It’s so hard to be together, and so hard to part: a tender
east wind is powerless: the hundred blossoms crumble:
the heart-thread doesn’t end until the silkworm’s dead,
and tears don’t dry until the candle’s burnt into ash:
she grieves, seeing white hair in her morning mirror,
and chanting at night, she feels the chill of moonlight:
exquisite Paradise Mountain—it isn’t so very far away,
and that azure bird can show us the way back anytime.
translated by David Hinton
Author: zdunno03
Gazing Out in Grief, Sent to Adept-Serene by Yü Hsüan-chi
Maple leaves color a thousand, fill ten thousand branches.
Evening sails creep through a bridge’s drowned reflection.
Longing for you, my heart is like this west-river current
flowing east day and night—never ceasing, never ceasing.
translated by David Hinton
The Boat-Pullers by Mei Yao-ch’en
Leg broken on the sandy shore, a goose
hobbles along like a man, wings splayed:
what will it do when evening rains come
and the cold wind starts ripping through?
Sodden feathers mud-strained, arched neck
shrinking back—it doesn’t utter a sound.
That’s their life exactly. Guess it’s better
than lugging weapons around some war.
translated by David Hinton
adding to a line from Wang An-shih: the past traced in thought
the past
traced in thought
and etched
as in stone
in our minds
impossible to forget
yet painful at times
to remember
as we fumble forward
ever again
Thoughts as I Lie Alone by Wang An-shih
Alone, a noon dove calling in spring
shade, I lie in a valley of forest quiet.
Scraps of cloud pass, scattering rain,
and I listen, late in life, to its clatter.
Eyes full of red and green confusion,
our sad times unraveling my legacy,
there’s no word near these thoughts
still as Bell Mountain in its slumber.
translated by David Hinton
cold ashes
cold ashes
fall from fingers
leftover life
blows away
Spring Rain by Wang An-shih
Bitter mist hides spring colors. Grief-
drizzle sickens the splendor of things.
That dark isolate wonder impossible
now, I swill down a cup of dusk haze.
translated by David Hinton
Leaving the City by Wang An-shih
I’ve lived in the country long enough to know its wild joys:
it feels like I’m a child back home in my old village again.
Leaving the city today, I put all that gritty dust behind me,
and facing mountains and valleys, feel them enter my eyes.
translated by David Hinton
With my goosefoot staff by Wang An-shih
With my goosefoot staff, I wander the stream winding around
East Ridge. When interest fades, I go home to bed. But in dream,
emperors Yao and Chieh sometimes appear: one noble, one vile.
So my practice isn’t over. There are a few last things to forget.
translated by David Hinton
all the talking: for JEP
some time toward dawn
a shot of whiskey
burns its way
down my throat
in memory
of you
and all the talking
we had
and all the talking
we missed
