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 the 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.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
heart heavy today
adrift between continents
watching the sun set
my eyes follow longingly
if I could just learn to fly
Here, beside a clear deep lake,
You live accompanied by clouds;
Or soft through the pine the moon arrives
To be your own pure-hearted friend.
You rest under thatch in the shadow of your flowers,
Your dewy herbs flourish in their bed of moss.
Let me leave the world. Let me alight, like you,
On your western mountain with phoenixes and cranes.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
In the pure morning, near the old temple,
Where early sunlight points the tree-tops,
My path has wound, through a sheltered hollow
Of boughs and flowers, to a Buddhist retreat.
Here birds are alive with mountain-light,
And the mind of man touches peace in a pool,
And a thousand sounds are quieted
By the breathing of a temple-bell.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
While I watch the moon go down, a crow caws through the frost;
Under the shadows of maple-trees a fisherman moves with his torch;
And I hear, from beyond Su-chou, from the temple on Cold Mountain,
Ringing for me, here in my boat, the midnight bell.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
I look at you
and my teeth are set on edge as if I’ve eaten green plums,
dawn’s peacock spreads open its tail.
I look at you
and our glances meet like two brooks,
the voice lilies of the streets blossom.
translated by Talat S. Halman
I shut my eyes tight:
you are there in the dark,
lying on your back in the darkness,
your forehead and wrists are a golden triangle in the dark.
My darling, you are inside my eyelids that are closed,
there are songs inside my closed eyelids.
Now everything starts with you in there.
Now, nothing remains there that was mine before you
and nothing that doesn’t belong to you.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Snow closed the road
you weren’t there
kneeling and facing you
I gazed at your face
with my eyes closed.
Ships won’t sail, planes won’t fly
you weren’t there
across from you I was leaning on the wall
I spoke and spoke and spoke
without opening my mouth.
You weren’t there
I touched you with my hands
my hands were on your face.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Drinking at Eastern Slope by night,
I sober, then get drunk again.
When I come back, it’s near midnight.
I hear the thunder of my houseboy’s snore,
I knock but no one answers at my door.
What can I do but, leaning on my cane,
Listen to the river’s refrain?
I long regret I am not master of my own.
When can I just ignore the hums of up and down?
In the still night the soft winds quiver
On the ripples of the river.
From now on, I would vanish with my little boat,
For the rest of my life, on the sea I would float.
translated by Xu Yuan-zhong
A hawk hovers in air.
Two while gulls float on the stream.
Soaring with the wind, it is easy
to drop and seize
Birds who foolishly drift with the current.
Where the dew sparkles in the grass,
The spider’s web waits for its prey.
The processes of nature resemble the business of men.
I stand alone with ten thousand sorrows.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 