Fragrant fireweed grows in the rain.
Tonight, August nears the mountains,
they bloom in lonely places.
Moss and grass slowly overtake
this stony rutted road
I craved eight years ago.
translated by Sam Hamill
poetry
Lu-lung Village, Autumn by Hsu Hsuan
Refusing worldly worries,
I stroll among village strollers.
Pine winds sing, the evening village
smells of grass, autumn in the air.
A lone bird roams down the sky.
Clouds roll across the river.
You want to know my name?
A hill. A tree. An empty drifting boat.
translated by Sam Hamill
To the Tune: In the Hills by Hsueh Chao-yun
At Ch’ang-men, the grass is green,
jade stairs shimmering under dew.
Mist softens the moonlight.
East winds drown a sorrowful flute.
The water clock marks time.
Outside, orioles greet the dawn.
I wake in the night
Grief-stricken, in tears,
exhausted, just exhausted.
My grip crushes my robe.
Once again, my mind settles over you
like dust settles over our scrolls.
translated by Sam Hamill
Running from Trouble by Tu Fu
Barely fifty, but already my face is old, hair white.
I traveled this whole coast fleeing the state.
Rough cloth saved my shivering bones
as I roamed the awful cold.
Thus began the years of my disease.
Everywhere, people were mud and ash.
Between heaven and earth,
there’s nowhere a body is safe.
I see my wife and children follow.
We sigh for mutual sorrows.
My old home gone to weeds,
and all my neighbors scattered,
we may never find the road back home.
We add our tears to the river.
translated by Sam Hamill
Drinking Wine by Liu Tsung-yuan
Feeling less than happy this morning
I got up and opened a fresh jug
Lifting my cup I thanked the wine gods
for this gift to chase away cares
a moment later I felt different
suddenly the whole world was fine
the gloom disappeared from the mountains
the warmth of the sky filled the river
at the town’s overgrown South Rampart
trees formed a canopy of leaves
the cool shade provided welcome relief
we heard fine words here last night
once we were drunk we stopped talking
we stretched out on sweet-smelling grass
the wealthiest men in the past
surely possessed nothing like this
translated by Red Pine
River Snow by Liu Tsung-yuan
A thousand mountains and not a bird flying
ten thousand paths and not a single footprint
an old man in his raincoat in a solitary boat
fishes alone in the freezing river snow
translated by Red Pine
Night Duty in the Palace, Dreaming of a Hsien-yu Temple by Po Chu-i
Tired of my writing brush, I gazed out the window:
bamboo and pine were perfectly still.
At moonrise, a slight breeze came up,
like on those long-ago nights in the hills.
As though dreaming, I returned to the Hsien-yu Temple
near my home in the southern mountains.
When that palace water clock awakened me,
I thought it was the laughter of mountain streams.
translated by Sam Hamill
another translation of a famous poem: After Reading Lao Tzo by Po Chu-i
“One who speaks does not know; one who knows does not speak.”
Thus I have been instructed by the Old Master.
If you tell me the Old Master was one who knew, I ask,
Why did he write five thousand words to explain it.
translated by Sam Hamill
Spring Dreams by Meng Hao-jan
In spring, I dream through dawn,
but hear birds everywhere, singing.
O voice of all-night wind snd rain,
do you count the petals that are falling?
translated by Sam Hamill
River Flute by Po Chu-i
Downriver, someone plays
a bamboo flute at midnight.
Note by note, I’m transported
back into my youth at home.
Listening, I feel my thin hair
quickly turning white:
still growing old, still
sleepless, still alone.
translated by Sam Hamill
Leonard Durso 