Making Spring Happen

 by Brett Rutherford

after Li Yü, Poem 7

The sound of the little goat-skin drum
makes me want to write poetry.

Fools wait for the falling blossoms
before they say that Spring has come.
To find Spring, you must go early
and walk to the fields in search.
To love a flower that has bloomed
already, is to miss the flowering.

My love presents my favorite cup
with a supple hand. I see
no thumb. The blue-glazed
porcelain surrounds
an inner whiteness, a wine
so pure it has no color.

Is Spring delayed
if we drink and linger?
Does the Forbidden Garden
require the Emperor
to bless its blooming?

Girl, let us drink ourselves silly!
Just as my poem will come
to the beat of a little drum,
the buds and flowers, too,
leaning against the palace,
will listen and follow.