Li-Young Lee Poems
|3.||Arise, Go Down||3/11/2015|
|8.||The Father's House||1/13/2003|
|10.||For A New Citizen Of These United States||1/13/2003|
|11.||Out Of Hiding||1/13/2003|
|14.||This Hour And What Is Dead||1/13/2003|
|15.||Dreaming Of Hair||1/13/2003|
|17.||This Room And Everything In It||1/13/2003|
|18.||Visions And Interpretations||1/13/2003|
|21.||Early In The Morning||1/13/2003|
|25.||The City In Which I Loved You||1/13/2003|
|26.||I Ask My Mother To Sing||1/13/2003|
Comments about Li-Young Lee
I Ask My Mother To Sing
She begins, and my grandmother joins her.
Mother and daughter sing like young girls.
If my father were alive, he would play
his accordion and sway like a boat.
I've never been in Peking, or the Summer Palace,
nor stood on the great Stone Boat to watch
the rain begin on Kuen Ming Lake, the picnickers
running away in the grass.
But I love to hear it sung;
how the waterlilies fill with rain until
they overturn, spilling water into water,
then rock back, and fill with more,
Both women have begun to cry.
But neither stops her song.
I've pulled the last of the year's young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.
Once, years back, I walked beside my father