Below distant walls, crickets weave autumn song. Tender gaze
drifting low, the moon casts fresh shadows in under the eaves.

The bed curtains are old, ribbons gracing blinds broken short,
and now the cold comes before evening dark starts settling in.

translated by David Hinton

It’s like boundless dream here in this
world, nothing anywhere to trouble us.

I have, therefore, been drunk all day,
a shambles of sleep on the fourth porch.

Coming to, I look into the courtyard.
There’s a bird among blossoms calling,

and when I ask what season this is,
an oriole’s voice drifts on spring winds.

Overcome, verging on sorrow and lament,
I pour another drink. Soon, awaiting

this bright moon, I’m chanting a song.
And now it’s over, I’ve forgotten why.

translated by David Hinton

Here, after wandering among these renowned
mountains, the heart grows rich with repose.

Why talk of cleansing elixirs of immortality?
Here, the world’s dust rinsed from my face,

I’ll stay close to what I’ve always loved,
content to leave that peopled world forever.

translated by David Hinton

Waking in the gallery
at dawn, and told it’s snowing,

I raise the blinds and gaze into pure good fortune.
Courtyard steps a bright mirage of distance,

kitchen smoke trails light through flurried skies,
and the cold hangs jewels among whitened grasses.

Must be heaven’s immortals in a drunken frenzy,
grabbing cloud and grinding it into white dust.

translated by David Hinton

Tangled grasses lie matted with death,
but generals keep at it. And for what?

Isn’t it clear that weapons are the tools of misery?
The great sages never waited until the need
for such things arose.

translated by David Hinton

I was just
shoving off
in my boat

when I heard
someone stomping
and singing on the shore!

Peach Blossom Lake
is a thousand feet deep

but it can’t compare
with Wang Lun’s love
or the way he said
goodbye

translated by David Young

Mountains set apart over the river,
two peaks face each other. Reflecting

chill colors of shoreline pine, waves
shatter apart into rock-torn bloom.

Heaven’s distance borders ragged, haze
beyond clear sky and flashed cloud,

the sun sinks, a boat far off leaving
as I turn my head, deep in azure mist.

translated by David Hinton

Thirty thousand feet of white hair . . . .
It seems grief began long ago,

and yet, in the bright mirror I wonder
where all this autumn frost came from.

translated by David Hinton