Sijo
Autumn Storm
Walking to far scarlet hills as early autumn thunder rolls,
sudden torrents of rain drench me. But this cold is a bright relief;
I have days until you return. Free in the storm, I am free of you.
sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
Contents
Autumn Storm
Leaving
Normandie
Windblown
Three Sijo
Papa
Les Jours Noirs
Black Days
What is sijo?
Leaving
Leaving our home, we reduce, divide, discard these treasures, toss out
what remains of all these years, the everydays, the good days. I stop.
This life we lived here was sweet, I say, our life was sweet.
sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
Normandie
reflecting pool
mirror still
white August clouds
white cross, white star
three old black geese soar
never having heard
war
sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
Windblown
We were poets, painters, always, in spite of coal dust, grease, laundry; our creations
swept away. I remain, alone now against the winds of these grey autumn afternoons.
Poets, my family, lost, windblown, inconsequential as crumbled, dead leaves.
sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
Three Sijo
I
Dawn begins on my skin, sweet anticipation of light.
The earth turns, the light proceeds; sun, a shiver of mourning.
Sorrow for the loss of peaceful night, my bones weigh heavy.
"Dawn always begins in the bones." Hymn to Ra, The Egyptian Book of the Dead
II
We laugh over childhood adventures. Our treasure was living,
freely alive, unconcerned with life, unaware of mortality.
Remembering when, by his grave, we were immortals.
III
The hard weight of my thoughts dissolves, light shines, life clear as fresh rain;
each leaf and bud enunciates, a gleam, each stone in high relief.
This day of despair washed clean, there comes my son walking home.
©Susan Zegarsky
Three sijo poems, first published in Lynx XVIII: 1 February 2003
Thank you to the late Jane Reichhold, with love and gratitude.
Papa
He scatters the seeds carefully, broad hands gnarled, stiff now,
frail as the fallen leaves, as the bright, tiny birds who gather at his feet,
Papa readies for winter in silence, the frost no longer distant.
sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
Les jours noirs
Ces jours noirs, ces silences mortels, c’est à toi. Le deuil de la poitrine,
le désespoir, la perte, la peur, tout n’était qu’à toi. J’oublierai ce que tu m’as fait,
de ne jamais oublier.
Enfin la souffrance se dissout comme la glace dans les petits bisous de pluie.
sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
Black Days
These black days, these deadly silences, they are because of you. The grief in my breast,
the despair, the loss, the fear, it was all only you. I will forget what you’ve made of me,
never to forget.
At last suffering dissolves like ice in the small kisses of rain.
sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
What is sijo?
Coming soon
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