Wanting to Preserve by Fujiwara no Tamekane (Kyōgoku Tamekane)

Wanting to preserve
the seeds of the human heart
for eternity,
we return to the deep past —
the source of words in Japanese.

From: Hamill, Sam, Only Companion: Japanese Poems of Love and Longing, 2013, Shambhala: Boston & London, p. [unnumbered].
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=f2CR_F6m360C)

Date: c1300 (original in Japanese); 1997 (translation in English)

By: Fujiwara no Tamekane (Kyōgoku Tamekane) (1254-1332)

Translated by: Sam Hamill (1943- )

The New York Poem by Sam Hamill

I sit in the dark, not brooding
exactly, not waiting for the dawn
that is just beginning, at six-twenty-one,
in gray October light behind the trees.
I sit, breathing, mind turning on its wheel.

Hayden writes, “What use is poetry
in times like these?” And I suppose
I understand when he says, “A poet
simply cannot comprehend
any meaning in such slaughter.”

Nevertheless, in the grip of horror,
I turn to poetry, not prose,
to help me come to terms—
such as can be— with the lies, murders
and breathtaking hypocrisies

of those who would lead a nation
or a church. “What use is poetry?”
I sat down September twelfth,
two-thousand-one in the Common Era,
and read Rumi and kissed the ground.

And now that millions starve
in the name of holy war? Every war
is holy. It is the same pathetic story
from which we derive
“biblical proportion.”

I hear Pilate’s footsteps ring
on cobblestone, the voice of Joe McCarthy
cursing in the senate, Fat Boy exploding
as the whole sky shudders.
In New York City, the crashes

and subsequent collapses
created seismic waves. To begin to speak
of the dead, of the dying… how
can a poet speak of proportion any more
at all? Yet as the old Greek said,

“We walk on the faces of the dead.”
The dark fall sky grows blue.
Alone among ash and bones and ruins,
Tu Fu and Basho write the poem.
The last trace of blind rage fades

and a mute sadness settles in,
like dust, for the long, long haul. But if
I do not get up and sing,
if I do not get up and dance again,
the savages will win.

I’ll kiss the sword that kills me if I must.

From: http://www.lyrikline.org/en/poems/new-york-poem-4534#.WSK5KeS1uM8

Date: 2005

By: Sam Hamill (1943- )

[Love’s Poverty] by Paulus Silentiarius

Locked in Hippomenes’ kisses,
my heart clings to Leander;

wet with Leander’s lips,
Xanthus leaps to mind;

lying with Xanthus,
who should I dream but Hippomenes!

One after another,
I love my lovers,

but in the arms of each,
long for others.

Say what you will of me,
I know nothing

of love’s poverty.

From: Hamill, Sam, The Infinite Moment: Poems from Ancient Greek, 1992, New Directions: New York, p. 80.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=uH5R8Ar1oscC)

Date: c550 (original in Greek); 1991 (translation in English)

By: Paulus Silentiarius (d. 575-580)

Translated by: Sam Hamill (1943- )