shimazu Ryoh, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―by Vera Pavlova, a Russian poet, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If fields of autumn flowers
can shed their blossoms, shameless,
why can’t I also frolic here —
as fearless, wild and blameless?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There are more poems by Ono no Komachi, whom I consider a major poet, later on this page.
Wu Tsao aka Wu Zao (1789-1862) was a celebrated lesbian poet whose lyrics were sung throughout China. She was also known as Wu Pinxiang and Yucenzi.
For the Courtesan Ch’ing Lin
by Wu Tsao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the girdle encircling your slender body
jade and coral ornaments tinkle like chimes,
like the tintinnabulations of some celestial being
only recently descended from heaven’s palaces.
You smiled at me when we met
and I become tongue-tied, forgetting how to speak.
For far too long now you have adorned yourself with flowers,
leaning nonchalantly against veiling bamboos,
your green sleeves failing to keep you warm
in your mysterious valley.
I can imagine you standing there:
an unusual girl, alone with her cryptic thoughts.
You exude light like a perfumed lamp
in the lengthening shadows.
We sip wine and play games,
recite each other’s poems.
You sing “South of the River”
with its heartrending verses.
Then we paint each other’s fingernails, toenails and beautiful eyebrows.
I want to possess you entirely:
your slender jade body
and your elsewhere-engaged heart.
Today it is spring
and enmassed mists, vast, cover the Five Lakes.
Oh my dearest darling, let me buy you a scarlet boat
and pirate you away!
Love in Kyiv
by Natalka Bilotserkivets, a Ukrainian poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love is more terrible in Kyiv
than spectacular Venetian passions,
than butterflies morphing into bright tapers –
winged caterpillars bursting aflame!
Here spring has lit the chestnuts, like candles,
and we have cheap lipstick’s fruity taste,
the daring innocence of miniskirts,
and all these ill-cut coiffures.
And yet images, memories and portents still move us...
all so tragically obvious, like the latest fashion.
Here you’ll fall victim to the assassin’s stiletto,
your blood coruscating like rust
reddening a brand-new Audi in a Tartarkan alley.
Here you’ll plummet from a balcony
headlong into your decrepit little Paris,
wearing a prim white secretarial blouse.
Here you can no longer discern the weddings from the funerals,
because love in Kyiv is more terrible
than the tired slogans of the New Communism.
Phantoms emerge these inebriated nights
out of Bald Mountain, bearing
red banners and potted red geraniums.
Here you’ll die by the assassin’s stiletto:
plummet from a balcony,
tumble headlong into a brand-new Audi in a Tartarkan alley,
spiral into your decrepit little Paris,
your blood coruscating like rust
on a prim white secretarial blouse.
"Words terrify when they remain unspoken." – Lina Kostenko, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Unsaid
by Lina Kostenko
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You told me “I love you” with your eyes
and your soul passed its most difficult exam;
like the tinkling bell of a mountain stream,
the unsaid remains unsaid.
Life rushed past the platform
as the station's speaker lapsed into silence:
so many words spilled by the quill!
But the unsaid remains unsaid.
Nights become dawn; days become dusk;
Fate all too often tilted the scales.
Words rose in me like the sun,
yet the unsaid remains unsaid.
Let It Be
by Lina Kostenko
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let there be light! The touch of a feather.
Let it be forever. A radiant memory!
This world is palest birch bark,
whitened in the darkness from elsewhere.
Today the snow began to fall.
Today late autumn brimmed with smoke.
Let it be bitter, dark memories of you.
Let it be light, these radiant memories!
Don't let the phone arouse your sorrow,
nor let your sadness stir with the leaves.
Let it be light, ’twas only a dream
barely brushing consciousness with its lips.
Undine
by Renée Vivien, an English who wrote poems in French
loose translation/interpretation by Kim Cherub (an alias of Michael R. Burch)
Your laughter startles, your caresses rake.
Your cold kisses love the evil they do.
Your eyes—blue lotuses drifting on a lake.
Lilies are less pallid than your face.
You move like water parting.
Your hair falls in rootlike tangles.
Your words like treacherous rapids rise.
Your arms, flexible as reeds, strangle,
Choking me like tubular river reeds.
I shiver in their enlacing embrace.
Drowning without an illuminating moon,
I vanish without a trace,
lost in a nightly swoon.
Song
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When the moon weeps,
illuminating flowers on the graves of the faithful,
my memories creep
back to you, wrapped in flightless wings.
It's getting late; soon we will sleep
(your eyes already half closed)
steeped
in the shimmering air.
O, the agony of burning roses:
your forehead discloses
a heavy despondency,
though your hair floats lightly ...
In the night sky the stars burn whitely
as the Goddess nightly
resurrects flowers that fear the sun
and die before dawn ...
Amazone
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
the Amazon smiles above the ruins
while the sun, wearied by its struggles, droops to sleep.
murder’s aroma swells Her nostrils;
She exults in blood, death’s inscrutable lover.
She loves lovers who intoxicate Her
with their wild agonies and proud demises.
She despises the cloying honey of feminine caresses;
cups empty of horror fail to satisfy Her.
Her desire, falling cruelly on some wan mouth
from which she rips out the unrequited kiss,
awaits ardently lust’s supreme spasm,
more beautiful and more terrible than the spasm of love.
The French poem has “coups” and I considered various words – “cuts,” “coups,” “coups counted,” etc. – but I thought because of “intoxicate” and “honey” that “cups” worked best in English.
“Nous nous sommes assises” (“We Sat Down”)
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Darling, we were like two exiles
bearing our desolate souls within us.
Dawn broke more revolting than any illness...
Neither of us knew the native language
As we wandered the streets like strangers.
The morning’s stench, so oppressive!
Yet you shone like the sunrise of hope...
***
As night fell, we sat down,
Your drab dress grey as any evening,
To feel the friendly freshness of kisses.
No longer alone in the universe,
We exchanged lovely verses with languor.
Darling, we dallied, without quite daring to believe,
And I told you: “The evening is far more beautiful than the dawn.”
You nudged me with your forehead, then gave me your hands,
And I no longer feared uncertain tomorrows.
The sunset sashayed off with its splendid insolence,
But no voice dared disturb our silence...
I forgot the houses and their inhospitality...
The sunset dyed my mourning attire purple.
Then I told you, kissing your half-closed eyelids:
“Violets are more beautiful than roses.”
Darkness overwhelmed the horizon...
Harmonious sobs surrounded us...
A strange languor subdued the strident city.
Thus we savored the enigmatic hour.
Slowly death erased all light and noise,
Then I knew the august face of the night.
You let the last veils slip to your naked feet...
Then your body appeared even nobler to me, dimly lit by the stars.
Finally came the appeasement of rest, of returning to ourselves...
And I told you: “Here is the height of love…”
We who had come carrying our desolate souls within us,
like two exiles, like complete strangers.
"Nous nous sommes assises" by Renée Vivien from the collection Recueil: "À l'heure des mains jointes"
The oldest extant love lyric appears to be the ancient Sumerian poem "The Love Song of Shu-Sin," which has also been called "The Love Song for Shu-Sin" because it was apparently written to be recited to the ancient Sumerian king Shu-Sin by a woman he was about to marry (or perhaps just have sex with). The poem was written circa 2000 BC, making it ancient indeed!
Ono no Komachi
Ono no Komachi wrote tanka (also known as waka), the most traditional form of Japanese lyric poetry. She is best known today for her pensive, melancholic and erotic poems ...
