I’ve moved here to the Immortal’s place:
Flowers everywhere we didn’t plant before.
The courtyard trees are bent like clothes-horses.
At the feast, winecups float in a new spring.
Dark balcony. Path through deep bamboo.
Long summer dress. Confusion of books.
I sing in the moonlight and ride a painted boat,
Trusting the wind to blow me home again.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
Our backs are to the cypress.
We are hiding the mountains behind our houses.
We are ashamed to see the star.
We hurry to the commotion of the streets
so that our hearts won’t be confused
by open spaces.
And so we live
in closed rooms,
in streets belted by telephone and telegraph wires.
It is so far from all that we loved innocently.
On the other side of ourselves, we live
in our times.
translated by Ramah Commanday
A friend who is not firm as a great rock
Is of no profit and idly bears the name.
translated by Arthur Waley
Our two worlds share this autumn night
we see the same River of Stars
a leaf drops from a towering paulownia
thoughts of going home fill my empty rooms
I worry about the hardships of the people
then too I have my own minor ills
I won’t be leaving anytime soon
but my hairline has already slipped away
translated by Red Pine
Those who have relied on poetry for a living
Since ancient times have never gotten fat.
This old man, hungry from poetry, is not bitter,
But your suffering tears fall like rain.
translated by Stephen Owen
Red dew on floral chamber, white honeycomb–
Yellow bee and purple butterfly, both in disarray,
At spring’s casement, awakened from a dream of love:
They share the same bed, and do not know it.
translated by Eugene Eoyang & Irving Y. Lo
The feeling of separation, what is there to say
But that the heart is an endless river of stars.
translated by William R. Schultz
Asleep on the sand, dozing on the water, they form a flock.
Jagged shoreline, fading light, clouds over distant bank.
They don’t know in their heart the plight of the peacock:
The female fettered, forever apart from the male
translated by Eugene Eoyang & Irving Y. Lo
Mountains rise over mountains and smoke from valleys;
the dust of the world can never touch the white gulls.
The old fisherman is by no means disinterested;
he owns, in his boat, the moon over the west river.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
The path runs aslant, deep among the jumbled mountains,
at sundown, cattle find their way home on their own.
This is indeed the wish of an old man come true:
sweet grass, faintly misted, reaches to the sky.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
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
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
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 