Prayer for My Grandson in the Year of Calamity by Yongbo Ma

Image | Nikola Tomasic

Prayer for My Grandson in the Year of Calamity

It is not misfortune, you grow amid calamity,  

though you do not yet know what has happened,  

you sleep, play, and cry,  

as naturally as a red sparrow hopping through the leaves.  

That shadow of unknown origin  

cannot cover the whole sky.  

 

May the child in this year of calamity possess the heart of a warrior,  

the beauty of the soul is not a gift from heaven,  

but something that must be wrought through toil,  

requires devotion to the highest love,  

unfooled by the dark forests of illusory dreams.  

May you be as gentle as a dove, as agile as a snake,  

for our bloodline is not lacking in righteousness.  

 

May you take root in the eternal rock,  

and no storm battering the mountains can cause you to falter.  

Neither glory nor disgrace can last  

as long as the cruel innocence of the sea.  

With a casual glimpse and your head held high,  

they cannot slow your bright footsteps.  

 

May you have the patience to endure those things that will eventually fade,  

and the ability to taste them with compassionate understanding,  

for they are not without their sweet significance.  

May you enjoy each moment of the present, whether joy or sorrow,  

since that grace has already been granted to us in eternity.  

 

The beauty and thoughts I once admired  

have dispersed like frost on the rooftop,  

now my soul longs only to rest in the clouded valleys,  

now, save for you, I have neither hatred nor affection.  

When you reach this same age,  

you will know that’s not misfortune.  

 

Ah, when you reach this same age, my child,  

these words will come from those who have passed away.  

I would gladly speak to you in this way in advance,  

for although our overlapping years on earth are limited,  

I am grateful, for you have given me patience with all things,  

everything converges upon me, even when I am alone.  

 

May I learn from your future how to grow old,  

playing with light and shadow in innocent jest.  

Life, after all, is like white clouds emerging from the mountain.  

May we extract its essence from the enmity of time,  

and return it in song, breath, and praise.  

On the altar worn by my knees,  

May you surge toward me like waves at dawn,  

and in your sustained innocence, tell yourself,  

we have withstood the losses and trials of humanity.  

© Yongbo Ma

Yongbo Ma

Yongbo Ma was born in 1964. He has a PhD and is a translator, editor, and leading scholar of postmodern poetry. He has authored or translated more than 80 published books. Ma is a professor in the Faculty of Arts and Literature at Nanjing University of Science and Technology. His translations from English include works by Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Ezra Pound, Wallace Stevens, W.C. Williams, John Ashbery, Herman Melville, and others. You can follow him on Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100093276516900.

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