our firstborn calls
at the rain-blurred window
I wake up
with a raw ache
to hold him to my breast
Skylark, 6:1, Summer 2018
Sonam Chhoki
Chinese Translation (Traditional)
在雨滴朦朧的窗戶邊
我們的長子大聲喊叫
我醒來
有點心痛
把他抱在我胸前
Chinese Translation (Simplified)
在雨滴朦胧的窗户边
我们的长子大声喊叫
我醒来
有点心痛
把他抱在我胸前
Bio Sketch
Sonam
Chhoki finds the Japanese short form poetry resonates with her Tibetan
Buddhist upbringing. She is inspired by her father, Sonam Gyamtsho, the
architect of Bhutan's non-monastic modern education and by her mother,
Chhoden Jangmu, who taught her: “Being a girl doesn’t mean you can’t do
anything.” She is the principal editor, and co-editor of haibun for the
United Haiku and Tanka Society journal, cattails.
The visually evocative and symbolically rich "rain-blurred window" functions like a tear-blurred mirror of dreamy reality. And the thematic shift in the lower verse is visually and psychologically poignant.
ReplyDeleteSonam's heart-wrenching tanka could be read as a sequel to the following poem:
silver-edged darkness
of the blue pines on the hill
such beauty
the moon pours out on the night
our first-born died
A Hundred Gourds, 2:3, June 2013
Sonam Chhoki