“Looking At The Moon And Thinking Of One Far Away” By Chang Chiu ...

The moon, grown full now over the sea, Brightening the whole of heaven, Brings to separated hearts The long thoughtfulness of night. It is no darker though I blow out my candle. It is no warmer though I put on my coat. So I leave my message with the moon And turn to my bed, hoping for dreams.

Chang Chiu-Ling 675-740 AD

Commentary: I love the poems that come to me as part of my everyday life. Only a few days ago, a friend recited this poem to me over tofu soup and potstickers. Poems are gifts.

Moon poems, like this one, remind me that all of humanity does look up and see what is in the starry heavens … the reflected light from the sun shines down on Earth from the moon … and generations have seen it, have watched the moon’s changes, across vast geographical regions.

What is eclipsing in our lives now? What is shining? What grows full? What is hidden by darkness until only a sliver of light is left? What is waxing in our hearts? What is waning in our souls? What is changing?

Renaissance poets in England and Europe complained about the inconstancy of the moon and, inevitably, compared women’s changes to moon changes. They used the moon as a metaphor for faithlessness and inconstancy in love.

But the moon’s changes are not inconstant. They are constant. You can look at a full moon and know that it will decrease; you can look at a crescent moon and know it will increase.

Sometimes, I believe, change is an act of faithfulness.

Here is another poem by Chang Chiu-Ling for readers on this St. Valentine’s Day:

“The Willow-Leaf”

I am in love with a child dreaming at the window.

Not for her elaborate house On the banks of the Yellow River;

But for a willow-leaf she has let fall Into the water.

I am in love with the east breeze.

Not that he brings the scent of the flowering of peaches White on Eastern Hill;

But that he has drifted the willow-leaf Against my boat.

I am in love with the willow-leaf.

Not that he speaks of green spring Coming to us again;

But that the dreaming girl Pricked there a name with her embroidery needle, And the name is mine.

Chang Chiu Ling 675-740 AD

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