Tuesday, January 10
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. . . It's 1500
in the book of Chinese watercolors: scholar-artist T'ang Yin
is asleep inside his mountain cottage, dreaming that a self of him,
that looks like him, is floating in the air above
the highest peaks, that looks like air we'd have
if lakes of milk gave off a vapor.
. . . From the Everfloating Void
above our world, a human image slowly drifts back down
and joins its earthly body once again, reenters
days and nights of wine shop, scandal, lawyers
- for such (in part) is the life of T'ang Yin.
He's been dreaming. And now he's going to set it down
on a wafer of unrolled rice paper. Writing:
Rain on the river. That's all. That's his poem.
He's writing:
Rain on the river.
- Albert Goldbarth
a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
- Vladimir Nabokov
