& # 8211 ; Online Poems Essay, Research Paper

The Survivor

Don & # 8217 ; t tap your chopsticks against your bowl.

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Don & # 8217 ; t throw your teacup against the wall in choler.

Don & # 8217 ; t suck on your long black plait and weep.

Don & # 8217 ; t tarry around the large ruddy mark that says

“ danger! ”

All the storms will render still ; seas will quiet,

Equus caballuss will withdraw, voices to give up.

That you have this manner and non that,

that your tegument is xanthous, non white, non black,

that you were born non a boychild but a miss,

that this universe will be everlastingly puce-pink are merely every bit good.

Remember, the subsister is non the strongest or

most clever ;

simply, the subsister is about ever the youngest.

And you shall hold to relinguish that rubric

before long.

from The Phoenix Gone, the Terrace Empty. Milkweed Editions, right of first publication?


on-line beginning: www.washingtonpost.com

Turtle Soup

You go home one eventide tired from work,

and your female parent boils you turtle soup.

Twelve hours hunched over the fireplace

( who knows what else is in that caldron ) .

You say, “ Ma, you & # 8217 ; ve poached the symbol of long life ;

that turtle lived four thousand old ages, swam

the Wet, up the Yellow, over the Yangtze.

Witnessed the Bronze Age, the High Tang,

grazed on glorious sericulture. ”

( So, she boils the life out of him. )

“ All our ascendants have been saps.

Remember Uncle Wu who rode 10 thousand stat mis

to kill a celebrated Manchu and ended up

with his caput on a pole? Eat, kid,

its liver will do you strong. ”

“ Sometimes you & # 8217 ; re the life, sometimes the forfeit. ”

Her sobbing is disconsolate.

So, you spread that soft napkin

over your lap in decorous Pasadena.

Baby, some high priestess has got it incorrect.

The aureate decal on the green underbelly

says “ Made in Hong Kong. ”

Is there nil left but the shell

and humanity & # 8217 ; s unusual letterings,

the vocals, the rites, the prophets?


Copyright? 1993 by Marilyn Chin, from The Pheonix Gone, The Patio


Online Beginning: hypertext transfer protocol: //www4.ncsu.edu/unity/users/m/mdherrin/turtle.html


The Moon is non over the H2O,

as you would hold it,

but one humor

H it, and the house

is on the precipice

overlooking a green hayfield.

And you & # 8212 ; an oculus and non an I & # 8211 ;

are walking through it.

And whether you live here

or are sing

in your long pilgrim’s journey & # 8212 ;

is my prerogative.

Whether she is your acolyte,

the Pearl Concubine,

or a mere beggarwoman & # 8211 ;

is besides my innovation.

Merely I know where

patio terminals and house Begins,

whether the state is lost,

whether rivers and mountains

will go on. And eventually,

after the inkstone is dry,

we shall be together

high in a corner sleeping room

with a pale position of hills.

Without pleasance or transcendency

we penetrate this landscape.

And what is this landscape?

The Moon in oatgrass,

the oatgrass Moon.

A adult female pacing

the linoleum floor,

contemplating a verse form.

A adult male fade outing

into the dailiness of rain.

and the ruddy oculus of forenoon.

Copyright? 1993 by Marilyn Chin, from The Phoenix Gone, The Patio

Empty ( Milkweed Editions )

Online Beginning: hypertext transfer protocol: //www.loft.org/chin520.htm


War chariots boom, horses neigh, the savages are coming.

What are we waiting for, immature marriageable adult females indicating at the wall,

the savages are coming.

They have heard about a diminished nexus in the wall.

So, the savages have ears among us.

So deceive yourself with semblances: you are merely one adult female,

keeping one broken brick in the wall.

So deceive yourself with semblances: as if you matter,

that brick and that wall.

The savages are coming: they have red face funguss or beardless

with a top knot.

The savages are coming: they are your male parents, brothers,

instructors, lovers ; and they are clearly an other.

The savages are coming:

If you call me a Equus caballus, I must be a Equus caballus.

If you call me a bison, I am every bit as guilty.

When a thing is true and is right described, one doubles

the incrimination by non acknowledging it: so, Chuangtzu, himself,

was a barbaric male monarch!

Horse, Equus caballus, bison, bison, the savages are coming & # 8212 ;

and how they love to come.

The odors of the great frontier exalt in them!

Copyright? Marilyn Chin. Online



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