youth gives way as it must
to realities of age
joy and sadness take turns
in a dance we don’t control
translated by David Young
Month: November 2022
from Random Feelings: 4 by Du Fu
March is long gone
April is half over
how many more spring seasons
can any old man have?
well, stop these thoughts about
life, death, and infinity!
drink what’s left of your wine
enjoy it while you can.
translated by David Young
from Random Feelings: 1 by Du Fu
My sorrow is perfectly visible
to spring, that painted hussy
but she visits my river pavilion
as if it meant nothing at all
encourages the flowers
to open shamelessly
then persuades the orioles
to sing themselves into a frenzy.
translated by David Young
Dreaming of Long Ago by Po Chü-i
I’ve grown old since our farewell, bitterly cultivating the Tao,
refining the irreconcilable heart all the way into dead ash.
I thought I’d polished the memories of a lifetime clean away—
so how is it you came stealing into my dreams again last night?
translated by David Hinton
these days
time flies
quicker than anticipated
or desired
my thinning hair
mostly grey
like my beard
and that bottle
of Irish
does little
to ease regret
even less for remorse
life is
as they say
hard on elders
and wisdom
is in short supply
these days
Village Snow, Sitting at Night by Po Chü-i
At the south window, my back to a lamp,
I sit. Wind scatters sleet into darkness.
In lone depths of silent village night:
the call of a late goose in falling snow.
translated by David Hinton
Pond in a Basin by Tu Mu
It breaks up green moss ground
And steals a piece of heaven;
White clouds grow in the mirror,
A bright moon falls upon the steps.
translated by Eddie Tsang
from Three Dreams at Chiang-ling: III by Yüan Chen
Your bones have long since turned to dust,
My heart for just as long to ashes!
A hundred -year life has no end!
For three nights you’ve come to me in a dream.
The flowing waters have passed and are gone,
The floating clouds, where are they now?
As I sit watching the morning sun come up,
A flock of birds by twos returns.
translated by William H. Nienhauser
Late Spring by Yüan Chen
Evening swallows keep twittering by my curtain,
Pairs of sparrows squabble, stir up dust on the steps;
The wind closes my wicker gate at sundown,
Quietly the flowers fall one by one, but no one comes.
translated by Dell B. Hales
Autumn Thought by Ts’en Shen
Suddenly aware that the good year is almost over,
Sitting down, I look at the chilling leaves fall.
I cannot even be like the decayed grasses
That whirl up and transform into fireflies.
translated by C.H. Wang
Leonard Durso 