Karl Bachmann


BENEATH PEACH 
BLOSSOMS

for
Sierra Brower


1.

Wind-blown poet
At the tea house; women pour
Water into bowls.

2.

She lives beyond
The hustle-bustle.  Spring, transience,
An evening face.

3.

The past drips
From peach blossoms of our suffering.
Cool sunlight.


4.

Magic lantern— 
She takes you in, & jests about
Something dirty.

5.

Burning grass;
The wine-stained moon above 
Is a stray cat.

6.

Birds bicker by 
The water.  But when I shout, they flutter away,
Become silent.

7.

In the hot spring alone;
An evening pool reflects Shironesan.
The sway of dark trees.


8.

Peach blossoms 
Softly fall.  Kanazawa; a city of memories.
The sky a ghost.

9.

A notebook’s scrawl.
The Italian girl with a long ponytail
Makes me homesick.


10.

I sip fresh coffee,
& gather stars in a basket.
The moon; huge.

11.

Sleepy evening;
I sit still for an hour or two
& the sky burns.

12.

The shining waves.
I never thought I’d find her here
By the old wisteria.

13.

I think of Narihira;
“You haven’t changed, have you? 
Still like the ladies!”  

14.

She held a peach
Upon a napkin.  Cello in a jazz bar;
Six Siamese cats.

15.

Spring.  A wind-
chime’s song reminds one of
Chilly autumn.

16.

Wake up!
A cat plays with a fallen blossom as a
Girl looks.

17.

Light & shadow;
Is that her silhouette by the shrine 
Of deliverance?

18.

At sunset the sky
Is pink, blue & orange.  An artist’s
Inks are changed.

19.

Yellow, green
Matcha & a ripe banana in a retro-theater 
Across town.

20.

Red lanterns.
I wait for a friend before the matsuri;
A rain cloud.

21.

Swans glide
Upon still water beneath the peach 
Blossoms. 

22.

Evening rain
Small tawny window I look out.
A melody—

23.

Sleepy moon
The sound of footsteps are the drip-drops
Of a faucet—

24.

I remember
Your French heart; the eagle’s arc,
Her yukata.

25.

White Peach of 
The pavilion; I hear a whistle in the elms.  
Gorgeous girl.

26.

Down, down
The stone steps to the temple of healing.
—Two crows.

27.

A girl’s reflection
Evening mirror.  Off in the mountains 
A fire still burns.

28.

The water; glassy
Stretches out.  A soul stirs with 
Tiny, tiny ripples.

29.

A slender wrist,
Nascent moon.  Do even blossoms
Long for home?

30.

I took a moment
To reflect.  Silence; moonlit lake.
Ah, last embers.

31.

Water, fire—
In these gaps I listen; the rustling pines
& a stillness.

32.

Silver wheel.
The edges of a dark cloud ignite;
Golden bird.

33.

How do we heal?
Deep breaths—a woman bathes beneath the moon.
This floating life.


34.

Spring sparrows;
The old Italian café is nearly deserted.
 A girl’s laughter.

35.

Purple & orange 
Kerchief.  Grace walks in a foggy valley.
I sit still, sit still.


36.

Steam among
Hell-stones leading up the hill—the way
A dusky path.

37.

Gold leaf beneath 
Her eyes.  The cosmic wheel,
Cool spring rains—

38.

Izumi Shikibu.
I think of you this moonlit New Year’s Eve,
A small pain—

39.

Peach blossoms,
Eternal; the exit somewhere beyond our
Worldly struggle.

40.

Morning of pearl,
Serene wave of vermillion.  A dusty moth
Floats before us.

41. 

Peach Pavilion—
The Sun King sits on his purple zabuton.
Two sisters laze.  

42.

Her blue eyes
Gaze across a sunset lake.  The water is
Otherworldly.

43.

A deep dreamless 
Sleep falls over the poet—evening 
Of rain & memory.

44.

Girl of silence
& restful sleep, during the plum rains;
A dog in heat.

45.

A bird lifts
& floats upon the casual caress 
Of spring—

46.

I sit still
Beneath dark, dark blossoms—not
A word.

47.

A moment alone—
Who speaks first?  I give her three
Bags of peach tea.

48.

Morning
Enveloped in her perfume, I can barely
Move—

49.

Issa, let us go.
We climb the stairs to the abandoned temple;
A cicada’s cry.

50.

 An artist pauses;
 Shadows remind of death
In murky twilight.

Karl Bachmann is a poet-philosopher, world traveler, & aficionado of East Asian cultures. He studies—or makes use of six languages, & enjoys engaging-philosophical-debate. “How much of fiction is history, & how much of history is fiction?” he asks in our fast-food nation, only to be told, “human connections are weak.” He of course replies, “I always do my best to make it otherwise.” In the last twenty years he has visited four countries outside of the United States. He enjoys tea ceremony & shodō, silent-reflection & long walks into the sunset.

 
 

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