James Tate (James Tate) _Select_ed Poems
　　Yellow leaves with the fog of dawn rising regret squares stray animals
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　　Yellow leaves
　　(The following four poems translated from yellow Vatican)
　　Get rid of the man and his swirling mill,
　　Peach pink flesh of a woman, will be preserved.
　　Although the rapid, but the implicit anonymous love
　　Break the power of our peace,
　　Like an article full of dash
　　White excited. In a glacier in the
　　Maintaining eternal, where she crossed the
　　Violin-like valley: our happiness
　　Like the pheasant in the open outbreak.
　　When she brushed past
　　What a strong desire to contain
　　We head sparks and alarm!
　　Avalanche about to begin, perhaps
　　Will be buried in town. I think I know
　　Her name, her name is "yellow leaves":
　　I should not let other people know.
　　She is the immortal dream: lost love
　　With a slender fingers with the rotation,
　　She grabbed the loose, and it remains of the
　　Parts. The world needs a kind of love
　　It does not rely on chain and buy: untouchable
　　"Yellow leaves" to lead us beyond
　　Loss and Gain. Let grace is
　　We love parting, and failure -
　　Life in the rest of the first day.
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　　Dawn's Place
　　Consumption is not every place on earth;
　　Washed away a piece of the red machine drains.
　　Stern musicians
　　Be seen in their clarinet
　　Rare cactus is quietly approached them themselves.
　　Mosquitoes hovered in the air
　　Feathers like snow.
　　Has been flowing in the night what happened?
　　Pale, like the Arctic wolf.
　　A small coffin filled with buoyancy
　　Drift over the square; larvae in a lamp
　　Finally, the beam forming,
　　Laborious, as an old-fashioned excitement
　　Alphabet ink.
　　This novel works just as a feather
　　Clear in the alley
　　Sale kiss the angel of death.
　　Sitting in a yellow car train women in early
　　Lobe was taken ill at ease under the
　　Man biting nails, just as the ancestral quilt
　　In our town of fools
　　Green did not latch the door loose line.
　　Rents on the rise, the cat
　　Dead: we should go home.
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　　Unfortunately, with the mist rising
　　He had no past, and he has been conclusively
　　No future. All important
　　Shortly after the start of things in their
　　Coming to an end. He said the mother had been told
　　Earth is the way that he could not accept: I
　　Have been thinking about it and her world
　　Long contact. Expand the night
　　Numerous umbrella wings of fire, his
　　Gaze even narrower than the mercury.
　　Or not into the sky, the rain, when
　　Here the land was not the time
　　Half-dead fish floating exposed
　　Full body. He was familiar with it all.
　　She could spit out the word at any time will take
　　He has let go of everything,
　　Of course he should let go of everything.
　　I think he would be in pain
　　The end of May or in January, although the weather
　　Particularly clear, for I thought about anything
　　In addition to the solemn farce.
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　　Stray animals
　　This alone towards the end of summer
　　The beauty of life:
　　A dozen stray animals sleep in the veranda of Hong
　　Footsteps of my shadow,
　　And another block
　　The smell of burning leaves.
　　Near noon
　　Beating my brow shadow
　　I'm humming the beat in order to meet
　　A group of bats flying around the swaying,
　　Mimosa and the bees with shaking.
　　This is not a finished house of poetry,
　　Here is my unborn place.