I cannot but remember China

I cannot but remember China

Or think of all its people that we knew

Except by lines of open verse

For myself at least

The imagery of China

Is fit for nothing less

Than poetry

Perhaps it is the poignancy

The poverty

Perhaps it was all the singing

And stolid, suffering silences

Between the many lines

Whenever I try to write

A serious paragraph or two

Upon the topic of China

My deeper thoughts dry up

And the memories come out to play

I believe the history of China

Has been too old

And its heart

Has grown far too heavy

Like a knarled old tree

That has felt all the seasons pass

Countless times before

Nothing less than a poetic line

Can carry the burden

Or bear the full weight

The Great Wall of China

Remains indeed a heavy construction

To become touched by China

Is to find the secret heart of the Chinese

To get China beneath one's skin

Is like getting its dirt beneath one's nails

It is a strange symbolic innoculation

An existential confusion

And cultural transfusion

And it is to become immune

To the false illusion

That we are alone

Or that our own petty needs

Are so important

And yet, I know even my poor verse

Is never sufficient to the job

Of describing full well

Of carrying fully all the heavy memories

The Great Wall Revisited

Trails in the Snow

1991-1993