Wednesday, April 16, 2014

POEM: "Yves Bonnefoy"

Yves Bonnefoy

I persuaded him to live on credit
reading on the outskirts of town
near the oil refinery I worked in

& everything was a creep or a ghoul
aiming for the shortest night in history
my girlfriend toiled in a cafeteria

we estimated the distance of poetry
it would look like a Martian movie
galoots and wastrels bullies and finks

waiting at the last stages of their shift
come down I said listen to a live one
push you past our granite days

the skeptics protested clocked out
tried to clock me too they missed
Yves Bonnefoy, I loved your name.

© 2012 Rob Schackne

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

A Czeslaw Milosz Poem

A Song On The End Of The World

On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end of the world will there be,
No other end of the world will there be.

(1944) Tr. Anthony Milosz

Monday, April 14, 2014

POEM: "So What If Memory Isn't True"

So What If Memory Isn't True

I found an old scalpel a new blade
she carefully shaved my corns
as gently as her dear mother’s

Drank like magicians smoked like fish
strange of kind her mahou tsukai
how she put geomancy in the air

She walked after a fight about my photos
balance of probabilities she was crazy
(though most likely I am too)

Fires raged on the Kobe streets
she was lost in the great earthquake
so what if memory isn’t true

She whose goddess was so pristine
my poetry was dirty in the shower
she rubbed me down like a horse

Tried to scrub the naysayer off me
she got some here missed a little there
then refused to have sex for a year.

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Sunday, April 13, 2014

POEM: "The Wrecking Crew"

Tang poetry on Shikumen walls 02
The Wrecking Crew

There's no irony present
couple workers look over
these old poems beating
witness to the bulldozer
a masterpiece on a wall
today hard to remember
in this dust this busy mess
to believe that there will be
at least one Angel of Beauty
who sits across the street
drinking a double expresso
who waits on the last brick
to be picked up thrown upon
the truck that's revving up
who will sigh right back
and then say God bless.

© 2013 Rob Schackne

photo by permission © 2013 Sue Anne Tay

Thursday, April 10, 2014

POEM: "This Knowledge"

This Knowledge

I never knew each mark of the season
(Secret signs of go and come I don’t know)
Would have a different address in my heart
Or, in traffic buzz supermarkets, a racing beauty
That strange birds would speak the song I heard
Still, my life is dimmed & I wonder what the fuck
What taught us to make the wrong decisions?
Sure, everything sucks from the big remorse
Sure kid, dreadful times take your breath away
Hope is a broken guitar in a garbage dump
Loopy birds land on the strings for a minute
Occasionally you hear it on the winds, I know
Not much to go on with, on the big back of love
But as Will Shakespeare said, there is always this.

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

A Corey Zeller Poem

Caucasian Spirituals

It begins with a sheared end, a circle of stones, short words such as mud and sun and hay. It begins the way this man’s life must have begun: with a vague understanding of sustainability, of the difference between the dirt and the dandelions. Yet there is another man here, the one who spends his days sailing tiny boats through white pages. Who notices the city is missing a whole color. Who sees a woman standing at a window and then just the light and the dark making a woman out what was never there, out of the susurrus.


Saturday, April 5, 2014

POEM: "In Our Brave Moonshine"

In Our Brave Moonshine 

Believe me, the Ancestors
Are not jealous of our lives.
Believe me, the Ancestors
Wait in our brave moonshine
Are not pleased we're still at work.
If they have any emotions left.
Pity is what they feel. They frown.
Do they see us? Do they complain?
Laugh more. Love more. Be more.
So unhappy with what we've got.
They whisper in the shadows
Asking that we benefit better
From all they did without.

                                                     Qing Ming 2014

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Friday, April 4, 2014

A Song Xiaoxian Poem

A Life

I queued up to be born: I was a second child, neglected
I queued up to go to school: I was six and wasn’t welcome
I queued up to buy rice: I watched people fighting
after queuing up to go to the toilet, we
went to bed in a set order—gee,
I experienced so many things like that as a student

they wouldn’t let me into the hospital
that year I got really sick,
so I slept in a corridor
and was often startled awake by nightmares
my tears queuing up in the dark

then I fell in love, my lovers
queued up along the river bank
I queued up for housing, queued up for the marriage licence

waiting for ages in some corner
the days slip by in a queue
like the short, colourful skirts you wear out
my whole life got lost
in the smoke of the rank and file

then there’s all the humiliation
we queue up to be cheated
or to get raped by thugs
and before any of it makes sense
our hair queues up to turn grey
wrinkles chase one another like waves, muttering
one day, all our joy and sorrows
will queue up to leave for somewhere far, far away

(2005) Tr. Simon Patton

Thursday, April 3, 2014

POEM: "The Aliens Watch"

The Aliens Watch

All Aliens Welcome!
tattooed on my wrist
holding the kite that
apprehends all contra-
ventions of the law (I
lost the string years ago
and now I fit right in)
you don’t know promise
I’m just buying the apple
for your dream of wisdom
(I’ll get you the discount
you've got to keep a secret.)

