Clouds are amazing, but you can’t live there.
Our plane’s wings harvest
the houses far below,
a mountain chain,
a coast.
Our old haunts in the city are left way behind
as we enter cloud banks.
Pretty enough, as I say, but no place to live.
Taipei, Tokyo, Honolulu:
we’ll pass through darkness and light,
come out on the other side of the tunnel,
sleep through it, in fact, and wake up.
Then there is light,
pink scattered in the sky up ahead,
pale yellow,
beginnings of blue,
darkness failing and gathering,
blue growing steadily lighter,
oldest friendships far in the lees.
I’m bringing my favorite calligraphy
but I’m alone here, high in the emptiest air,
Tang poems in my carry-ons,
pieces declared fragments of a strange star,
clouds becomes boulders
that turn again back into clouds,
bits and tufts…on the east side dawn,
on the west rain, sunshine and rain at once.
Docking in the night sky over Tokyo,
no bell welcomes
the guest’s lonely boat.
The trees slip backwards in my window past a station
while others sleep and start restlessly
and where are we heading?
“Coffee, tea or wine?”
until I’m tipsy
in might-be rain outside,
no, not raining,
only parts of our own little star falling.
It’s getting bluer out now, through hardly visible,
then shadows again.
Sleep while you can.
Forget it,
No, we’ve got to come down somewhere,
pass documents,
show one of this world’s passports
and stand in line,
present the baggage of your life
carried from country to country.
Daybreak for sure
without old rooster’s crowing,
the blue sky of Honolulu under our wings,
exactly half-way between tropical suns and northern snows,
having crossed yet another border.
Snow’s great but it’s also a famous killer
but now I’m sweating in too many clothes.
No one’s as free as he wanted to be.
You only seem to have made it to another space and time
but there you are still strapped in your seat.
You are flying
but you must land, like snow, eventually.
You’re toasting
but the rocks in your drink won’t melt
till the last snows in the Spring.
And when is Spring?
When the warm chill of the glass at hand holds sunshine and rain,
which eventually flow east and west on their own.
Out my window the universe has turned the flowered trees to bronze pillars
when we get to our point of entry
and they sound like cold, metallic sheets.
You’re still searching for something
in the morning clouds that have as yet no stories.
The sky yellows and then gradually fades
to patches of pink light.
One searches further and further
ahead in the brightening day.
Could I pitch this glass as well as past griefs?
Will all really be renewed in the Spring?
I remember
ordinary days and connections in the world;
then how plain is this sea of clouds.
Don’t they expect to be the world’s rain?
I’m watching; I’m waiting,
brightness ahead showing on the cloud’s tops guarantees sunshine
so why do I find myself thinking of never melting snows?
Spring will come and snows melt
but up here I’m traveling in a space without seasons,
into empty space ahead without sunshine.
I put out my hand and touch the cold glass;
people are still starting in restless sleep
from day into night,
from Spring to Winter,
all lost
beyond clouds
in the middle of the night
with all that droning horsepower
roaring alone.
What are these fallen petals blown at me?
Am I supposed to bring Springtime back to the snows?
Or will the snows turn me to numbed cold?
One imagines toasting a spring
and a willow stroking the wine glass.
No, wait; somebody picked up all the glasses.
In silence
you study the quiet desolation outside,
the clouds changing resemblances
their colors soon disappearing.
The clouds are amazing, but you can’t live there.
December, 1981
Translated by Gordon Osing
雲游
即使白雲美麗你也不能住在裏面
機翅吞沒了
屋宇
山脈
和海灣
熟悉的城市遠了
進入白雲
美麗你也不能住在裏面
台北、東京、火奴魯魯
看盡人間的黑暗與燦爛
我們已飛到黑暗的隧道盡頭
睡過又醒來
然後光亮了
前面一脈嫣紅
微黄
粉藍
黑暗撕開又縫合
藍色漸漸稀淡了
背後的人情遠了
我拿著一卷喜愛的墨迹
卻是進入無人的空中
行囊中的唐詩
化成陌生星球的碎片
雲變成岩石
岩石再軟化成雲
絮絮片片，東邊日出
西邊雨，道是無晴卻有晴
夜泊東京的高空
沒有鐘聲
到客船
驛站窗外一株株樹往後移
旅途中人們睡了又醒
往那兒去呢
喝茶，喝酒
微醉了
窗外微微有雨
不，沒有雨
只是落著石頭
藍色已稀薄得看不見了
又沒入黑暗
睡覺吧
忘掉一切
不，你要回到地面
出閘
拿著世界的證件
等待
你提一生沉重的行李
來自不同國家的負累
天亮了
不，鷄還沒有啼
火奴魯魯的藍天在民航機翅下
南邊有溫暖的陽光北方有雪
你來了又去了
但願在有雪的地方又怕雪傷害你
現在你穿著過多的衣服你流汗
並不如想像的自由
你好像越過了空間又跨過了時間
到頭來你還是局促在座位上
你飛翔
又落下成為積雪
你舉起杯
杯中冰塊不溶
春天來時雪就溶了
春天甚麽時候來呢
杯子的溫涼裏有人間的晴雨
各自東西流去
窗外宇宙的花樹化為銅柱
在你抵達的驛站上
發出金屬冷冷的聲音
你還在找尋
在那還未成形的早晨的雲霞之間
黃色顯現又漸漸隱去
一團團的微紅的光
在前面在前面
一個好晴天
舊嵗隨著一個喝盡的酒杯拋去哀愁嗎
春天會帶來物色新鮮嗎
可是我又記得
尋常的日子我們在人世的關連
淡素的雲海
要去作人間的雨嗎
我在看我在等待
雲上的光說睛天在前面了
但為甚麼我又只見到街頭永不消溶的積雪
春來雪就溶了
而我是在一個沒有季節的空間航行
前面只是無晴的空漠
伸出手抵到玻璃是寒冷的
人們搞動沉濁的睡眠
從日到夜
從春天到冬天
都掉失在
雲堆外
夜半
沉沉的馬達聲
獨自響著
為甚麽把落花吹來呢
我能把春天帶給冰雪嗎
還是冰雪會令我凝結
臨著泉水
還有垂楊拂著酒杯呢
不，有人把酒杯收去了
沉默
你看著外面安靜的荒涼
雲影變幻
顏色瞬息消逝
即使白雲美麗你也不能住在裏面的
一九八一年十二日
