Mark Scrivener

Poetry Poems Original Verse

Thursday, November 12, 2015



after the German of Heinrich Heine

There on the far horizon
Like a mist-made picture seems
The city with its towers,
All veiled in dusk-pale gleams.

A humid wind gust ruffles
The waterway's grey face;
The oarsman in my craft
Now rows with sorrow's pace.

The sun lifts out for one last time,
Lights land from low-above,
And shows that place to me
Where I have lost my love.

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Friday, November 06, 2015



"But who so wise as to embark in search of Lan Li,
Solitary in the mist and water of the Five Lakes,
forgetful of the world?"
- WEN T'ING-YUN, At the Ferry South of Lin-chou.

The early morning view's revealed
like silken Chinese painting now-
its hues subdued,
sky misted by light cloud,
lake water tranquil,
and scarcely touched by a moving detail:
a fishing boat or ferry faraway.
All trees are still,
each difference of green
brings gentle contrasts, subtly outlining
the forms of foliage upon the island;
while further away
the plateau's low hills
are blue-grayed
to lighter tones.
An occasional
black water-bird's wings
are silhouetted by the flash
and sparkle of bright ripples.

And strange to read, just now,
a poem from past time,
and glance up, seeing its serenity-
nature's early morning
Chinese calm.