Below the city, where the Pa River’s water flows,
spring comes like yeast-powder spiriting wine:
beaches feel soft as the Wei’s meandering shores,
and cliffs bring memories of T’ien-chin Bridge,
but fresh yellow willows dip their shadows here,
and tiny white duckweed blossoms scent the air.
Sitting beside swelling water, I scratch my head:
all this grief and sorrow, and whose is it anyway?
translated by David Hinton
4am, August 11, in Moda
there is no breeze
on this dark night
just tea grown cold
and a cat crying
in the distance
and I not immune
to that mournful sound
here
5000 miles away
from the past
but not far
from the ghosts
that haunt it
still
from Climbing Mount Chang to visit the temple by Su Dongpo
life is like the morning dew
fading fast
white hair overtakes us
pressing day and night.
Let it go, friends,
what else is there to say?
Everything eventually
will turn to blowing ashes.
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
Baby’s First Bath by Su Dongpo
Parents raising children
hope they will become
intelligent and wise
but all my life
I’ve been the victim
of my own cleverness
all I want for my kids
is that they be
ignorant and stupid
so they can grow into
high-ranking nobles
free from misfortunes and suffering.
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
Farewell to My Day Lilies and Cassia by Po Chü-i
No longer Prefect, this isn’t home anymore.
I planted day lillies and cassia for nothing.
Cassia renowned for enticing us to stay on,
day-lilies never making it sorrow forgotten:
they’re a far cry from this riverside moon,
come lingering our farewell step after step.
translated by David Hinton
On Hearing Someone Sing a Poem of Yuan Chen by Po Chü-i: Written long after Chen’s death
No new poems his brush will trace:
Even his fame is dead.
His old poems are deep in dust
At the bottom of boxes and cupboards.
Once lately, when someone was singing,
Suddenly I heard a verse–
Before I had time to catch the words
A pain had stabbed my heart.
translated by Arthur Waley
from T’ao Ch’ien
But my soul is not fashioned like other men’s.
To drive in their rut I might perhaps learn:
To be untrue to myself could only lead to muddle.
Let us drink and enjoy together the wine you have brought:
For my course is set and cannot now be altered.
translated by Arthur Waley
what was yesterday: for Marion Gittleman
a note
in my inbox
brings memories
of dark eyes
of mystery
then as now
and names
crop up
of crazy times
knowing how to laugh
as if time
was on our side
ah youth
so quickly gone
and now the slow fade
to what awaits
tomorrow
warmed by what was
yesterday
Looking through old photos, this poem of Po Chü-i came to mind: Pouring Out My Feelings after Parting from Yüan Chen by Po Chü-i
Drip drip, the rain on paulownia leaves;
softly sighing, the wind in the mallow flowers.
Sad sad the early autumn thoughts
that come to me in my dark solitude.
How much more so when I part from an old friend–
no delight then in my musings.
Don’t say I didn’t see you off–
in heart I went as far as the Green Gate and beyond.
With friends, it’s not how many you have
but only whether they share your heart or not.
One who shares my heart has gone away
and I learn how empty Ch’ang-an can be.
translated by Burton Watson
June 10, 8pm, in Moda
they cry
these gulls
like infants
no one here
to cradle them
rock them to sleep
a grandmother’s song
to ease them
into the fading light
I stand on my balcony
raise my glass
wishing them peace
this hot night
Leonard Durso 