After the bomb fell Mike Jubb
After the bomb fell
many new ghosts cry.
They linger longer than they should;
trying to re-connect.
But the link between body and spirit
is broken,
and they can only wail
as mothers and fathers and ambulances
wail for them.
For a while, they wander through the rubble:
bricks and books; desks and dust;
paper and pencils;
a torn map of the world.
Making no sense of what happened here,
they drift away,
to play happily with the ghosts of their enemy.
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This poem was inspired by the following 8th century chinese poem by Du Fu. The literal translation is followed by a more flowing version. Thanks to www.chinese-poems.com
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Battle cry many new ghosts
Worry and grieve alone old man
Disorder cloud low dusk
Rapid snow dance return wind
Gourd ladle discard cup without green
Stove remain fire like red
Many place news broken
Worry sit straight book empty
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After the battle, many new ghosts cry,
The solitary old man worries and grieves.
Ragged clouds are low amid the dusk,
Snow dances quickly in the whirling wind.
The ladle's cast aside, the cup not green,
The stove still looks as if a fiery red.
To many places, communications are broken,
I sit, but cannot read my books for grief.
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Poem: After the Bomb Fell
