Along the Yang-Tze: a graphic poem and dialog by T Newfields An-Yi: I can hardly read this junk. BhŠratŽ: This poem isn't meant to be read Ð just experienced. An-Yi: What kind of nonsense is that? BhŠratŽ: Reading is just one way of experiencing. Many facets of life have no words. With bottle of w ine I float through rivers of t ime past willows and p lum blossoms falling g racefully towards the sea History here seems deep and eve n though the silt is thick waters flow on: beings are mere blips Gazing at the Yang-Tze the river seems to speak through shades of viridian, emerald, and green For a while I ignore the smokestacks - drifting, drifting, drifting . . . Yang-tze . . . see . . . dizzy . . . sea . . .
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