{"id":205,"date":"2012-02-08T03:53:10","date_gmt":"2012-02-08T03:53:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/?p=205"},"modified":"2012-02-08T03:56:13","modified_gmt":"2012-02-08T03:56:13","slug":"glosa-on-meng-chiaos-complaint-of-a-neglected-wife","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/2012\/02\/glosa-on-meng-chiaos-complaint-of-a-neglected-wife\/","title":{"rendered":"Glosa on Meng Chiao\u2019s \u201cComplaint of a Neglected Wife\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>My reproach is like mottled bamboo:<br \/>\nAnguished roots twist beneath.<br \/>\nBefore the shoot was out of the ground<br \/>\nAlready it bore the scars of secret tears.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Did you think I wouldn\u2019t speak?<br \/>\nthat I could hold a silence, be nothing,<br \/>\nbecause you want me to? Polluted<br \/>\ndry miles between kisses, always thirsting<br \/>\nto be heard, to see you turning,  lit by sun,<br \/>\nand breathe my scented hair like blossoms.<br \/>\nI am turning hard, tall, willowy, silent<br \/>\nlike you always wished: delicate, calm.<br \/>\nNow, in  return, I can ignore you.<br \/>\n<em>My reproach is like mottled bamboo:<\/em><\/p>\n<p>breath caught, knowing, choking;<br \/>\nmy words are only weeds in your<br \/>\ngarden. Standing here I breathe the<br \/>\nnight, thick with blossoms, blooming.<br \/>\nDrowned with wild perfume, rapturous<br \/>\nwedding to soil, as I was quietly to you.<br \/>\nMy strands will dry in the sun,<br \/>\nmy thoughts drift amidst pollen .<br \/>\nNo words press past steadfast teeth;<br \/>\n<em>anguished roots twist beneath.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I have been a seed-bearer, garden-wife,<br \/>\nmother, harvester of life from chaos.<br \/>\nI captured seeds in my mouth and hands;<br \/>\nfrom them built glimmering green worlds, filled with<br \/>\ntiny eyes. Shining things, everywhere looking,<br \/>\nblinking off the curse. Sunlight seeps into bones.<br \/>\nMy skin, spotted and stretching, bears me<br \/>\nacross fallow flowerbeds.  I remember hearing<br \/>\nin my throat, before the blooms, the sound,<br \/>\n<em>before the shoot was out of the ground.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Soil fills slippers, licks my smallest toes, limbs<br \/>\nbend like twigs in a dream of heaven<br \/>\nwithout you.    Rows of flowers, waving;<br \/>\nWinds caress me as you didn\u2019t. Feeling tug of<br \/>\nsoft earth, wet, accepting; it melds around<br \/>\nmy feet. Bones are sap-ridden; I am slimmer<br \/>\nthan even the wispy girls you dream. My hair, the<br \/>\nleaves, speak older words together than we know,<br \/>\nwhen I am in your garden. My bamboo flesh, for years,<br \/>\n<em>already bore the scars of secret tears.<\/em><\/p>\n<hr\/>\n<p>This glosa is based on the translation by A.C. Graham, as published in <em>Poems of the Late Tang<\/em> (Penguin Books, 1977). <\/p>\n<p>While I include it as part of the Taiping! series, it in fact dates back much earlier, to 1997. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>My reproach is like mottled bamboo: Anguished roots twist beneath. Before the shoot was out of the ground Already it bore the scars of secret tears. Did you think I wouldn\u2019t speak? that I could hold a silence, be nothing, because you want me to? Polluted dry miles between kisses, always thirsting to be heard, [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[21],"tags":[],"series":[],"class_list":["post-205","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poems-from-taiping"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6xIep-3j","amp_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=205"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":208,"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205\/revisions\/208"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=205"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=205"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=205"},{"taxonomy":"series","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gordsellar.com\/texts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/series?post=205"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}