Month: November 2022

Early Autumn by Po Chü-i

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

Two grey hairs appear in the lit mirror,
a single leaf tumbling into the courtyard.

Old age slips away, nothing to do with me,
and when grief comes, who does it find?

Idle months and years emptying away,
loved ones from long ago lost to sight.

I’ll play with my girl here, my little girl:
we keep coaxing smiles from each other.

translated by David Hinton

After Lunch by Po Chü-i

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

After eating lunch, I feel so sleepy.
Waking later, I sip two bowls of rice,

then notice shadows aslant, the sun
already low in the southwest again.

Joyful people resent fleeting days.
Sad ones can’t bear the slow years.

It’s those with no joy and no sorrow—
they trust whatever this life brings.

translated by David Hinton

from Drinking Wine: 1 by T’ao Ch’ien

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

Way’s been ruins a thousand years.
People all hoard their hearts away:

so busy scrambling after esteemed
position, they’d never touch wine.

But whatever makes living precious
occurs in this one life, and this life

never lasts. It’s startling, sudden as
lightning, a hundred years offering

all abundance. Take it! What more
could you hope to make of yourself?

translated by David Hinton

Every Woman Knows Her Own Tree by Bejan Matur

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

When I came to you
I meant to unfurl my wings
Over that lifeless city
Built of black stone,
To perch on the branch of a tree I found
And call out in pain.

Every woman knows her own tree.

That night I flew.
I passed the city where darkness was afraid to go.
When shadowless, the soul was alone. I howled.

translated by George Messo

away now

/ zdunno03 / 2 Comments

there’s cereal floating
in the bowl
coffee cooling
in the cup
a letter unfinished
on the screen
and my thoughts tumbling
in my mind
so far away
away now
from where I used to be