By candlelight, I read your poems.
It is almost dawn when I finish.
I rub my weary eyes
beside the guttering candle.
I sit motionless
in the predawn dark,
listening to the wind-driven waves
lapping at the bow.
translated by Sam Hamill
By candlelight, I read your poems.
It is almost dawn when I finish.
I rub my weary eyes
beside the guttering candle.
I sit motionless
in the predawn dark,
listening to the wind-driven waves
lapping at the bow.
translated by Sam Hamill
Pen to paper.
Dicas e Pitacos para o dia a dia
Bere
This is Your Quest - Your Mission to Find Happiness
We're the sum of ourselves.
As opposed to a “not thinking chitalia”
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
il disinganno prima dell'illusione
Exploring Different Dimensions of Life!
The poetry of ineptitude.
piccoli annunci economici gratuiti, consigli da esperti professionisti, notizie utili
The view from here ... Or here!
Travelling Made Easier With Our Tips and Tricks
Thoughts, Stories, Poems
thoughts on social realities
NATALIA'S SPACE
I think I like this one best of all. Translation is tricky but they all convey the same substance. This one more beautifully, I think. Thanks for sharing all three.
Thank you. I used to have the Burton Watson translation on my corkboard by my desk, mainly because it was the first one I read. But they are all beautifully sad.
Still love these classical Chinese poems. You can skim on the surface or sink deeply into them…
I always return to them more frequently than to anyone else.
Reblogged this on From 1 Blogger 2 Another.
Thank you, Douglas, for reblogging this poem.