If fields of autumn flowers
can shed their blossoms, shameless,
why can’t I also frolic here —
as fearless, wild and blameless?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ono no Komachi is an excellent representative of the Classical, or Heian, period (circa 794-1185 AD) of Japanese literature and one of the best-known poets of the Kokinshu (circa 905), the first in a series of anthologies of Japanese poetry compiled by imperial order. She is also one of the Rokkasen — the six best waka poets of the early Heian period, during which poetry was considered the highest art. In other words, like Sappho to the ancient Greeks, Komachi was considered to be one of the very best poets of her era. Or we might compare her to Madonna and Beyonce in ours. But Komachi's poems of unrequited love, and of neglect by her lovers, remind me of Sappho ...
I had thought to pluck
the flower of forgetfulness
only to find it
already blossoming in his heart.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Renowned for her unusual beauty, Komachi has become a synonym for feminine beauty in Japan. She is also included among the thirty-six Poetry Immortals. It is believed that she was born sometime between 820-830 and that she wrote most of her poems around the middle of the ninth century. Ono no Komachi is also the heroine of Sotoba Komachi, a modern Noh play by Yukio Mishima (1925-1970). Mishima's play is based on an ancient work by Kan'ami Kiyotsugu (1333-1384). There is more information about Sotoba Komachi at the bottom of this page. The play is about an aging Komachi who, according to legend, lost her mind and her desire to live along with her fabled beauty. And that loss of desire does seem to be confirmed by her poems ...
So cruelly severed,
a root-cut reed ...
if the river offered,
why not be freed?
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XVIII:938), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Alas, the beauty of the flowers came to naught
as I watched the rain, lost in melancholy thought ...
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sad,
the end that awaits me —
to think that before autumn yields
I'll be a pale mist
shrouding these rice fields.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
"The passionate accents of the waka of Komachi and Narihira would never be surpassed, and the poetry as a whole is of such charm as to make the appearance of the Kokinshū seem less a brilliant dawn after a dark night than the culmination of a steady enhancement of the expressive powers of the most typical Japanese poetic art."—Donald Keene, translator, critic and literary historian
Some of the poems below have been attributed to Ono no Komachi but may have been composed by poets of later periods who were influenced by her style and themes. Where possible, I have provided a reference. Some poems have multiple translations with slightly different interpretations.
Abandonment
This abandoned mountain shack —
how many nights
has autumn sheltered there?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Am I to spend the night alone
atop this summit,
cold and lost?
Won't you at least lend me
your robes of moss?
—Ono no Komachi (GSS XVII:1195), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ancient Feminism
Submit to you — is that what you advise?
The way ripples do
whenever ill winds arise?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If fields of autumn flowers
can shed their blossoms, shameless,
why can’t I also frolic here —
as fearless, wild and blameless?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fatal reality!
You must do as you must, I suppose.
But even protected in dreams from prying eyes,
to watch you still pains me so!
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIII:656), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In eye-opening daylight
much stands revealed,
but when I see myself
reflected in hostile eyes
even dreams become nightmares.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Aging, Death and Loss
Watching wan moonlight flooding tree limbs,
my heart also brims,
overflowing with autumn.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Watching wan moonlight
illuminate tree limbs,
my heart also brims,
overflowing with autumn.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sad,
the end that awaits me —
to think that before autumn yields
I'll be a pale mist
shrouding these rice fields.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
That which men call "love" —
is it not merely the chain
preventing our escape
from this world of pain?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In this dismal world
the living decrease
as the dead increase ...
Oh, how much longer
must I bear this body of grief?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Wilted Flowers, Rain and Tears
Alas, the beauty of the flowers came to naught
as I watched the rain, lost in melancholy thought ...
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Once-colorful flowers faded,
while in my drab cell
life’s impulse also abated
as the long rains fell.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:113), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Once-colorful flowers faded,
while in my drab cell
life’s impulse also abated
as the dismal rains fell.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:113), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This flower's color
has drained away,
while in idle thoughts
my life drained away
as the long rains fell.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:113), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Two things wilt without warning,
bleeding away their colors:
a flower and a man's heart.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XV:797), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I had thought to pluck
the flower of forgetfulness
only to find it
already blossoming in his heart.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
"It's over!"
Your words drizzle like dismal rains,
reducing me to tears
as I wilt with my years.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XV:782), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now bitterly I watch fierce winds
battering the rice stalks,
suspecting I'll never again
find anything to harvest.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XV:822), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So lately severed,
a root-cut reed,
if the river offered,
why not be freed?
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XVIII:938), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This aimlessly floating body?
This reed severed from its roots?
If the river offered me freedom
I think I'd follow ...
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XVIII:938), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Wretched water-weed that I am,
severed from all roots:
should the rapids entice me,
why not welcome their lethal shoots?
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XVIII:938), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How brilliantly
tears rain upon my sleeve
in bright gemlets,
for my despair cannot be withstood,
like a surging flood!
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:557), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams
As I slept in isolation
my desired beloved appeared to me;
therefore, dreams have become my reality
and consolation.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:553), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Did you appear
only because I was lost in love-thoughts
when I nodded off, day-dreaming of you?
(If I had known that you
couldn't possibly be true
I'd have never awakened!)
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:552), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I nodded off thinking about you
only to have your appear in my dreams.
Had I known that I slept,
I'd have never awakened!
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:552), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Though I visit you
continually in my dreams,
the sum of all such ethereal trysts
is still less than one actual, solid glimpse.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIII:658), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I pursue you ceaselessly in my dreams ...
yet we've never met; we're not even acquainted!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I think of you ceaselessly, with love ...
and so ... come to me tonight,
for in the flight of dreams,
no one can disapprove!
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIII:657), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Night Sweats and Desire
This moonless night,
with no way to meet him,
I grow restless with longing:
my breast’s an inferno,
my heart chars within me.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIX:1030), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I would meet him tonight
but the moon shows no path;
my desire for him,
smoldering in my breast,
burns my heart to ash!
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIX:1030), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On nights such as these
when no moon lights your way to me,
I lie awake, my passion blazing,
my breast an inferno wildly raging,
while my heart chars within me.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIX:1030), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Overwhelmed by desire
in the lily-seed darkness,
tonight I'll turn my robe inside-out
before donning it.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:554), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sleepless with loneliness,
I find myself longing for the handsome moon.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love and Loneliness
Love is man's most unbreakable bond.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XVIII:939), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fiery coals searing my body
hurt me far less than the sorrow of parting.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XX:1104), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Am I to spend the night alone
atop this summit,
cold and lost?
Won't you at least lend me
your robes of moss?
—Ono no Komachi (GSS XVII:1195), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This abandoned mountain shack —
how many nights
has autumn sheltered there?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This vain life!
My looks and talents faded
like these cherry blossoms left limp
by endless dismal rains
that I now survey, alone.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fishermen
Since there’s obviously nothing to catch
in this barren bay,
how can he fail to understand —
this fisherman who persists in coming
until he collapses in the sand?
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIII:623), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
What do I know of villages
where fisherfolk dwell?
Why do you keep demanding
that I show you the seashore,
lead you to some opalescent shell?
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XIV:727), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Miscellanea
Watching the long, dismal rains
inundating the earth,
my heart too is washed out, bleeds off
with the colors of the late spring flowers.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Like flowers wilted by drenching rains,
my beauty has faded in the onslaught of my forlorn years.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Autumn nights are "long"
only in verse and song:
for we had just begun
to gaze into each other’s eyes
when dawn immolated the skies!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Since my body
was neglected by the one
who had promised faithfully to come,
I now lie here questioning its existence.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Yielding to a love
that recognizes no boundaries,
I will approach him by night—
for the world cannot despise
a wandering dreamer.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now that I approach
life’s inevitable winter
your ardor has faded
like blossoms left limp
by late autumn rains.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Submit to you —
is that what you’re saying?
