Do not sigh over the desolate prairie
Linger before you leave for Lu
We remember the fire of youth
understand life as a brief lodging
My thousand stems of white hair salute you
I fine you a hundred deep cups of wine
Who needs to float in a pond of wine
I am utterly drunk on account of you
translated by Yun Wang
Month: March 2023
Farewell to Shu Gu by Su Tung-p’o (Su Dong-Po)
I looked back at the jumbled ridges
No sign of people only their walls
I envy the stupa on Linping Mountain
It stands tall
greeted travelers from the west and saw one off
Dusk wind swept over my path home
My pillow turns chill and dreams don’t come
Tonight in the slanting light of a flickering lamp
tears glimmer
The autumn rains have stopped but not the tears
translated by Yun Wang
To Chang Hsu after Drinking by Kao Shih
The world is full of fickle people
you old friend aren’t one
inspired you write like a god
drunk you’re crazier still
enjoying white hair and idle days
blue clouds now rise before you
how many times will you still sleep
with a jug of wine by your bed
translated by Red Pine
Moda, March 28th: waiting for the sun
streets wet
from last night’s rain
drizzle still
in the air
a cup of bitter coffee
stirs memory
while waiting
for the sun
to return
In Answer to a Letter Sent by Liu Yü-Hsi on an Autumn Day by Po Chü-I
Grateful to escape such grave illness,
I’m happy to wither away at the root,
let this lamp gauge darkening eyes,
my belt measure this thinning waist.
On a day of frost turning leaves red,
in a time of hair gone white as snow,
I may grieve over old age coming on.
But once old age ends, I’m grief-free.
translated by David Hinton
For the Beach Gulls by Po Chü-I
The crush of age is turning my hair white
and I’m stuck with purple robes of office,
but if my body’s tangled in these fetters,
my heart abides where nothing’s begun.
Happening on wine, I’m drunk in no time,
and loving those mountains, I return late.
They don’t know who I am. Seeing official
falcon-banners flutter, beach gulls scatter.
translated by David Hinton
from Madly Singing in the Mountains by Bai Juyi (Po Chü-I)
And often, when I have finished a new poem,
Alone I climb the road to the Eastern Rock.
I lean my body on the banks of white Stone;
I pull down with my hands a green cassia branch.
My mad singing startles the valleys and hills;
The apes and birds all come to peep,
Fearing to become a laughingstock to the world,
I choose a place that is unfrequented by men.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Ten Years—Dead and Living Dim and Draw Apart by Su Tung-p’o
To the tune “Song of River City.” The year yi-mao, first month, twentieth day: recording a dream I had last night.
Ten years—dead and living dim and draw apart.
I don’t try to remember
but forgetting is hard.
Lonely grave a thousand miles off,
cold thoughts—where can I talk them out?
Even if we met you wouldn’t know me,
dust on my face,
hair like frost—
In a dream last night suddenly I was home.
By the window of the little room
you were combing your hair and making up.
You turned and looked, not speaking,
only lines of tears coursing down—
year after year will it break my heart?
The moonlit grave,
its stubby pines—
translated by Burton Watson
Held Up by Head Winds on the Tz’u-hu-chia: Five Poems: the first poem in the series by Su Tung-p’o
Stays and mast whine in the sky;
the boatman sleeps soundly by white-blossomed waves.
Mooring lines must know how I feel—
their weak strands hold fast against measureless wind.
translated by Burton Watson
these things come: for Nishi
these things come
and I a captive
to their memory
a keychain minus a key
a face so young
a look of surprise
captured on film
not to see again
5000 miles away
a continent
an ocean
30 odd years gone by
the smile though
so lovely
still the same
Leonard Durso 