The Literary Review
DECEMBER AT MY CABIN
(After Tu Fu)
The trail through the woods
is covered with snow.
The creek is also iced over.
In a nearby tree, a cardinal
looks for food. He must eat.
He has to work for it.
In winter nothing is free.
I watch the sun sink,
as if it were looking
for a place to rest.
I’ve written this
with a brain as dead as clay.
I gaze out my window.
I think this snow is here to stay.
- George Freek
IN ANOTHER TIME
(After Liu Yong)
I remember the woods
we discovered and the birds
we’d never seen before.
Sunlight drifted through
the trees like silken ash,
then settled where
blue flowers stirred.
We gazed at life through
a suddenly opened door.
Yesterday I walked there.
Nothing of the past remains,
except a tree or two.
The birds have long left
those broken branches.
They’re a tangled blur,
and though they survive,
they’re clearly dying.
Perhaps they always were.
- George Freek
FOR THE BIRDS
(After Li Shagyin)
In the trees starlings chatter.
Their behavior is noisy
and erratic. Among birds,
they’re nasty fanatics.
Over their heads, the moon
falls like a feather
onto a frozen bed.
They pay it no heed.
Are they like we are?
Are their thoughts
full of mindless chatter,
and like young lovers,
do they try to make poems,
gleaning meaning
from such
unpromising matter?
- George Freek