The way ripples do
whenever hot air is splaying?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sotoba Komachi (卒塔婆小町) is a modern Noh play by Yukio Mishima (1925-1970). Mishima's play is based on an ancient work by Kan'ami Kiyotsugu (1333-1384). The kanji 卒塔婆 means "stupa" (the dome of a shrine) while the kanji 小町 means "belle" or "beautiful woman." So the title may be interpreted as something like "Beauty's Shrine" or "Shrine to Beauty." Kan'ami was the first playwright to incorporate the Kusemai song and dance style and Dengaku dances into plays. He founded a sarugaku theater group in the Kansai region of Honshu; the troupe later moved to Yamato and formed the Yuzaki theater company, which would become the school of Noh theater.
Excerpts from SOTOBA KOMACHI
by KWANAMI
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Priest of the Koyasan:
We who have built our homes on shallow slopes
now seek solitude in the heart's deep recesses.
Second Priest:
This single thought possessed me:
How I might bring a single seed to flower,
the wisdom of Buddha, the locus of our salvation,
until in despair I donned this dark cassock.
Ono no Komachi:
Lately so severed,
like a root-cut reed,
if the river offered,
why not be freed?
I would gladly go,
but here no wave stirs ...
I was once full of pride
now fled with the years,
gone with dark tresses
and with lustrous locks;
I was lithe as a willow
in my springtime frocks;
I once sang like a nightingale
sipping dew;
I was wild as the rose
when the skies shone blue ...
in those days before fall
when the long shadows grew.
But now I’ve grown loathsome
even to whores;
even urchins abhor me;
men treat me with scorn ...
Now I am nothing
but a poor, withered bough,
and yet there are wildflowers
in my heart, even now.
Only my body lingers, for my heart left this world long ago!
Priests (together):
O, piteous, piteous!
Is this the once-fabled flower-bright Komachi,
Komachi the Beautiful,
whose dark brows bridged eyes like young moons;
her face whitest alabaster forever;
whose many damask robes filled cedar-scented closets?
The Love Song of Shu-Sin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Darling of my heart, my belovèd,
your enticements are sweet, far sweeter than honey!
Darling of my heart, my belovèd,
your enticements are sweet, far sweeter than honey!
You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you.
Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom!
You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you.
Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom!
Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things for you!
This crevice you'll caress is far sweeter than honey!
In the bedchamber, dripping love’s honey,
let us enjoy the sweetest thing.
Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things for you!
This crevice you'll caress is far sweeter than honey!
Bridegroom, you will have your pleasure with me!
Speak to my mother and she will reward you;
speak to my father and he will give you gifts.
I know how to give your body pleasure—
then sleep easily, my darling, until the sun dawns.
To prove that you love me,
give me your caresses,
my Lord God, my guardian Angel and protector,
my Shu-Sin, who gladdens Enlil’s heart,
give me your caresses!
My place like sticky honey, touch it with your hand!
Place your hand over it like a honey-pot lid!
Cup your hand over it like a honey cup!
This is a balbale-song of Inanna.
Ho Xuan Huong (1772-1882) was a risqué Vietnamese poetess. Her verse, replete with nods, winks, sexual innuendo and a rich eroticism, was shocking to many readers of her day and will probably remain so to some of ours. Huong has been described as "the candid voice of a liberal female in a male-dominated society." Her output has been called "coy, often bawdy lyrics." More information about the poet follows these English translations of her poems.
Ốc Nhồi ("The Snail")
Ho Xuan Huong (1772-1882)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My parents produced a snail,
Night and day it slithers through slimy grass.
If you love me, remove my shell,
But please don't jiggle my little hole!
The Breadfruit or Jackfruit
Ho Xuan Huong (1772-1882)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My body's like a breadfruit ripening on a tree:
My skin coarse, my pulp thick.
My lord, if you want me, pierce me with your stick,
But don't squeeze or the sap will sully your hands!
Bánh trôi nước ("Floating Sweet Dumpling")
Ho Xuan Huong (1772-1882)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My powdered body is white and round.
Now I bob. Now I sink.
The hand that kneads me may be rough,
But my heart at the center remains untouched.
One of the oldest, earthiest and best poems in the English language was most likely written by an anonymous female Anglo-Saxon scop.
Wulf and Eadwacer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My clan's curs pursue him like crippled game;
they'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
Wulf's on one island; I'm on another.
His island's a fortress, fastened by fens. (fastened=secured)
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
My hopes pursued Wulf like panting hounds,
but whenever it rained—how I wept!—
the boldest cur clutched me in his paws:
good feelings to a point, but the end loathsome!
Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your seldom-comings
have left me famished, deprived of real meat.
Have you heard, Eadwacer? Watchdog!
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods.
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.
What an earthy, dirty, brutally honest poem written from a female perspective about what sounds like war, a family being split apart, and perhaps rape, sex slavery and child abduction and/or infanticide. Much remains in doubt: did Wulf abduct the child, perhaps thinking the child was his, or did the the mother, the rapist or perhaps the rapist's wife get rid of the child? In my opinion the original poem is one of the truly great poems in the English language, so my translation seems like a worthwhile endeavor, especially if other people like what I've done.
Hannah Arendt was a Jewish-German philosopher and Holocaust survivor who also wrote poetry.
H.B.
for Hermann Broch
by Hannah Arendt
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Survival.
But how does one live without the dead?
Where is the sound of their lost company?
Where now, their companionable embraces?
We wish they were still with us.
We are left with the cry that ripped them away from us.
Left with the veil that shrouds their empty gazes.
What avails? That we commit ourselves to their memories,
and through this commitment, learn to survive.
I Love the Earth
by Hannah Arendt
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the earth
like a trip
to a foreign land
and not otherwise.
Even so life spins me
on its loom softly
into never-before-seen patterns.
Until suddenly
like the last farewells of a new journey,
the great silence breaks the frame.
To a Daughter More Precious than Gems
by Otomo no Sakanoue no Iratsume (c. 700-750), a Japanese poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Heaven's cold dew has fallen
and thus another season arrives.
Oh, my child living so far away,
do you pine for me as I do for you?
I have trusted my jewel to the gem-guard;
so now there's nothing to do, my pillow,
but for the two of us to sleep together!
I cherished you, my darling,
as the Sea God guards his treasury's pearls.
But you are pledged to your husband
(such is the way of the world)
and have been torn from me like a blossom.
I left you for faraway Koshi;
since then your lovely eyebrows
curving like distant waves
ever linger in my eyes.
My heart is as unsteady as a rocking boat;
besieged by such longing I weaken with age
and come close to breaking.
If I could have prophesied such longing,
I would have stayed with you,
gazing on you constantly
as into a shining mirror.
I gaze out over the fields of Tadaka
seeing the cranes that cry there incessantly:
such is my longing for you.
Oh my child,
who loved me so helplessly
like bird hovering over shallow river rapids!
Dear child, my daughter, who stood
sadly pensive by the gate,
even though I was leaving for a friendly estate,
I think of you day and night
and my body has become thin,
my sleeves tear-stained with weeping.
If I must long for you so wretchedly,
how can I remain these many months
here at this dismal old farm?
Because you ache for me so intently,
your sad thoughts all confused
like the disheveled tangles of your morning hair,
I see you, dear child, in my dreams.
Otomo no Sakanoue no Iratsume (c. 700-750) was an important ancient Japanese poet. She had 79 poems in Manyoshu ("Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves"), the first major anthology of classical Japanese poetry, mostly waka. The compiler of the anthology was Otomo no Yakamochi (c. 718-785). Otomo no Sakanoue no Iratsume was his aunt, tutor and poetic mentor. In the first stanza, Lady Otomo has left her children in Nara, possibly to visit her brother. In the second stanza, it is believed that the jewel is Lady Otomo's daughter and that she has been trusted to the care of her husband. As for the closing stanza, according to the notes of the Manyoshu, it was popularly believed that a person would appear in the dreams of the one for whom he/she yearned.
THE IMMORTAL SAPPHO
Mnemosyne was stunned into astonishment when she heard honey-tongued Sappho, wondering how mortal men merited a tenth Muse. — Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sappho, fragment 42
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Eros harrows my heart:
wild winds whipping desolate mountains
uprooting oaks.
