Lost among flowers, the boat returns late;
expecting the moon, it drifts slowly down the shoals.
Though I’m drunk, I still drop a line:
the boat moves on, but not my dream.

translated by Kim Jong-Gil

JS

Big full harvest moon tonight. Let’s celebrate with another #fullmoonsocial! Any time after the moon rises (7:30 pm in my neck of the woods in Virginia) compose and post a poem and tag it #fullmoonsocial on WordPress, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I’ll try to keep up and re-post all the tagged poems I can find here on this site.

I know you’ve stared up at the moon wondering who else was doing the same at that very moment. Tonight, share your thoughts while you’re doing it.

See you tonight!

What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking,
There is no end of things in the heart.
I call in the boy,
Have him sit on his knees here
To seal this,
And send it a thousand miles, thinking.

translated by Ezra Pound

there it is
undetected
coming out of
left field
just when you
were looking right
it’s that car
from nowhere
knocking you into
a ditch
over a guardrail
into the bottom
of a canyon
you didn’t expect it
were not ready
your judgment on holiday
but in she came
on those long legs
wearing that smile
to some private joke
sunshine framing her
like in the movies
blindsided
my friend
your heart

Departing at dawn, carriage bells ajingle–
The traveler grieves for his ancestral home.
A cock’s crow, a thatched teahouse in the moonlight,
Human footprints on the frosted bridge planking,
Betel leaves fallen by the mountain road,
Orange blossoms bright on the station wall–
And so I dream a dream of Ch’ang-an,
Where ducks and geese settle, crowding the pond.

translated by William R. Schultz

Through the red dust I tramped for ten years
green mountains though were often in my dreams
a purple cord brings fame but can’t compare to sleep
crimson gates are grand but having less is better
how sad to hear swords guarding a feeble lord
how depressing the songs of noisy drunks
I’m taking my old books back to my retreat
to wildflowers and birdsongs and the same old spring

translated by Red Pine

We drink deeply beneath dragon bamboo,
our lamp faint, the moon cold again.

On the sandbar, startled by drunken song,
a snowy egret lifts away past midnight.

translated by David Hinton

daylight
comes too quickly
the dreams of night
end
too soon

You ask when I’ll be back–
I wish I knew!

night rain on Pa Mountain
overflows the autumn ponds

when will we trim the candle wick
under our own west window?

I’ll be telling you this story
night rain will be falling.

translated by David Young

A wind, bringing willow-cotton, sweetens the shop,
And a girl from Wu, pouring wine, urges me to share it
With my comrades of the city who are here to see me off;
And as each of them drains his cup, I say to him in parting,
Oh, go and ask the river running to the east
If it can travel faster than a friend’s love!

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu