. . .Though the City of Silk be delectable, I would rather turn home quickly.
Such traveling is harder than scaling the blue sky. . .
But I still face westward with a dreary moan.

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu

When I die,
I will become a rock,
never touched
by compassion, joy or anger.
While being torn down by wind and rain,
It will only whip itself inwards
in eternal, impersonal silence,
and at last forget its own existence;
Floating clouds, distant thunder!
Though it may dream,
it will never sing.
Though broken in pieces,
it will never utter a word.
I will become such a rock.

In rain it opens and falls in wind.
How many days can we see the peach blossom?
This brevity is in the blossom’s nature:
not that the wind has been cruel nor the rain kind.

translated by Kim Jong-gil

Lost among flowers, the boat returns late;
expecting the moon, it drifts slowly down the shoals.
Though I’m drunk, I still drop a line:
the boat moves on, but not my dream.

translated by Kim Jong-Gil

JS

Big full harvest moon tonight. Let’s celebrate with another #fullmoonsocial! Any time after the moon rises (7:30 pm in my neck of the woods in Virginia) compose and post a poem and tag it #fullmoonsocial on WordPress, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I’ll try to keep up and re-post all the tagged poems I can find here on this site.

I know you’ve stared up at the moon wondering who else was doing the same at that very moment. Tonight, share your thoughts while you’re doing it.

See you tonight!

What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking,
There is no end of things in the heart.
I call in the boy,
Have him sit on his knees here
To seal this,
And send it a thousand miles, thinking.

translated by Ezra Pound

there it is
undetected
coming out of
left field
just when you
were looking right
it’s that car
from nowhere
knocking you into
a ditch
over a guardrail
into the bottom
of a canyon
you didn’t expect it
were not ready
your judgment on holiday
but in she came
on those long legs
wearing that smile
to some private joke
sunshine framing her
like in the movies
blindsided
my friend
your heart

Departing at dawn, carriage bells ajingle–
The traveler grieves for his ancestral home.
A cock’s crow, a thatched teahouse in the moonlight,
Human footprints on the frosted bridge planking,
Betel leaves fallen by the mountain road,
Orange blossoms bright on the station wall–
And so I dream a dream of Ch’ang-an,
Where ducks and geese settle, crowding the pond.

translated by William R. Schultz