By my old gate, among yellow grasses,
Still we linger, sick at heart.
The way you must follow through cold clouds
Will lead you this evening into snow.
Your father died; you left home young;
Nobody knew of your misfortunes.
We cry, we say nothing. What can I wish you,
In this blowing wintry world?

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu

Her hands of white jade by a window of snow
Are glimmering on a golden-fretted harp–
And to draw the quick eye of Chou Yü,
She touches a wrong note now and then.

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu

Whose jade flute secretly soars in the night?
Spring wind scatters sound all over Luoyang.
The midnight flute keens a farewell song, “Snap the Willow Branch.”
Thinking of my old home and garden, I break.

translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping

to listen
to you
especially now
this season
speak of others
so self-righteous
quick to judge
without noticing
as Matthew
would say
the log
in your own
eye

eyes that speak
of 3000 years
of poetry
of song
the body erect
those slender shoulders
the eyes the mouth
hinting at a smile
there are many
questions to ask
but one talks
of food
chicken feet moon cake
and mouse
am I
dear Fang
supposed to eat
that
is it some kind
of test
to prove
how simpatico
I really am
does it
really truly taste
like chicken
or is that too
a myth
like Marco Polo
and spaghetti
and am I just
another Italian cowboy
lost
in those eyes
in the East