Doug Roy, Mountain Quarrel 2, Cut Paper
A SNOWFALL IN MARCH
The trail through the woods
is covered with snow.
The creek is also iced over.
In a nearby tree
a cardinal searches for food.
He must eat,
but he has to work for it.
In winter nothing is easy.
Nature is frozen, as time
moves in slow motion.
The sun sinks like it was
looking for a place to rest,
and I’ve written this
with a brain as dead as clay.
Outside my window,
it’s still bitterly cold,
and I sometimes get a feeling
this snow is inside of me,
and it will never go away.
______________
George Freek
Review by Dave Mehler
Recently I’ve been reading the translations of Chinese poets by Burton Watson, Kenneth Rexroth, and Arthur Sze, and to my mind George has translated their poetic vision and pathos and devices of rhetoric and style from a thousand plus years ago to his own condition in the frozen wilds of rural Illinois. The influence of those voices from the far east in English translation has been going on since at least Ezra Pound and Arthur Waley at the turn of the 20th century, continuing on in the ’60s and 70s with versions by Gary Snyder, Robert Sund, WS Merwin, and the list could go on and on. George continues to modestly add his own signature voice to the mix, doing so compellingly without a trace of pretension.