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

POEM: "I Shall Not Care..."

“I Shall Not Care…”

I shall not care
there are no poems
in gas stations, or
birds steal things
the sight unseen
not even missed
I close the book
of you, of photos
of what we saw
most is forgotten.

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Photo: Ed Ruscha (1963)

Monday, March 31, 2014

POEM: "Draw A Human Heart"

Draw A Human Heart

Sheets of blank paper 
Pencils to the KTV 
First time reach the note 
Can’t live if living is without you 
Draw a human heart. 

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Friday, March 28, 2014

An Ouyang Jianghe Poem


In the quiet of your living room we talked for an hour.
Wide vistas, transparence. Always
at times like these, I look back, see—
a beautiful face flashes
and is gone. An hour of winter
reflected in sunset. We say our goodbyes.
Outside, it's getting dark. Lights
are on in your house, and in all the other houses.

To have seen that face: such pain,
such joy. So many faces before, each
its own kind of incoherent and brief.
An hour is enough: living room
leads to kitchen, to a small cold hand
laying out plates for a meal years before
I reached out my hand to touch
your silver tableware.

Hour of silver, hour of chill.
Face flashes and is gone.
Always at times like these I look back—
The room is bright. A beautiful face
is not a thing that light can reveal.
Deep-hidden face, soundless conversation
in shadow. A single hour—
ten years ago, would we have talked all night?

An hour's tenderness, held back like tears.
The years I have left will speed faster
than this hour. To vanish
is happiness: Flash, face. Be gone.
Always at times like these,
darkness falls. A child pouts,
and someone taps at the door.

(2012) Tr. Austin Woerner

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

POEM: "Thank You...And Goodnight!"

Thank You...And Goodnight!

Good evening ladies and germs...

Hey waiter how about my fucking drink!
Hey! Does your mother know you're here?
(They get too excited they break things)

I’m going to rip off Bill Hicks
And I’m going to rip off Louis CK
Then I’m going to rip off Denis Leary
(I don’t want to tell my own jokes tonight)

First day at the Shanghai Noodle Factory
His line-boss comes up to him and says
“OK pal so we’re making these noodles
There's 3 things you got to remember…”

It looks like everyone here is loaded
It looks like all my bills are unpaid
My dog can't walk toilet doesn't flush
I'm losing my hair as fast as my appetite

My wife left me last week stole my kids
Things are gone to hell right now we're here

I'm drinking lots more since then not least
The lump on my scrotum's getting bigger

You can figure out the first crunch
You can probably guess the second one
Punchline’s getting a little tricky now
Believe me comedy is no joke.

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Saturday, March 22, 2014

POEM: "By Water"

By Water

By water in the dark home
to the fire thickets on the beach
some sail, oars, land, a few birds
would make the last miles easier

Did I ever wish to return
with a sufficient tribute
to show people I loved that
adventure was not a bad thing?

Now I float mostly wounded
my clothes are mostly bandage
my body is a bloated skeleton
& memory bumps against my skin

Time’s a pig floating down a river

the code’s already been broken
the odd dog will piss on your leg
the cold seas are getting bigger

For the record, because you ask
a million miles is not enough
to make the last effort to the beach
where we retrieve the precious soul

Sure this world is no House Of Joy
cargo dislodges the fastest ropes
the swimmers are coming closer
clouds part the moon as I go under.

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

POEM: "Rhinoceros"


Rhinoceros was confirmed
grazing on the beach, a stone
of shell last seen in the jungle
snorting now sandcastles tremble

The secret of freedom is courage
the very weird is resurrected
hoons spraypaint the sculpture
some words don’t make any sense

The hand reaches in the dark
the light switch is always found
the imagination is another beast
press a trillion steps of flashing sand

I go back to my Thucydides
I turn the pages of our history
birds are fighting over a plastic bag
almost everything goes out with the tide.

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Monday, March 17, 2014

POEM: "5 Little Poems To Remember"

5 Little Poems To Remember

No form for beauty
anywhere near the end
till I scuffle to get in line

Jeez even mangoes
which are born to be ripe
have a Platonic form

Here I dream of bridges
that have always led to
places I’ve been before

Young Chinese Neighbor
has a finger up his nose
how perfected the search

Jeans dream of youth
it’s no embarrassment
it's a small planet.

© 2014 Rob Schackne

Sunday, March 16, 2014

A Simon Morris Photo (2014) / POEM: "You Think"

You Think

You think you've got it all worked out
discovered how to put the grim to rest
the mortgage, the family, the job, the Plan
the map's parting clouds baby it starts to rain
the hunter stops (supply how many minutes) 
someplace in western Mongolia with his eagle
after all it's the car radio you're listening to
someday you'll slow to an arm or shoulder too
see the turn-off to the left (supply the miles)
there's a lookout ahead you think it best to stop
a big blue sky it's your breath and a little smoke
Central Asia understands you're another picture.

© 2014 Rob Schackne