The road that I came by mounts eight thousand feet;
The river that I crossed hangs a hundred fathoms.
The brambles so thick that in summer one cannot pass!
The snow so high that in winter one cannot climb!
With branches that interlace Lung Valley is dark:
Against cliffs that tower one’s voice beats and echoes.
I turn my head, and it seems only a dream
That I ever lived in the streets of Hsien-yang.

translated by Arthur Waley

these words I write
in my illegible scrawl
on wisps of clouds
scribbled on the wind
float by in the air
a message to read
a prayer to answer

I was talking to a friend
about the way the world
is going
and we thought back
in time
to the sixties
not just in america
but all over the world
death war peace protest
words common in many tongues
civil liberties in check
fingers pointing
black and white issues
countries divided
by ageracereligiongender
issues still alive today
names change
and faces too
but victory is still a dream
away

Like the unchanging cliffs,
I would remain just as I am.
But I am living in this world
and cannot hold time back.

translated by Ian Hideo Levy

Because of your long neck
you are a sad animal;
always quiet and gentle.
Your line must have been of high birth,
you have their noble crown.
Looking at your image in the water
brings back long-lost tales
with a nostalgia too sharp to bear.
You look over, stretching your sad neck
toward the far hill.

translated by Ko Won

Blue water
burning moon

on South Lake
he gathers lilies

the lotus flowers
whisper

the lone boatman
sighs

translated by David Young