Her hands of white jade by a window of snow
Are glimmering on a golden-fretted harp–
And to draw the quick eye of Chou Yü,
She touches a wrong note now and then.

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu

Whose jade flute secretly soars in the night?
Spring wind scatters sound all over Luoyang.
The midnight flute keens a farewell song, “Snap the Willow Branch.”
Thinking of my old home and garden, I break.

translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping

to listen
to you
especially now
this season
speak of others
so self-righteous
quick to judge
without noticing
as Matthew
would say
the log
in your own
eye

eyes that speak
of 3000 years
of poetry
of song
the body erect
those slender shoulders
the eyes the mouth
hinting at a smile
there are many
questions to ask
but one talks
of food
chicken feet moon cake
and mouse
am I
dear Fang
supposed to eat
that
is it some kind
of test
to prove
how simpatico
I really am
does it
really truly taste
like chicken
or is that too
a myth
like Marco Polo
and spaghetti
and am I just
another Italian cowboy
lost
in those eyes
in the East

you say I was right
and you regret everything
you want to talk
but somehow never do
always a mystery
even when you’re transparent
to say I’m sorry
is an understatement
but the life you lead now
was your own doing
choices made
cannot be retracted
and the consequences one pays
are on the other side
of the balance sheet
I’ve no idea what you expect
from me anymore
whatever I felt
was used up long ago
and there’s only a hole
you left in my heart
that I’ve learned to live with
there’s no one here
on this end of the line
that you’d recognize
and wherever you knew me
is not where I am
any longer

I pour out a cup or two of emerald wine inside the cabin.
The door swings closed, then back open onto exquisite

ranged mountains: ten thousand wrinkles unseen by anyone,
and every ridge hand-picked by the sun’s slant light.

translated by David Hinton