. . .Though the City of Silk be delectable, I would rather turn home quickly.
Such traveling is harder than scaling the blue sky. . .
But I still face westward with a dreary moan.

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu

When I die,
I will become a rock,
never touched
by compassion, joy or anger.
While being torn down by wind and rain,
It will only whip itself inwards
in eternal, impersonal silence,
and at last forget its own existence;
Floating clouds, distant thunder!
Though it may dream,
it will never sing.
Though broken in pieces,
it will never utter a word.
I will become such a rock.

In rain it opens and falls in wind.
How many days can we see the peach blossom?
This brevity is in the blossom’s nature:
not that the wind has been cruel nor the rain kind.

translated by Kim Jong-gil

Lost among flowers, the boat returns late;
expecting the moon, it drifts slowly down the shoals.
Though I’m drunk, I still drop a line:
the boat moves on, but not my dream.

translated by Kim Jong-Gil

JS

Big full harvest moon tonight. Let’s celebrate with another #fullmoonsocial! Any time after the moon rises (7:30 pm in my neck of the woods in Virginia) compose and post a poem and tag it #fullmoonsocial on WordPress, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I’ll try to keep up and re-post all the tagged poems I can find here on this site.

I know you’ve stared up at the moon wondering who else was doing the same at that very moment. Tonight, share your thoughts while you’re doing it.

See you tonight!