Sappho, fragment 155
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A short transparent frock?
It's just my luck
your lips were made to mock!
Sappho, fragment 156
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
She keeps her scents
in a dressing-case.
And her sense?
In some undiscoverable place.
Sappho, fragment 130
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
May the gods prolong the night
—yes, let it last forever!—
as long as you sleep in my sight.
There are more Sappho translations later on this page.
This is my translation of a moving poem by Hiroshima survivor Kurihara Sadako:
Let Us Be Midwives!
by Kurihara Sadako, a Japanese poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Midnight . . .
the basement of a shattered building . . .
atomic bomb survivors sniveling in the darkness . . .
not a single candle between them . . .
the odor of blood . . .
the stench of death . . .
the sickly-sweet smell of decaying humanity . . .
the groans . . .
the moans . . .
Out of all that, suddenly, miraculously, a voice:
"The baby's coming!"
In the hellish basement, unexpectedly,
a young mother had gone into labor.
In the dark, lacking a single match, what to do?
Scrambling to her side,
forgetting their own . . .
These are my translations of poems by the great Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva:
I Know The Truth
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I know the truth—abandon lesser truths!
There's no need for anyone living to struggle!
See? Evening falls, night quickly descends!
So why the useless disputes, generals, poets, lovers?
The wind is calming now; the earth is bathed in dew;
the stars' infernos will soon freeze in the heavens.
And soon we'll sleep together, under the earth,
we who never gave each other a moment's rest above it.
I Know The Truth (Alternate Ending)
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I know the truth—abandon lesser truths!
There's no need for anyone living to struggle!
See? Evening falls, night quickly descends!
So why the useless disputes, generals, poets, lovers?
The wind caresses the grasses; the earth gleams, damp with dew;
the stars' infernos will soon freeze in the heavens.
And soon we'll lie together under the earth,
we who were never united above it.
Poems about Moscow
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
5
Above the city Saint Peter once remanded to hell
now rolls the delirious thunder of the bells.
As the thundering high tide eventually reverses,
so, too, the woman who once bore your curses.
To you, O Great Peter, and you, O Great Tsar, I kneel!
And yet the bells above me continually peal.
And while they keep ringing out of the pure blue sky,
Moscow's eminence is something I can't deny ...
though sixteen hundred churches, nearby and afar,
all gaily laugh at the hubris of the Tsars.
The Guest
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Everything’s the same: a driving snow
Hammers the dining room windows.
Meanwhile, I remain my usual self.
But a man came to me.
I asked him, “What do you want?”
“To be with you in hell.”
I laughed: “It’s plain you intend
To see us both damned!”
But he lifted his elegant hand
to lightly caress the flowers.
“Tell me how they kiss you,
Tell me how you kiss.”
His eyes, observing me blankly,
Never moved from my ring,
Nor did a muscle move
In his implacable face.
We both know his delight
is my unnerving knowledge
that he is indifferent to me,
that I can refuse him nothing.
THE MUSE
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My being hangs by a thread tonight
as I await a Muse no human pen can command.
The desires of my heart — youth, liberty, glory —
now depend on the Maid with the flute in her hand.
Look! Now she arrives; she flings back her veil;
I meet her grave eyes — calm, implacable, pitiless.
“Temptress, confess!
Are you the one who gave Dante hell?”
She answers, “Yes.”
The evening light is broad and yellow
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The evening light is broad and yellow;
it glides in on an April rain.
You arrived years late,
yet I’m glad you came.
Please sit down here, beside me,
receive me with welcoming eyes.
Here is my blue notebook
with my childhood poems inside.
Forgive me if I lived in sorrow,
spent too little time rejoicing in the sun.
Forgive, forgive, me, if I mistook
others for you, when you were the One.
I have also translated this tribute poem written by Marina Tsvetaeva for Anna Akhmatova:
Excerpt from “Poems for Akhmatova”
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You outshine everything, even the sun
at its zenith. The stars are yours!
If only I could sweep like the wind
through some unbarred door,
gratefully, to where you are ...
to hesitantly stammer, suddenly shy,
lowering my eyes before you, my lovely mistress,
petulant, chastened, overcome by tears,
as a child sobs to receive forgiveness ...
Veronica Franco (1546-1591) was a Venetian courtesan who wrote literary-quality poetry and prose. Her poems display both passion and intelligence, and she sometimes engaged in witty poetic "duels" with the male poets she knew. For instance, Franco wrote the poem below in response to a poem by Marco Venier:
A Courtesan's Love Lyric (I)
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My rewards will be commensurate with your gifts
if only you give me the one that lifts
me laughing ...
And though it costs you nothing,
still it is of immense value to me.
Your reward will be
not just to fly
but to soar, so high
that your joys vastly exceed your desires.
And my beauty, to which your heart aspires
and which you never tire of praising,
I will employ for the raising
of your spirits. Then, lying sweetly at your side,
I will shower you with all the delights of a bride,
which I have more expertly learned.
Then you who so fervently burned
will at last rest, fully content,
fallen even more deeply in love, spent
at my comfortable bosom.
When I am in bed with a man I blossom,
becoming completely free
with the man who loves and enjoys me.
Here is a second version of the same poem ...
I Resolved to Make a Virtue of My Desire (II)
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My rewards will match your gifts
If you give me the one that lifts
Me, laughing. If it comes free,
Still, it is of immense value to me.
Your reward will be—not just to fly,
But to soar—so incredibly high
That your joys eclipse your desires
(As my beauty, to which your heart aspires
And which you never tire of praising,
I employ for your spirit's raising).
Afterwards, lying docile at your side,
I will grant you all the delights of a bride,
Which I have more expertly learned.
Then you, who so fervently burned,
Will at last rest, fully content,
Fallen even more deeply in love, spent
At my comfortable bosom.
When I am in bed with a man I blossom,
Becoming completely free
With the man who freely enjoys me.
Franco published two books: Terze rime (a collection of poems) and Lettere familiari a diversi (Faa collection of letters and poems). She also collected the works of other writers into anthologies and founded a charity for courtesans and their children. And she was an early champion of women's rights, one of the first ardent, outspoken feminists that we know by name today. For example ...
Capitolo 24
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
(written by Franco to a man who had insulted a woman)
Please try to see with sensible eyes
how grotesque it is for you
to insult and abuse women!
Our unfortunate sex is always subject
to such unjust treatment, because we
are dominated, denied true freedom!
And certainly we are not at fault
because, while not as robust as men,
we have equal hearts, minds and intellects.
Nor does virtue originate in power,
but in the vigor of the heart, mind and soul:
the sources of understanding;
and I am certain that in these regards
women lack nothing,
but, rather, have demonstrated
superiority to men.
If you think us "inferior" to yourself,
perhaps it's because, being wise,
we outdo you in modesty.
And if you want to know the truth,
the wisest person is the most patient;
she squares herself with reason and with virtue;
while the madman thunders insolence.
The stone the wise man withdraws from the well
was flung there by a fool ...
Life was not a bed of roses for Venetian courtesans. Although they enjoyed the good graces of their wealthy patrons, religious leaders and commoners saw them as symbols of vice. Once during a plague, Franco was banished from Venice as if her "sins" had helped cause it. When she returned in 1577, she faced the Inquisition and charges of "witchcraft." She defended herself in court and won her freedom, but lost all her material possessions. Eventually, Domenico Venier, her major patron, died in 1582 and left her with no support. Her tax declaration of that same year stated that she was living in a section of the city where many destitute prostitutes ended their lives. She may have died in poverty at the age of forty-five.
Hollywood produced a movie based on her life: Dangerous Beauty.
