we dig these trenches

This bleached night is a sparrow’s song
and home    this

Furthest of form, article, pretense: a
grip on time    we

Stray on the fictions of an undiluted
lie    and streak

The night white with pain    we dig these
trenches and flee

Poet’s Epitaph
He sang until his death
singing close to his eyes
to his true life, his real life of lies;
and to remember till he died
how it had lied, his unreal life of truth
– Muriel Rukeyser’s translation of Octavio Paz’s poem


Why so loyal to a worldview which
Shrinks your

Space    are they good people? Why
So crumbling

In deference to so many potted stances
Have their hearts

Spoken anything true of late?

One more look at the deer park (Wang Wei)

The Deer Park

Empty mountain           
      
      Voices
 
   Daylight
   Off moss.

19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei: How a Chinese Poem is Translated

Here is Octavio Paz’s Spanish translation of the original Chinese translated again to English:
In the Deer Park Hermitage
No people are seen on this mountain.
Only voices, far off, are heard.
Light breaks through the branches.
Spread among the grass it shines green.