The cold river spreads boundless away.
Autumn rains darken azure-deep skies.
You ask about Whole-South Mountain:
the mind knows beyond white clouds.
translated by David Hinton
poetry
Autumn Thoughts: 1 by Meng Chiao
1
Lonely bones can’t sleep nights. Singing
insects keep calling them, calling them.
And the old have no tears. When they sob,
autumn weeps dewdrops. Strength failing
all at once, as if cut loose, and ravages
everywhere, like weaving unraveled,
I touch thread-ends. No new feelings.
Memories crowding thickening sorrow,
how could I bear southbound sails, how
wander rivers and mountains of the past?
translated by David Hinton
In the Mountains, Asking the Moon by Po Chü-i
It’s the same Ch’ang-an moon when I ask
which doctrine remains with us always.
It flew with me when I fled those streets,
and now shines clear in these mountains,
carrying me through autumn desolations,
waiting as I sleep away long slow nights.
If I return to my old homeland one day,
it will welcome me like family. And here,
it’s a friend for strolling beneath pines
or sitting together on canyon ridgetops.
A thousand cliffs, ten thousand canyons–
it’s with me everywhere, abiding always.
translated by David Hinton
On the River by Yü Hsüan-chi
The Great River wraps an arm
angling around Wu-ch’ang
Parrot Island faces the gates
of ten thousand homes.
Spring sleep in a pleasure boat
unfulfilled at dawn–
In dreams a butterfly
still seeking blossoms.
translated by Jan W. Walls
from Sailing At Night: A Song Sequence: I by Ma Chih-yüan
A hundred years are but a butterfly’s dream.
Looking back, I sigh for things past.
Spring comes today;
Tomorrow flowers will fade.
So make haste with the penal cup–
The night is dying, the lamp burning out.
translated by Sherwin S. S. Fu
Untitled poem by T’ao Ch’ien
Days and months never take their time.
The four seasons keep bustling each other
away. Cold winds churn lifeless branches.
Fallen leaves cover long paths. We’re frail,
crumbling more with each turning year.
Our temples turn white early, and once
your hair flaunts their bleached streamer,
the road ahead starts closing steadily in.
This house is an inn awaiting travelers,
and I yet another guest leaving. All this
leaving and leaving–where will I ever
end up? My old home’s on South Mountain.
translated by David Hinton
Entering Tung-t’ing Lake by Tu Fu
Ch’ing-ts’ao Lake is wrapped in serpent dens,
And White-Sand lost beyond Dragon-Back Island.
Ancient, cragged trees shelter flood-dikes
Here. Crow spirits dance, greeting these oars.
Returning, waves high and south winds strong, I
Fear sunsets. But tonight, a dazzling lake
Stretches into distant heavens–as if any moment,
On this raft of immortals, I will drift away.
translated by David Hinton
Returning Late by Tu Fu
After midnight, eluding tigers on the road, I return
home below dark mountains. My family asleep inside,
the Northern Dipper drifts nearby, sinking low
on the river. Venus blazes–huge in empty space.
Holding a candle in the courtyard, I call for two
torches. A gibbon in the gorge, startled, shrieks once.
Old and tired, my hair white, I dance and sing out.
Goosefoot cane, no sleep. . . .Catch me if you can!
translated by David Hinton
Leaving the City byWang An-shih
I’ve lived in the country long enough to know its many joys.
I’m starting to feel like a child back in my old village again.
Leaving the city today, I simply leave all that dust behind,
and facing mountains and valleys, I feel them enter my eyes.
translated by David Hinton
Night Chill by Li Shang-yin
Trees surround a wide pool, the moon casts many shadows;
Beyond the wind-blown vine, in the village and on the bank,
the pounding of wash and the sounds of the flute.
In the west pavilion, the kingfisher quilt leaves a fragrance that fades;
All through the night, my sorrow turns toward the wilted lotus.
translated by Eugene Eoyang & Irving Y. Lo
Leonard Durso 