I’m a frightened monkey who’s reached the forest,
a tired horse unharnessed at last,
my mind a void to fill with new thoughts;
surroundings are old to me–I see them in dreams.
River gulls flock around, growing tamer;
old Tanka men drop in to visit.
South pond lotus spreads green coins;
north hill bamboo sends up purple shoots.
Bring-the-wine jug (what does he know about wine?)
inspires me with a fine idea.
The spring river had a beautiful poem
but, drunk, I dropped it somewhere far away.

translated by Burton Watson

A remembrance is moving
down the long memory, disturbing
the dry leaves with its delicate feet.

—Behind, the house is empty.
On ahead, highways
going on to other places, solitary highways,
stretched out.
And the rain is like weeping eyes,
as if the eternal moment were going blind—.

Even though the house is quiet and shut,
even though I am not in it, I am in it.
And. . .good-bye, you who are walking
without turning your head!

translated by Robert Bly

Emerald Ch’u mountain peaks and cliffs,
emerald Han River flowing full and fast:

Meng’s writing survives here, its elegant
ch’i now facets of changing landscape.

But today, chanting the poems he left us
and thinking of him, I find his village

clear wind, all memory of him vanished.
Dusk light fading, Hsiang-yang empty,

I look south to Deer-Gate Mountain, haze
lavish, as if some fragrance remained,

but his old mountain home is lost there:
mist thick and forests all silvered azure.

translated by David Hinton

The twisted limbs break
Into ten thousand flecks of gold,
On layer upon layer of carved jade leaves,
Fresh and bright as the grace of Yen Fu.
The heaps of plum petals seem vulgar.
The lilacs seem coarse and contorted.
Your perfume has broken into
My sorrowful dream of the one
A thousand miles away,
And left me drained of emotion.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung

By my old gate, among yellow grasses,
Still we linger, sick at heart.
The way you must follow through cold clouds
Will lead you this evening into snow.
Your father died; you left home young;
Nobody knew of your misfortunes.
We cry, we say nothing. What can I wish you,
In this blowing wintry world?

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu