Sijo poetry
Sijo poetry
Autumn Storm
Walking to the 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
Three Sijo
Papa
Les Jours Noirs
Black Days
The elegant form of Sijo
Leaving
Leaving our home, we reduce, divide, discard old treasures, toss out
simple 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
Cimetière américain de Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandie
©Susan Zegarsky
Three Sijo
I
Dawn begins on my skin, sweet anticipation of light.
The earth turns, 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 life, living
freely, unconcerned with life, unaware of mortality;
remembering when, by his grave, we were immortals.
III
The hard weight of my thoughts dissolves, light shines clear after fresh rain;
each leaf and bud enunciates, each stone a gleam 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 my love and gratitude for your support.
Papa
He scatters seeds carefully, slow, broad hands gnarled, fingers now stiff.
He’s frail as the brittle snow-dusted leaves, the bright, tiny birds gathered at his feet.
Papa and I ready for winter in silence, its bitter 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
Those black days, the deathly silences, they are yours. The grief in my chest, despair,
the loss, the fear, it was all only you. I’ll forget what you made of me, never to forget.
At last suffering dissolves like ice in the small kisses of rain.
Sijo
©Susan Zegarsky
The elegant form of Sijo
Coming soon.