A fisherman’s taking his boat deep across the lake.
My old eyes trace his path all the way, his precise
wavering in and out of view. Then it gets strange:
suddenly he’s a lone goose balanced on a bent reed.
translated by David Hinton
Author: zdunno03
from Water Sifting Sand: No. 4 by Po Chü-i
A day will no doubt come when dust flies at the bottom of seas,
and how can mountaintops avoid the transformation to gravel?
Young lovers may part, a man leaving, setting out on some boat,
but who can say they’ll never come together again one day?
translated by David Hinton
Leaving the City by Wang An-shih: a poem with more resonance for me today
I’ve lived in the country long enough to know its many joys.
I was starting to feel like a child back in my old village again,
and suddenly, leaving the city today, I leave all that dust behind:
turning to mountains and valleys, I feel them enter my eyes.
translated by David Hinton
on time: with apologies to Mick & Keith
time
is on
no one’s side
it is
strictly neutral
on distances
from here
to there
no easy distance
to cross
I’m a Frightened Monkey Who’s Reached the Forest by Su Tung-p’o
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
on what’s possible
one can do
what one can do
one cannot do
what one cannot do
pretty simple
when one focuses
on what’s possible
forever
a word
a promise
a mistake
to believe
in one word
To the Tune of “Partridge Sky” by Su Tung-p’o
Mountains shine through forest breaks, bamboo hides the wall;
withered grass by small ponds, jumbled cicada cries.
White birds again and again cut across the sky;
faint scent of lotus pink on the water.
Beyond the village,
by old town walls,
with goosefoot cane I stroll where late sunlight turns.
Thanks to rain that fell at the third watch last night
I get another cool day in this floating life.
translated by Burton Watson
the new day
looks like
the old day
only there’s more
of it
waiting
Leonard Durso 