Up the river by the White King City,
The water swells and the wind is high.
It is May. Through the Chu-tang gorge
Who dares to sail down to me now–
Down to Ching-chow, where the barley is ripe
And the silk worms have made their cocoons–
Where I sit and spin, with my thoughts of you
Endless as the silk strands?
The cuckoo calls high up in the air. Ah, me!. . .
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
The road to Shuh is more difficult to climb than to climb the steep blue heaven.
I shrug my shoulders and heave a long sigh–gazing into the west.
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
The wind blows the willow bloom and fills the whole tavern with fragrance
While the pretty girls of Wu bid us taste the new wine.
My good comrades of Chin-ling, hither you have come to see me off.
I, going, still tarry; and we drain our cups evermore.
Pray ask the river, which is the longer of the two–
Its east-flowing stream, or the thoughts of ours at parting!
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
Here friends come, sorrowing, to say farewell,
Oh Lao-lao Ting, tavern where every heart must ache.
Here even the wind of spring knows the pain of parting,
And will not let the willow branches grow green.
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
mountains rivers
to cross
an ancient road
leading to cherished goods
a traveler embarks
on foot
uncertain of what awaits
at the final
destination
You ask me when I am coming. I do not know.
I dream of your mountains and autumn pools brimming all night with the rain.
Oh, when shall we be trimming wicks again, together in your western window?
When shall I be hearing your voice again, all night in the rain?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Through autumn fields of bush clover
where the wasps drone
at dawn the traveler
sets out–
when can I look for his return?
translated by Hiroaki Sato & Burton Watson
When longings are too great
and I stare
at the sky in your direction,
spring rains come down,
breaking through the mist
translated by Hiroaki Sato & Burton Watson
children play outside
women laugh at table
a father pushes a swing
sprinklers water lawns
wind rustles curtains
a feral cat cries for food
the sun rises
and sets
this is a day
like any other
and yet words
were exchanged
promises made
a future unravels
where once
only a past existed
and those lyrics
to Rodgers and Hart
take on a new significance
once again
There was a sense among those working people,almost from the beginning, that you would do all right in New York if only you followed the rules. Where I came from, the rules were relatively simple. Work. Put food on the table. Always pay your debts. Never cross a picket line. Don’t look for trouble, because in New York you can always find it. But don’t back off either. Make certain that the old and weak are never in danger. Vote the straight ticket.
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 