this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war
we love and support our troops, just as we love and support the Iraqi people – without exception, or precondition, or judgment
we have no sympathy for the devil
images and poem below the fold
Iraqis grieve over the bodies of their dead relatives in Al-Kindi hospital in Baghdad, Iraq, Tuesday, Dec. 12, 2006, following two synchronized explosions that occurred in Iraq’s capital. Suspected insurgents set off two bombs in a main square of central Baghdad where scores of Iraqis were waiting for jobs as day laborers, killing at least 57 people and wounding 151, police said.
(AP Photo/Karim Kadim)
Iraqis grieve over the bodies of their dead relatives in Al-Kindi hospital in Baghdad, Iraq, Tuesday, Dec. 12, 2006, following two synchronized explosions that occurred in Iraq’s capital. Suspected insurgents set off two bombs in a main square of central Baghdad where scores of Iraqis were waiting for jobs as day laborers, killing at least 57 people and wounding 151, police said.
(AP Photo/Karim Kadim)
An Iraqi grieves over the bodies of his dead relatives at Al-Kindi hospital in Baghdad, Iraq, Tuesday, Dec. 12, 2006, following two synchronized explosions that occurred in Iraq’s capital. Suspected insurgents set off two bombs in a main square of central Baghdad where scores of Iraqis were waiting for jobs as day laborers, killing at least 59 people and wounding 153, police said.
(AP Photo/Karim Kadim)
Night on the Great River
(three translations)
by Meng Hao-jan
(I)
Steering my little boat towards a misty islet,
I watch the sun descend while my sorrows grow:
In the vast night the sky hangs lower than the treetops,
But in the blue lake the moon is coming close.
(translated by William Carlos Williams)
(II)
Night on the Great River
We anchor the boat alongside a hazy island.
As the sun sets I am overwhelmed with nostalgia.
The plain stretches away without limit.
The sky is just above the tree tops.
The river flows quietly by.
The moon comes down amongst men.
(translated by Kenneth Rexroth)
(III)
Mooring on Chien-te River
The boat rocks at anchor by the misty island
Sunset, my loneliness comes again.
In these vast wilds the sky arches down to the trees.
In the clear river water, the moon draws near.
(translated by Gary Snyder)