When I bed a man
who—I sense—truly loves and enjoys me,
I become so sweet and so delicious
that the pleasure I bring him surpasses all delight,
till the tight
knot of love,
however slight
it may have seemed before,
is raveled to the core.
We danced a youthful jig through that fair city—
Venice, our paradise, so pompous and pretty.
We lived for love, for primal lust and beauty;
to please ourselves became our only duty.
Floating there in a fog between heaven and earth,
We grew drunk on excesses and wild mirth.
We thought ourselves immortal poets then,
Our glory endorsed by God's illustrious pen.
But paradise, we learned, is fraught with error,
and sooner or later love succumbs to terror.
In response to a friend urging Veronica Franco to help her daughter become a courtesan, Franco warns her that the profession can be devastating:
"Even if Fortune were only benign and favorable to you in this endeavor, this life is such that in any case it would always be wretched. It is such an unhappy thing, and so contrary to human nature, to subject one's body and activity to such slavery that one is frightened just by the thought of it: to let oneself be prey to many, running the risk of being stripped, robbed, killed, so that one day can take away from you what you have earned with many men in a long time, with so many other dangers of injury and horrible contagious disease: to eat with someone else's mouth, to sleep with someone else's eyes, to move according to someone else's whim, running always toward the inevitable shipwreck of one's faculties and life. Can there be greater misery than this? ... Believe me, among all the misfortunes that can befall a human being in the world, this life is the worst."
I confess I became a courtesan, traded yearning for power, welcomed many rather than be owned by one. I confess I embraced a whore's freedom over a wife's obedience.— Dangerous Beauty, 1998
I wish it were not a sin to have liked it so.
Women have not yet realized the cowardice that resides,
for if they should decide to do so,
they would be able to fight you until death;
and to prove that I speak the truth,
amongst so many women,
I will be the first to act,
setting an example for them to follow.
This is a poem of mine that has been translated into Italian by Comasia Aquaro.
Her Grace Flows Freely
by Michael R. Burch
July 7, 2007
Her love is always chaste, and pure.
This I vow. This I aver.
If she shows me her grace, I will honor her.
This I vow. This I aver.
Her grace flows freely, like her hair.
This I vow. This I aver.
For her generousness, I would worship her.
This I vow. This I aver.
I will not damn her for what I bear
This I vow. This I aver.
like a most precious incense–desire for her,
This I vow. This I aver.
nor call her “whore” where I seek to repair.
This I vow. This I aver.
I will not wink, nor smirk, nor stare
This I vow. This I aver.
like a foolish child at the foot of a stair
This I vow. This I aver.
where I long to go, should another be there.
This I vow. This I aver.
I’ll rejoice in her freedom, and always dare
This I vow. This I aver.
the chance that she’ll flee me–my starling rare.
This I vow. This I aver.
And then, if she stays, without stays, I swear
This I vow. This I aver.
that I will joy in her grace beyond compare.
This I vow. This I aver.
Her Grace Flows Freely
by Michael R. Burch
Italian translation by Comasia Aquaro
La sua grazia vola libera
7 luglio 2007
Il suo amore è sempre casto, e puro.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Se mi mostra la sua grazia, le farò onore.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
La sua grazia vola libera, come i suoi capelli.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Per la sua generosità, la venererò.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Non la maledirò per ciò che soffro
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
come il più prezioso desiderio d’incenso per lei,
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
non chiamarla “sgualdrina” laddove io cerco di aggiustare.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Io non strizzerò l’occhio, non riderò soddisfatto, non fisserò lo sguardo
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Come un bambino sciocco ai piedi di una scala
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Laddove io desidero andare, ci sarebbe forse un altro.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Mi rallegrerò nella sua libertà, e sempre sfiderò
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
la sorte che lei mi sfuggirà—il mio raro storno
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
E dopo, se lei resta, senza stare, io lo garantisco
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Gioirò nella sua grazia al di là del confrontare.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Here are two translations of poems by a wonderful female Chinese poet:
The Migrant Songbird
Li Qingzhao aka Li Ching-chao (c. 1084-1155)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The migrant songbird on the nearby yew
brings tears to my eyes with her melodious trills;
this fresh downpour reminds me of similar spills:
another spring gone, and still no word from you ...
The Plum Blossoms
Li Qingzhao aka Li Ching-chao (c. 1084-1155)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This year with the end of autumn
I find my reflection graying at the edges.
Now evening gales hammer these ledges ...
what shall become of the plum blossoms?
Li Qingzhao was a poet and essayist during the Song dynasty. She is generally considered to be one of the greatest Chinese poets. In English she is known as Li Qingzhao, Li Ching-chao and The Householder of Yi’an.
Star Gauge
Sui Hui (c. 351-394 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So much lost so far away
on that distant rutted road.
That distant rutted road
wounds me to the heart.
Grief coupled with longing,
so much lost so far away.
Grief coupled with longing
wounds me to the heart.
This house without its master;
the bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils.
The bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils,
and you are not here.
Such loneliness! My adorned face
lacks the mirror's clarity.
I see by the mirror's clarity
my Lord is not here. Such loneliness!
Sui Hui, also known as Su Hui and Lady Su, appears to be the first female Chinese poet of note. And her "Star Gauge" or "Sphere Map" may be the most impressive poem written in any language to this day, in terms of complexity. "Star Gauge" has been described as a palindrome or "reversible" poem, but it goes far beyond that. According to contemporary sources, the original poem was shuttle-woven on brocade, in a circle, so that it could be read in multiple directions. Due to its shape the poem is also called Xuanji Tu ("Picture of the Turning Sphere"). The poem is now generally placed in a grid or matrix so that the Chinese characters can be read horizontally, vertically and diagonally. The story behind the poem is that Sui Hui's husband, Dou Tao, the governor of Qinzhou, was exiled to the desert. When leaving his wife, Dou swore to remain faithful. However, after arriving at his new post, he took a concubine. Lady Su then composed a circular poem, wove it into a piece of silk embroidery, and sent it to him. Upon receiving the masterwork, he repented. It has been claimed that there are up to 7,940 ways to read the poem. My translation above is just one of many possible readings of a portion of the poem.
Reflection
Xu Hui (627–650)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Confronting the morning she faces her mirror;
Her makeup done at last, she paces back and forth awhile.
It would take vast mountains of gold to earn one contemptuous smile,
So why would she answer a man's summons?
Due to the similarities in names, it seems possible that Sui Hui and Xu Hui were the same poet, with some of her poems being discovered later, or that poems written later by other poets were attributed to her.
TZU YEH
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I heard my love was going to Yang-chou
So I accompanied him as far as Ch'u-shan.
For just a moment as he held me in his arms
I thought the swirling river ceased flowing and time stood still.
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Will I ever hike up my dress for you again?
Will my pillow ever caress your arresting face?
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Night descends ...
I let my silken hair spill down my shoulders as I part my thighs over my lover.
Tell me, is there any part of me not worthy of being loved?
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I will wear my robe loose, not bothering with a belt;
I will stand with my unpainted face at the reckless window;
If my petticoat insists on fluttering about, shamelessly,
I'll blame it on the unruly wind!
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When he returns to my embrace,
I’ll make him feel what no one has ever felt before:
Me absorbing him like water
Poured into a wet clay jar.
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bare branches tremble in a sudden breeze.
Night deepens.
My lover loves me,
And I am pleased that my body's beauty pleases him.
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Do you not see
that we
have become like branches of a single tree?
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I could not sleep with the full moon haunting my bed!
I thought I heard―here, there, everywhere―
disembodied voices calling my name!
Helplessly I cried "Yes!" to the phantom air!
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I have brought my pillow to the windowsill
so come play with me, tease me, as in the past ...
Or, with so much resentment and so few kisses,
how much longer can love last?
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When she approached you on the bustling street, how could you say no?
But your disdain for me is nothing new.
Squeaking hinges grow silent on an unused door
where no one enters anymore.
