Forsaking the mists
That rise in the spring,
Wild geese fly off.
They have learned to live
In a land without flowers.
translated by Geoffrey Bownas & Anthony Thwaite
poetry
At the Pavilion on Grand-View Mountain, Sent to Chang Tzu-jung at Flourish Ridge by Meng Hao-jan
On the summit, sudden winds wild,
a cloud sails by like a startled bird.
Standing at the guardrail, I wonder:
is it old Chang coming back home?
translated by David Hinton
After Chang Yüan’s Clear Mirror Lament by Meng Hao-jan
This mirror of mine all coiled dragons:
its clarity was pure radiance every day,
then gathering the dust of this world
it soon blurred to a moon adrift in mist.
When grief comes, I look to that light,
but find only white hair and lament
and you in borderland distances. Tell me,
How could farewell go so long and far?
translated by David Hinton
Wandering the West Ridge at Phoenix-Grove Monastery by Meng Hao-jan
Savoring the year’s lovely bloom together,
we come wandering among water and rock.
Forest distances open through depths of mist,
colors of spring crowding recluse mountains,
and in wine our thoughts find such accord,
ch’in song filling these joys with idleness.
Don’t worry about dark roads. We’ll invite
old moon: always a friend for the way home.
translated by David Hinton
Spring Dawn by Meng Hao-jan
In spring sleep, dawn arrives unnoticed.
Suddenly, all around, I hear birds in song.
A loud night. Wind and rain came, tearing
blossoms down. Who knows few or many?
translated by David Hinton
At Maple Bridge by Gary Snyder
Men are mixing gravel and cement
At Maple bridge,
Down an alley by a tea-stall
From Cold Mountain temple;
Where Chang Chi heard the bell.
The stone step moorage
Empty, lapping water,
And the bell sound has travelled
Far across the sea.
Thinking of Us by Wang Wei
Red beans grow in the south
In spring they put out shoots.
Gather a lapful for me–
And doing it, think of us.
translated by Gary Synder
from Wandering at Hsieh Creek by T’ao Ch’ien
This new year makes it fifty suddenly
gone. Thinking of life’s steady return
to rest cuts deep, driving me to spend
all morning wandering. And now, air
fresh and sky clear, I sit with friends
beside a stream flowing far away. Here,
striped bream weave the gentle current,
and calling, gulls rise over the lazy
valley. Eyes wandering distant waters,
straining, I make out Tseng Hill: it’s
meager compared to K’un-lun’s majestic
peaks, but nothing in sight rivals it.
Taking the winejar, I pour out a round,
and we start offering brimful toasts.
Who knows where today leads, or whether
things will ever be like this again?
After a few cups, my heart’s far away,
and I’ve forgotten thousand-year sorrows:
ranging to the limit of this morning’s
joy, it isn’t tomorrow I’m looking for.
translated by David Hinton
from Peach-Blossom Spring by T’ao Ch’ien
Wandering in the world, who can fathom
what lies beyond its clamor and dust. O,
how I long to rise into thin air and
ride the wind in search of my own kind.
translated by David Hinton
Together, We All Go Out Under The Cypress Trees In The Chou Family Burial-Grounds by T’ao Ch’ien
Today’s skies are perfect for a clear
flute and singing koto. And touched
this deeply by those laid under these
cypress trees, how could we neglect joy?
Clear songs drift away anew. Emerald wine
starts pious faces smiling. Not knowing
what tomorrow brings, it’s exquisite
exhausting whatever I feel here and now.
translated by David Hinton
Leonard Durso 