Ocean voyager, on heaven’s winds,
in his ship, far wandering. . .
Like a bird, among the clouds,
gone, he will leave no trace.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Month: January 2015
Visiting the Meandering Stream Alone Late in Autumn by Li Shang-yin
When the lotus leaves grew, my spring sadness grew.
Now that the lotus leaves have withered, my autumn sadness is full.
I well know that as long as life remains, emotions remain;
Gazing ahead wistfully by the river, I hear the river’s flow.
translated by James J. Y. Liu
River Snow by Liu Zongyuan
A thousand mountains. Flying birds vanish.
Ten thousand paths. Human traces erased.
One boat, bamboo hat, bark cape–an old man
alone, angling in the cold river. Snow.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Poem to Relatives and Friends in the Capital After Looking at Mountains with Monk Hao Chu by Liu Zongyuan
Sharp-pointed cliffs by the sea are swords
that slice my homesick guts in autumn.
If I could split into millions of selves,
I’d scatter them on all the peaks to gaze home.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Readings: Bridgewater International Poetry Festival (1/15, 1:30 pm)
Jeff’s next reading of some of his Mei Yao-ch’en series and other new work. Highly recommend if you are anywhere in the area that you stop to listen.
January 15th-18th I’ll be one of a group of several dozen poets reading at Bridgewater College, just up the road from me in Bridgewater, Virginia, as part of the Bridgewater International Poetry Festival.
The festival pairs poets, who each read for 20 minutes, and then answer questions from the festival attendees for another 20 minutes. The poetry festival is the brainchild of fellow Virginia poet Stan Galloway, a professor of English at the college. My slot comes on the first day of the festival at 1:30 pm. The most up-to-date version of the schedule can be found at the link above.
The writing of poetry is a solitary type of thing, as we all know, and I’m looking forward to meeting with so many poets from different backgrounds and different parts of the world.
My plan is to split my 20 minutes between a selection of poems from the…
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Middle Years by Wang An-shih
Middle years devoted to the nation, I lived a fleeting dream,
and home again in old age, I wander borderland wilderness.
Looking south to green mountains, it’s clear I’m not so alone
here; on spring lakes, they crowd my little-boat life all adrift.
translated by David Hinton
to all the bloggers I follow: a follow-up to my email problem
It is fixed now and all thanks to the very professional help of the Support Team at wordpress. Their rep, Daniel by name, solved it in less than 2 minutes. My hat, if I was wearing one, would be off to him and them, but since I am not wearing one, I just want to make this very public acknowledgement of their help. Thank you.
East Ridge by Wang An-shih
Together we climb to this East Ridge lookout on New Year’s Eve
and gaze at the Star River, its length lighting distant forests.
Earth’s ten thousand holes cry and moan. That wind’s our ruin,
and in a thousand seething waves, there’s no trace of a heart.
translated by David Hinton
Gazing North by Wang An-shih
Hair whiter still, I ache to see those long-ago northlands,
but keep to this refuge:goosefoot cane, windblown trees.
Pity the new moon–all that bright beauty and for whom?
It’s dusk. Countless mountains face each other in sorrow.
translated by David Hinton
from In the Style of Han Shan and Shih Te: Selection One by Wang Ah-shih
Had I been an ox or horse
I would rejoice to see grass and beans;
If, on the other hand, I were a woman,
the sight of men would please me.
But if I were really me
I would always settle for what I be.
If liking and disliking keep you upset
surely you are being used:
Big man, with all your dignity,
don’t mistake what you have for what you are.
translated by Jan W. Walls
Leonard Durso 