Sonnet X
~Louise Labé
(Translated from French by Judith Thurman)

When I catch sight of your fair head
garlanded with living laurel,
making your sad lute sound  so well
that you compel to rise and be your followers
rocks and trees—when I see you adorned
in virtues legion, chief in honour among men,
then does my passionate heart suppose
that by such virtue as you are beloved,
esteemed by all, so could you love,
and to such worthy virtue could you amend
the virtue of taking pity,
and the virtue of being aroused
sweetly and slowly by my love.

A Lovely Song for Jackson
~ V.R. Lang

If I were a seaweed at the bottom of the sea,
I’d find you, you’d find me.
Fishes would see us and shake their heads
Approvingly from their submarine beds.
Crabs and sea horses would bid us glad cry,
And sea anemone smile us by.
Sea gulls alone would wing and make moan,
Wondering, wondering, where we had gone.

If I were an angel and lost in the sun,
You would be there, and you would be one.
Birds that flew high enough would find us and sing
Gladder to find us than for anything.
And clouds would be proud of us, light everywhere
Would clothe us gold gaily, for dear and for fair.
Trees stretching skyward would see us and smile,
And all over heaven we’d laugh for a while.
Only the fishes would search and make moan,
Wondering, wondering, where we had gone.

Deer
~ No Ch’on-myong
(Translated from Korean by Ko Won)

Because of your long neck
you are a sad animal;
always quiet and gentle.
Your line must have been of high birth,
you have their noble crown.
Looking at your image in the water
brings back long-lost tales
with a nostalgia too sharp to bear.
You look over, stretching your sad neck
toward the far hill.

The Wind, One Brilliant Day
~ Antonio Machado (translated by Robert  Bly)

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

“In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.”

“I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.”

“Well then, I’ll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.”

The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
“What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?”

With You Here at Mertu
~ Anonymous, Egypt, 1567 BCE

With you here at Mertu
Is like being at Heliopolis already.

We return to the tree-filled garden
My arms full of flowers.
Looking at my reflection in the still  pool—
My arms full of flowers—
I see you creeping on tip-toe
To kiss me from behind,
My hair heavy with perfume.

With your arms around me
I feel as if I belong to the Pharoah.