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I remain constant as the Northern Star
while you rush about like the fickle sun:
rising in the East, drooping in the West.
Tzŭ-Yeh (or Tzu Yeh) was a courtesan of the Jin dynasty era (c. 400 BC) also known as Lady Night or Lady Midnight. Her poems were pinyin ("midnight songs"). Tzŭ-Yeh was apparently a "sing-song" girl, perhaps similar to a geisha trained to entertain men with music and poetry. She has also been called a "wine shop girl" and even a professional concubine! Whoever she was, it seems likely that Rihaku (Li-Po) was influenced by the lovely, touching (and often very sexy) poems of the "sing-song" girl. Centuries later, Arthur Waley was one of her translators and admirers. Waley and Ezra Pound knew each other, and it seems likely that they got together to compare notes at Pound's soirees, since Pound was also an admirer and translator of Chinese poetry. Pound's most famous translation is his take on Li-Po's "The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter." If the ancient "sing-song" girl influenced Li-Po and Pound, she was thus an influence―perhaps an important influence―on English Modernism. The first Tzŭ-Yeh poem makes me think that she was, indeed, a direct influence on Li-Po and Ezra Pound.―Michael R. Burch
Waves
Zhai Yongming (1955-)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The waves manhandle me like a midwife pounding my back relentlessly,
and so the world abuses my body—
accosting me, bewildering me, according me a certain ecstasy ...
Monologue
Zhai Yongming (1955-)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I am a wild thought, born of the abyss
and—only incidentally—of you. The earth and sky
combine in me—their concubine—they consolidate in my body.
I am an ordinary embryo, encased in pale, watery flesh,
and yet in the sunlight I dazzle and amaze you.
I am the gentlest, the most understanding of women.
Yet I long for winter, the interminable black night, drawn out to my heart's bleakest limit.
When you leave, my pain makes me want to vomit my heart up through my mouth—
to destroy you through love—where's the taboo in that?
The sun rises for the rest of the world, but only for you do I focus the hostile tenderness of my body.
I have my ways.
A chorus of cries rises. The sea screams in my blood but who remembers me?
What is life?
Zhai Yongming is a contemporary Chinese poet, born in Chengdu in 1955. She was one of the instigators and prime movers of the “Black Tornado” of women’s poetry that swept China in 1986-1989. Since then Zhai has been regarded as one of China’s most prominent poets.
Pyre
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You and I share so much desire:
this love―like a fire—
that ends in a pyre's
charred coffin.
"Married Love" or "You and I" or "The Song of You and Me"
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You and I shared a love that burned like fire:
two lumps of clay in the shape of Desire
molded into twin figures. We two.
Me and you.
In life we slept beneath a single quilt,
so in death, why any guilt?
Let the skeptics keep scoffing:
it's best to share a single coffin.
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319) is also known as Kuan Tao-Sheng, Guan Zhongji and Lady Zhongji. A famous poet of the early Yuan dynasty, she has also been called "the most famous female painter and calligrapher in the Chinese history ... remembered not only as a talented woman, but also as a prominent figure in the history of bamboo painting." She is best known today for her images of nature and her tendency to inscribe short poems on her paintings.
The Day after the Rain
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the day after the rain
and the meadow's green expanses!
My heart endlessly rises with wind,
gusts with wind ...
away the new-mown grasses and the fallen leaves ...
away the clouds like smoke ...
vanishing like smoke ...
Music Heard Late at Night
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
for Xu Zhimo
I blushed,
hearing the lovely nocturnal tune.
The music touched my heart;
I embraced its sadness, but how to respond?
The pattern of life was established eons ago:
so pale are the people's imaginations!
Perhaps one day You and I
can play the chords of hope together.
It must be your fingers gently playing
late at night, matching my sorrow.
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955), also known as Phyllis Lin and Lin Whei-yin, was a Chinese architect, historian, novelist and poet.
SORROWS OF THE WILD GEESE by HUANG E
These are my modern English translations of poems by the Chinese poet Huang E (1498–1569), also known as Huang Xiumei. She has been called the most outstanding female poet of the Ming Dynasty, and her husband its most outstanding male poet. Were they poetry’s first power couple? Her father Huang Ke was a high-ranking official of the Ming court and she married Yang Shen, the prominent son of Grand Secretary Yang Tinghe. Unfortunately for the young power couple, Yang Shen was exiled by the emperor early in their marriage and they lived largely apart for 30 years. During their long separations they would send each other poems which may belong to a genre of Chinese poetry I have dubbed "sorrows of the wild geese" …
Sent to My Husband
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The wild geese never fly beyond Hengyang ...
how then can my brocaded words reach Yongchang?
Like wilted willow flowers I am ill-fated indeed;
in that far-off foreign land you feel similar despair.
“Oh, to go home, to go home!” you implore the calendar.
“Oh, if only it would rain, if only it would rain!” I complain to the heavens.
One hears hopeful rumors that you might soon be freed ...
but when will the Golden Cock rise in Yelang?
NOTE: A star called the Golden Cock was a symbol of amnesty to the ancient Chinese. Yongchang was a hot, humid region of Yunnan to the south of Hengyang, and was presumably too hot and too far to the south for geese to fly there.
Luo Jiang's Second Complaint
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The green hills vanished,
pedestrians passed by
disappearing beyond curves.
The geese grew silent, the horseshoes timid.
Winter is the most annoying season!
A lone goose vanished into the heavens,
the trees whispered conspiracies in Pingwu,
and people huddling behind buildings shivered.
Bitter Rain, an Aria of the Yellow Oriole
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
These ceaseless rains make the spring shiver:
even the flowers and trees look cold!
The roads turn to mud;
the river's eyes are tired and weep into in a few bays;
the mountain clouds accumulate like dirty dishes,
and the end of the world seems imminent, if jejune.
I find it impossible to send books:
the geese are ruthless and refuse to fly south to Yunnan!
Broken-Hearted Poem
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My tears cascade into the inkwell;
my broken heart remains at a loss for words;
ever since we held hands and said farewell,
I have been too listless to paint my eyebrows;
no medicine can cure my night-sweats,
no wealth repurchase our lost youth;
and how can I persuade that damned bird singing in the far hills
to tell a traveler south of the Yangtze to return home?
An Ancient Egyptian Love Lyric (circa 1085-570 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Is there anything sweeter than these hours of love,
when we're together, and my heart races?
For what is better than embracing and fondling
when you visit me and we surrender to delights?
If you reach to caress my thigh,
I will offer you my breast also —
it's soft; it won't jab you or thrust you away!
Will you leave me because you're hungry?
Are you ruled by your belly?
Will you leave me because you need something to wear?
I have chests full of fine linen!
Will you leave me because you're thirsty?
Here, suck my breasts! They're full to overflowing, and all for you!
I glory in the hours of our embracings;
my joy is incalculable!
The thrill of your love spreads through my body
like honey in water,
like a drug mixed with spices,
like wine mingled with water.
Oh, that you would speed to see your sister
like a stallion in heat, like a bull to his heifer!
For the heavens have granted us love like flames igniting straw,
desire like the falcon's free-falling frenzy!
An Ancient Egyptian Love Song (circa 1300-1200 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lover, let’s slip down to the pond;
I’ll bathe while you watch me from the nearest bank.
I’ll wear my sexiest swimsuit, just for you,
made of sheer linen, fit for a princess!
Come, see how it looks when it’s wet!
Can I coax you to wade in with me?
To let the cool water surround us?
Then I’ll dive way down deep, just for you,
and come up dripping,
letting you feast your eyes
on the little pink fish I’ve found.
Then I’ll say, standing there in the shallows:
Look at my little pink fish, love,
as I hold it in my hand.
See how my fingers caress it,
slipping down its sides, then inside!
See how it wiggles?
