Late, when it returns from the city wall;
Perilous, where it perches for the night in a courtyard–
The moon brightens a leafless tree,
Frost makes slippery the windy branches.
Crying hoarse, its throat is parched;
Flying low, its frozen wings droop.
The parrots in the painted hall
Do not know cold from warmth.
translated by Irving Y. Lo
A beautiful creation! I must say..
Regards,
Swetank 🙂 (from extraordinary blog BEING BETTR)
Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.
Most welcome !!
One of my favorites among so many master poets of his time.
I like him a lot, too. Both Rexroth and Arthur Waley translated quite a bit of him early on.