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A Selection from Lin He-Jing's Art of Poetry


THE POETIC
TABLET


Stood
Straight, the tablet
Marks a striking view.
You read it there,
Going home
Forgotten.

A tablet's hanging
On a quiet, whitewashed
Wall, or tacked to a tall building
In front of a far, blue scene. Even now
Pure feelings exist. Excellent lyrics
Are, however, rare.

Leaf
Of a poem. Who made it?
My hut, circled by water
And rock.

        --translated by Paul Hansen