But then I’ll giggle softly and sigh,
my eyes bright with your seeing:
It’s a gift, my love, no more words!
Come closer and see,
it’s all me!
"The Wife's Lament" or "The Wife's Complaint" is an Old English (Anglo-Saxon) poem found in the Exeter Book which is generally considered to be an elegy in the manner of the German frauenlied, or "woman's song," although there are other interpretations of the poem's genre and purpose. The Exeter Book has been dated to 960-990 AD, but of course the poem may have been written earlier.
The Wife's Lament
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I draw these words from deep wells of my grief,
care-worn, unutterably sad.
I can recount woes I've borne since birth,
present and past, never more than now.
I have won, from my exile-paths, only pain.
First, my lord forsook his folk, left,
crossed the seas' tumult, far from our people.
Since then, I've known
wrenching dawn-griefs, dark mournings ... oh where,
where can he be?
Then I, too, left—a lonely, lordless refugee,
full of unaccountable desires!
But the man's kinsmen schemed secretly
to estrange us, divide us, keep us apart,
across earth's wide kingdom, and my heart broke.
Then my lord spoke:
"Take up residence here."
I had few friends in this unknown, cheerless
region, none close.
Christ, I felt lost!
Then I thought I had found a well-matched man—
one meant for me,
but unfortunately he
was ill-starred and blind, with a devious mind,
full of murderous intentions, plotting some crime!
Before God we
vowed never to part, not till kingdom come, never!
But now that's all changed, forever—
our friendship done, severed.
I must hear, far and near, contempt for my husband.
So other men bade me, "Go, live in the grove,
beneath the great oaks, in an earth-cave, alone."
In this ancient cave-dwelling I am lost and oppressed—
the valleys are dark, the hills immense,
and this cruel-briared enclosure—an arid abode!
The injustice assails me—my lord's absence!
On earth there are lovers who share the same bed
while I pass through life dead in this dark abscess
where I wilt, summer days unable to rest
or forget the sorrows of my life's hard lot.
A young woman must always be
stern, hard-of-heart, unmoved,
opposing breast-cares and her heartaches' legions.
She must appear cheerful
even in a tumult of grief.
Like a criminal exiled to a far-off land,
moaning beneath insurmountable cliffs,
my weary-minded love, drenched by wild storms
and caught in the clutches of anguish,
is reminded constantly of our former happiness.
Woe be it to them who abide in longing.
Here are more of my translations of Sappho:
Sappho, fragment 137
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Gold does not rust,
yet my son becomes dust?
Sappho, fragment 52
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The moon has long since set;
the Pleiades are gone;
now half the night is spent
yet here I sleep alone.
Sappho, fragment 145
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If you're squeamish,
don't trouble
the beach rubble.
Sappho, fragment 94
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Shepherds trample the hyacinth;
its petals litter the heath ...
foreshadowing shepherds' grief.
Sappho, fragment 134
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Selene came to Endymion in the cave,
made love to him as he slept,
then crept away before the sun could prove
its light the more adept.
Sappho, fragment 137
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death is evil;
the Gods have so judged:
for, had it been good,
the Gods would die
(or do the Gods lie?).
Sappho, fragment 145
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Prometheus the Fire-Bearer
robbed the Gods and the Sun, and so
brought mankind and himself to woe ...
must you repeat his error?
Sappho, fragments 122 & 123
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your voice—a sweeter liar
than the lyre,
more dearly sold
and bought, than gold.
Sappho, fragment 42
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
She wrapped herself then in
most delicate linen.
Sappho, fragment 57
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
That country wench bewitches your heart?
Hell, her most beguiling art's
hiking her dress
to seduce you with her ankles' nakedness!
2.
That hayseed tart
bewitches your heart?
Hell, her most beguiling art's
hiking her dress
to seduce you with her ankles' nakedness!
Sappho, fragment 100
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The softest pallors grace
her lovely face.
Sappho, fragment 113
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
No buzzing bee
nor even the bearer of honey
for me!
Sappho, fragment 121
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A tender maiden plucking flowers
persuades the knave
to heroically brave
the world's untender hours.
Sappho, fragment 125
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love, bittersweet Dispenser of pain,
Weaver of implausible fictions:
flourishes in prosperity,
weeps for life's perversity,
quails before adversity,
dies haggard, believing she's pretty.
Sappho, fragment 127
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To the brightness of Love
not destroying the sight—
sweet, warm noonday sun
lightening things dun:
whence comes the Night?
Sappho, fragment 132
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love, the child of Aphrodite and heaven;
Sappho, of earth;
Who had the more divine birth?
Sappho, fragment 133
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Of all the stars the fairest,
Hesperus,
Lead the maiden straight to the bridegroom's bed,
honoring Hera, the goddess of marriage.
Sappho, fragment 138
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The beautiful courtesan Rhodopis,
lies here entombed, more fair
than when she walked with white lilies
plaited in her dark hair,
but now she's as withered as they:
whose dust is more gray?
Sappho, fragment 140
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Phaon ferried the Goddess across:
the Goddess of Love, so men say
who crowned him with kingly laurels.
Was he crowned for only a day?
Sappho, fragment 148
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A vagabond friendship,
a public blessing ...
gentle Rhodopis!
Sappho, fragment 153
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Queen Dawn,
solemn Dawn,
come!
Sappho, fragment 129
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sappho's sweetest utterance
Was the hymeneal hymn of Love.
Sappho, fragment 159
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
May I lead?
Will you follow?
Foolish man!
Ears so hollow,
minds so shallow,
never can!
Sappho, fragment 68
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death shall rule thee
eternally
now, my Lady,
for see:
your name lies useless, silent and forgotten
here and hereafter;
never again will you gather
the roses of Pieria, but only wander
misbegotten,
rotten
and obscure through Hades
flitting forlornly among the dismal shades.
Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress, and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with love's weariness, anguish and distress!
But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers as you have done before;
O, come Divine One, descend once again
from your Father's golden dominions!
Your chariot yoked to love's consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you once came gliding from heaven's utmost heights,
descending through bright ether to the dark-bosomed earth.
Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing
compelled me to cry out.
Asking me what I sought in my bewildered desire.
Asking, "Who has harmed you,
why are you so alarmed, my poor Sappho?
Whom should Persuasion summon here?"
"Though today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, soon she shall return them;
tomorrow she will woo you, however unwillingly!"
Come to me now, most Holy Aphrodite!
Release me from my heavy heartache and anguish;
grant me all I request, be once again my ally and protector!
"Hymn to Aphrodite" is the only poem by Sappho of Lesbos to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his "On Literary Composition," published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, "Hymn to Aphrodite" may have been composed for performance within the cult. However, we have few verifiable details about the "real" Sappho, and much conjecture based on fragments of her poetry and what other people said about her, in many cases centuries after her death. We do know, however, that she was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of Lesbos were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called "the Tenth Muse" and the other nine were goddesses.
The Temple Hymns of Enheduanna
with modern English translations by Michael R. Burch
Enheduanna, the daughter of the famous King Sargon the Great of Akkad, is the first ancient writer whose name remains known today. She appears to be the first named poet in human history and the first known author of prayers and hymns. Enheduanna, who lived circa 2285-2250 BCE, is also one of the first women we know by name. She was the entu (high priestess) of the goddess Inanna (Ishtar/Astarte/Aphrodite) and the moon god Nanna (Sin) in the Sumerian city-state of Ur. Enheduanna's composition Nin-me-šara ("The Exaltation of Inanna") details her expulsion from Ur, located in southern Iraq, along with her prayerful request to the goddess for reinstatement. Enheduanna also composed 42 liturgical hymns addressed to temples across Sumer and Akkad. She was also the first editor of a poetry anthology, hymnal or songbook, and the first poet to write in the first person. Her Sumerian Temple Hymns was the first collection of its kind; indeed, Enheduanna so claimed in closing: "My king, something has been created that no one had created before." Today poems and songs are still being assembled today via the model she established over 4,000 years ago! Enheduanna may also have been the first feminist, as I explain in the notes that follow my translations of her poems.—MRB
Lament to the Spirit of War
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You hack down everything you see, War God!
