English Original
wind-ruffled
on the bare rocks
a blue thrush sings
is this an urging
I should hope again
Editor’s Choice, cattails, October 2023
Sonam Chhoki
Chinese Translation (Traditional)
風迎面吹拂
棲息在裸露的岩石上
一隻藍色畫眉鳥在歌唱
這是一種催促
我應該再次希望嗎
Chinese Translation (Simplified)
风迎面吹拂
栖息在裸露的岩石上
一只蓝色画眉鸟在歌唱
这是一种催促
我应该再次希望吗
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.
This poem touches on the rhythms of early tanka. With beauty it calls us to come closer. ‘Wind-ruffled”. Such an inviting expression draws our attention. At present we don’t know whether this is a disturbance or a delight. ‘On bare rocks.’ Now an association starts to grow, ‘wind ruffled on bare rocks.’ A feeling of unease and emptiness creeps in as ‘bare rocks’ bring to mind a rough uncomfortable surface, in contrast to the smooth worn nature of a boulder. Despite pain and uncertainty ‘a blue thrush sings’, there is joy and hope. There is a promise and we’re uplifted. The simple human response brought to the last two lines ‘is this an urging I should hope again’ is reassuring. When there is the gift of bird song, there is life, love and hope. This tanka evokes the poignant grace of tanka from the ‘Heian Court’ period, where the flow of words and personal empathy linger....
ReplyDelete-- excerpted from P. 111, "cattails," October 2023, accessed at http://cattailsjournal.com/backissues/cattails232.pdf
The "rhetorical question" raised in Ls 4&5 can be answered by the following poem:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.