Once, passing Ch’en’s Trail in a boat,
I raised my head to listen to the wind in the pines.
Now, a year later, I am standing in that wind
looking down at the boats traveling east and west.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

It is raining: the sail blocks our view.
We raise it and the scene becomes even more beautiful.
Tall pines stand like writing brushes on the bank,
their cold reflections rippling like snakes.
Then a silver mirror floats out of the clouds,
and rays of morning light glitter on the jade sand.
We go to the bow and gaze into the distance
at range upon range of green mountains.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

Two little boys in a fishing boat—
they pull in their paddles and sit quietly.
Though it isn’t raining, they hold up umbrellas,
not to cover their heads, but to catch the wind.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

Now high autumn has cleared my lungs, I can
Comb this white hair myself. Forever needing
A little more, a little less—I’m sick of drug-cakes.
The courtyard miserably unswept—I bow

To a guest, clutching my goosefoot cane. Our
Son copies my idylls on bamboo they praise.
By November, the river steady and smooth again,
A light boat will carry me anywhere I please.

translated by David Hinton

I invade cold dew on a cane, thatch houses
Trailing smoke out into dawn light. Old,
Frail, dozing among scattered books my limit
Now, I rest often against roadside trees.

Autumn passes. What once drove me ends.
Nothing but your friendship could bring me
Here. Sipping thick wine with you, our small
Talk crystal clear. I forget the years lost.

translated by David Hinton

Chiang-han mountains looming impassable,
A cloud drifts over this far corner of earth.
Year after year, nothing familiar, nothing
Anywhere but one further end of the road.

Here, Wang Ts’an found loss and confusion,
And Ch’ü Yüan cold grief. My heart already
Broken in quiet times—and look at me,
Each day wandering a new waste of highway.

translated by David Hinton

Having long heard about Tung-t’ing Lake,
At last I climb Yo-yang Tower. Wu and Ch’u
Spread away east and south. All
Heaven and Earth, day and night adrift,

Wavers. No word from those I love. Old.
Sick. Nothing but a lone boat. And
North of frontier passes—Tibetan horses.
I lean on the railing, and tears come.

translated by David Hinton