For startled monkeys, from Selected Translations, by WS Merwin.
from I have had a companion on the road / by Daio (1235-1308)(translated 1977, from the French version by Masumi Shibata)
by nature the mountains are green
by nature the water is clear
midnight has passed
this nature is not known
For mountains and parts of life that appear to be mountains, from A Book of Luminous Things, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from Magnificent Peak / by Muso Soseki (1275-1351) translated by W.S. Merwin
From the four directions
you can look up and see it
green and steep and wild.
For intimate moments in the landscape’s immense spaces, a fitting metaphor for how a poem sits in the mind, from A Book of Luminous Things, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from The Train Stops at Healy Fork / by John Haines (1924-2011)
We saw the scattered iron
and timber of the campsite,
the coal seam
in the river bluff,
the twilight green of the icefall.
For Concord and self-reliance, from The Oxford Book of American Poetry, edited by David Lehman.
from A Letter / by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
And mark the rising of the early stars.
There will I bring my books
from Paradise Lost / by John Milton
Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat.
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all the works gave signs of woe,
That all was lost.
Thank you to our 21st-Century guide, Lucas Seastrom, for bringing the skull to light and for capturing the imagination of our children with, not only the secret doors and passages, but with the poetry of the carved word, the painted word, the quoted word, the spoken word (by Jeffers himself) and the printed word read aloud, offered back again, as it once was daily, to this plot’s salt air.
from Tor House / by Robinson Jeffers
My ghost you needn’t look for; it is probably
Here, but a dark one, deep in the granite, not dancing on wind
With the mad wings and the day moon.
Mothers and daughters. Thank you for all you leave behind for us. Today, visiting with Mother? And, Anne, who always needed you.
from Where I Live / by Maxine Kumin
Violets,
landlocked seas I swim in.
I used to pick bouquets
for her, framed them
with leaves. Schmutzige
she said, holding me close
to scrub my streaky face.
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