“There is no week nor day nor hour, when tyranny may not enter upon this country, if the people lose their supreme confidence in themselves–and lose their roughness and spirit of defiance–Tyranny may always enter–there is no charm, no bar against it–the only bar against it is a large resolute breed of men.”

and women, too

You road I enter upon and look around,
I believe you are not all that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Everyone says it is good to live south of the Yangtze;
The traveler can but stay there until he grows old.
The spring waters are more blue than the heavens;
On the painted boat drowsily I listen to the rain.

The girl who pours wine is like the moon;
Her wrists are as bright as frosted snow.
If you are not yet old, don’t return home;
To return home is to be broken hearted!

translated by Lois M. Fusek

Three people at the station:

The man is sad
Sad like sad songs

The woman is beautiful
Beautiful like beautiful memories

The child
Sad like beautiful memories
Beautiful like sad songs

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat

You hopped into bed,
But your hymen is on the table.
Never mind, Allah be praised.
There is more than one way to skin a cat.
Peel an orange and feed its slices to me.
I have a minaret, get hold of its charms,
Be my muezzin,
While the rain
Is pouring out in the street
And folks are keeping indoors
For their prayers.

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat

Life is short
Birds are flying.

translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat

My breath is a red bird
In the auburn sky of your hair
When I embrace you
Your legs grow long beyond words

My breath becomes a red horse
I can tell from my burning cheeks
We are destitute our nights are short
Let’s make love at full tilt

translated by Talat S. Halman

Spring is bright and splendid in the city of Lo-yang;
But the man of Lo-yang grows old in another land.
The willows darken on the Prince of Wei’s embankment;
At this time I am confused and bewildered.

Alongside the blossoming peach, the spring waters run clear;
Mandarin ducks bathe in their freshness.
My regret gathers force in the setting sun;
I think of you, but you do not know it.

translated by Lois M. Fusek

The night of our parting in the red tower is enough for sorrow;
By the fragrant lamp, the tasseled screen is but half rolled up.
As I leave the moon is just fading;
She says goodbye mixed with tears.

The guitar is ornamented with gold and kingfisher feathers;
From its strings come the caroling cries of orioles.
Urging me to return soon,
She is like a flower in the window!

translated by Lois M. Fusek