Rising on fearsome wings
you rush to destroy our land:
raging like thunderstorms,
howling like hurricanes,
screaming like tempests,
thundering, raging, ranting, drumming,
whiplashing whirlwinds!
Men falter at your approaching footsteps.
Tortured dirges scream on your lyre of despair.
Like a fiery Salamander you poison the land:
growling over the earth like thunder,
vegetation collapsing before you,
blood gushing down mountainsides.
Spirit of hatred, greed and vengeance!
Dominatrix of heaven and earth!
Your ferocious fire consumes our land.
Whipping your stallion
with furious commands,
you impose our fates.
You triumph over all human rites and prayers.
Who can explain your tirade,
why you carry on so?
Temple Hymn 15
to the Gishbanda Temple of Ningishzida
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Most ancient and terrible shrine,
set deep in the mountain,
dark like a mother's womb ...
Dark shrine,
like a mother's wounded breast,
blood-red and terrifying ...
Though approaching through a safe-seeming field,
our hair stands on end as we near you!
Gishbanda,
like a neck-stock,
like a fine-eyed fish net,
like a foot-shackled prisoner's manacles ...
your ramparts are massive,
like a trap!
But once we’re inside,
as the sun rises,
you yield widespread abundance!
Your prince
is the pure-handed priest of Inanna, heaven's Holy One,
Lord Ningishzida!
Oh, see how his thick, lustrous hair
cascades down his back!
Oh Gishbanda,
he has built this beautiful temple to house your radiance!
He has placed his throne upon your dais!
NOTE: Ningishzida was a deity of the Netherworld: he was the chair-bearer who carried notable persons to their destination. The ancient Sumerians believed the Netherworld was set deep in the mountains, so a mountain shrine was perhaps a "natural" for Ningishzida.
The Exaltation of Inanna: Opening Lines and Excerpts
Nin-me-šara by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lady of all divine powers!
Lady of the resplendent light!
Righteous Lady adorned in heavenly radiance!
Beloved Lady of An and Uraš!
Hierodule of An, sun-adorned and bejeweled!
Heaven’s Mistress with the holy diadem,
Who loves the beautiful headdress befitting the office of her high priestess!
Powerful Mistress, seizer of the seven divine powers!
My Heavenly Lady, guardian of the seven divine powers!
You have seized the seven divine powers!
You hold the divine powers in your hand!
You have gathered together the seven divine powers!
You have clasped the divine powers to your breast!
You have flooded the valleys with venom, like a viper;
all vegetation vanishes when you thunder like Iškur!
You have caused the mountains to flood the valleys!
When you roar like that, nothing on earth can withstand you!
Like a flood descending on floodplains, O Powerful One, you will teach foreigners to fear Inanna!
You have given wings to the storm, O Beloved of Enlil!
The storms do your bidding, blasting unbelievers!
Foreign cities cower at the chaos You cause!
Entire countries cower in dread of Your deadly South Wind!
Men cower before you in their anguished implications,
raising their pitiful outcries,
weeping and wailing, beseeching Your benevolence with many wild lamentations!
But in the van of battle, everything falls before You, O Mighty Queen!
My Queen,
You are all-conquering, all-devouring!
You continue Your attacks like relentless storms!
You howl louder than the howling storms!
You thunder louder than Iškur!
You moan louder than the mournful winds!
Your feet never tire from trampling Your enemies!
You produce much wailing on the lyres of lamentations!
My Queen,
all the Anunna, the mightiest Gods,
fled before Your approach like fluttering bats!
They could not stand in Your awesome Presence
nor behold Your awesome Visage!
Who can soothe Your infuriated heart?
Your baleful heart is beyond being soothed!
Uncontrollable Wild Cow, elder daughter of Sin,
O Majestic Queen, greater than An,
who has ever paid You enough homage?
O Life-Giving Goddess, possessor of all powers,
Inanna the Exalted!
Merciful, Live-Giving Mother!
Inanna, the Radiant of Heart!
I have exalted You in accordance with Your power!
I have bowed before You in my holy garb,
I the En, I Enheduanna!
Carrying my masab-basket, I once entered and uttered my joyous chants ...
But now I no longer dwell in Your sanctuary.
The sun rose and scorched me.
Night fell and the South Wind overwhelmed me.
My laughter was stilled and my honey-sweet voice grew strident.
My joy became dust.
O Sin, King of Heaven, how bitter my fate!
To An, I declared: An will deliver me!
I declared it to An: He will deliver me!
But now the kingship of heaven has been seized by Inanna,
at Whose feet the floodplains lie.
Inanna the Exalted,
who has made me tremble together with all Ur!
Stay Her anger, or let Her heart be soothed by my supplications!
I, Enheduanna will offer my supplications to Inanna,
my tears flowing like sweet intoxicants!
Yes, I will proffer my tears and my prayers to the Holy Inanna,
I will greet Her in peace ...
O My Queen, I have exalted You,
Who alone are worthy to be exalted!
O My Queen, Beloved of An,
I have laid out Your daises,
set fire to the coals,
conducted the rites,
prepared Your nuptial chamber.
Now may Your heart embrace me!
These are my innovations,
O Mighty Queen, that I made for You!
What I composed for You by the dark of night,
The cantor will chant by day.
Now Inanna’s heart has been restored,
and the day has become favorable to Her.
Clothed in beauty, radiant with joy,
she carries herself like the elegant moonlight.
Now to the Noble Hierodule,
to the Wrecker of foreign lands
presented by An with the seven divine powers,
and to my Queen garbed in the radiance of heaven ...
O Inanna, praise!
Temple Hymn 7: an Excerpt
to the Kesh Temple of Ninhursag
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O, high-situated Kesh,
form-shifting summit,
inspiring fear like a venomous viper!
O, Lady of the Mountains,
Ninhursag’s house was constructed on a terrifying site!
O, Kesh, like holy Aratta: your womb dark and deep,
your walls high-towering and imposing!
O, great lion of the wildlands stalking the high plains! ...
NOTE: Ninhursag was the goddess of nature and animals, wild and tame. She was also the goddess of the womb and form-shaping. And she was the patron deity of Kesh.
Temple Hymn 17: an Excerpt
to the Badtibira Temple of Dumuzi
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O, house of jeweled lapis illuminating the radiant bed
in the peace-inducing palace of our Lady of the Steppe!
Temple Hymn 22: an Excerpt
to the Sirara Temple of Nanshe
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O, house, you wild cow!
Made to conjure signs of the Divine!
You arise, beautiful to behold,
bedecked for your Mistress!
Temple Hymn 26: an Excerpt
to the Zabalam Temple of Inanna
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O house illuminated by beams of bright light,
dressed in shimmering stone jewels,
awakening the world to awe!
Temple Hymn 42: an Excerpt
to the Eresh Temple of Nisaba
by Enheduanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O, house of brilliant stars
bright with lapis stones,
you illuminate all lands!
...
The person who put this tablet together
is Enheduanna.
My king: something never created before,
did she not give birth to it?
Related Pages:
Sappho of Lesbos
Wulf and Eadwacer
The Wife's Lament
The HyperTexts
If ever a case were to be made for the poetic talents of women throughout the world, you have just done so with these stunning translations. And, happily, so many of my favourites are in here: Sappho, Kajal Ahmad, Vera Pavlova, Renée Vivien, Anna Akhmatova, Xu Hui, and (not surprisingly) Tzu Yeh - whom I particularly love because she is so uninhibited, and so sensuously erotic. I foresee that I will revisit these glorious pages quite often!