The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Wednesday and Neighborhood Flowers

Picking Willow
By Li T'ai-Po
Translated by Florence Ayscough and Amy Lowell

The drooping willow brushes the very clear water,
Beautifully it flickers in this East-wind time of the year.
Its flowers are bright as the snow of the Jade Pass,
Its leaves soft as smoke against the gold window.
She, the Lovely One, bound in her long thoughts;
Facing them, her heart is burnt with grief.
Pull down a branch,
Gather the Spring colour,
And send it far,
Even to that place
Before the Dragon Gate.


On Tuesday I started doing a little project to rearrange things near my desk, so I can reach my flatbed scanner more easily for another project involving scanning photos, and it turned into a half-day thing that required moving stuff down to the basement and shuffling books. It rained most of the day again, and very little else got accomplished, though I did take a walk when it was only a bit drizzly and though it's not even mid-February, the warm wet weather meant lots of early flowers!

2020-02-11 14.06.28

2020-02-11 13.26.04

2020-02-11 14.01.34

2020-02-11 14.00.36

2020-02-11 14.07.03

2020-02-11 14.04.53

2020-02-05 16.53.48

We watched The Flash, in which I was so excited that Iris was finally getting a life not totally focused on Barry until they reminded us it was Mirror!Iris so arrrgh despite great hilarious musical cues, then Legends of Tomorrow, a little too horror-movie storywise for me but I always appreciate the characters. We watched the first episode of For Life, which was somewhat better acted than scripted but still well worth watching. And we Skyped Daniel in Seattle about his new work team!

  • Poem for Saturday and Crab Apple Color

    Crab Apple Trees By Larry Schug I’m tempted to say these trees belong to me, take credit for blossoms that gather sunrise like stained glass…

  • Poem for Friday and Locust Grove

    The Good-Morrow By John Donne I wonder by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved? Were we not wean'd till then? But suck'd on country…

  • Poem for Thursday and Canal in Spring

    Happiness By Jane Kenyon There’s just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded