A September day of blue skies, soft winds, and clear light, but one tinged with sadness. A day when I can say little that hasn't already been said by many far more gifted writers.

One of them, the eighth-century poet Tu Fu, knew well that beauty lurked in sorrow and sorrow in beauty. Today, of all autumnal days, is a day to consider what he knew; here is Kenneth Rexroth's translation of "Jade Flower Palace."

The stream swirls. The wind moans in
The pines. Grey rats scurry over
Broken tiles. What prince, long ago,
Built this palace, standing in
Ruins beside the cliffs? There are
Green ghost fires in the black rooms.
The shattered pavements are all
washed away. Ten thousand organ
Pipes whistle and roar. The storm
Scatters the red autumn leaves.
His dancing girls are yellow dust.
Their painted cheeks have crumbled
Away. His gold chariots
And courtiers are gone. Only
A stone horse is left of his
Glory. I sit on the grass ad
Start a poem, but the pathos of
It overwhelms me. The future
Slips imperceptibly away.
Who can say what the years will bring?
6:47 PM

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