Forbidden gate, palace trees, a moon’s flitting trace,
seductive eyes gaze askance at night-nesting egrets.
Leaning, she plucks her jade hairpin in the lamplight,
Pricks apart the ruddy flame to save a flying moth.
translated by Ronald C. Miao
Viewing Mountains with His Reverence Hao Ch’u To My Friends and Relatives in the Capital by Liu Tsung-yüan
The coastal mountains are as sharp as swords;
When autumn comes each cleaves my sore heart.
If my body could be dissolved into a thousand selves,
I’d have them scattered on the highest peaks to gaze homeward.
translated by Jan W. Walls
Feeling Old Age by Liu Tsung-yüan
I’ve always known that old age would arrive,
and suddenly now I witness its encroach.
This year, luckily, I’ve not weakened much
but gradually it comes to seek me out.
Teeth scattered, hair grown short,
To run or hurry, I haven’t the strength.
So, I cry, what’s to be done!
And yet, why should I suffer?
P’eng-tsu and Lao Tzu no more exist;
Chuang Tzu and K’ung Tzu too are gone.
Of those whom the ancients called “immortal saints”
not one is left today.
I only wish for fine wine
and friends who will often help me pour.
Now that spring is drawing to a close
and peach and plum produce abundant shade
and the sun lights up the azure sky
and far, far, the homeward goose cries,
I step outside, greeting those I love,
and climb to the western woods with the aid of my staff.
Singing out loud is enough to cheer me up;
the ancient hymns have overtones.
translated by Jan W. Walls
my uniform at home
a torn t-shirt
I’m too fond of
to use as a rag
champion sweatpants
a little worse for wear
and those old scuffs
my housekeeper Fatma
shakes her head at
each time she cleans the soles
this my uniform at home
I often wonder
what I would wear
if someone came to call
but luckily
I don’t invite anyone
except Ali
who knows me 23 years
and used to see me
at work
in a tie
those still hang
in my closet
like some ribbons
from a long ago war
I happily retired from
in the backyards below
so peaceful
sitting on the balcony
the occasional gull
my only companions
and the sound
of children laughing
at play
in the backyards
below
Journeying to Hsiang-yi by Ch’en Yü-yi
Speeding flowers along the shores mirror my boat red;
A bank of elms for a hundred li, half a day’s breeze—
Lying, I watch the clouds motionless everywhere in the sky,
Not knowing that the clouds and I are both traveling east.
translated by Irving Y. Lo
Living in the Mountains by Tai Shu-lun
Deer gather in flocks by nature;
What man comes up to these white clouds?
In the mountains there are no worldly concerns:
To the end of my days mellowed in wine.
translated by William H. Nienhauser
from Seven Songs Written While Living at T’ung-ku in 759: No: 7 by Tu Fu
I am a man who’s made no name, already I’ve grown old,
Wandering hungry three years on barren mountain roads.
In Ch’ang-an the ministers are all young men;
Wealth and fame must be earned before a man grows old.
In the mountains here are scholars who knew me long ago.
We only think of the good old days, our hearts full of pain.
Alas! This is my seventh song, oh! with sorrow I end the refrain,
Looking up to the wide sky where the white sun rushes on.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
an exile come home
I hesitate to write
these lines of your visits
waking me here
asleep in my chair
coffee cold
in my cup
and you trudging
those 5000 miles
over land an ocean
to sit once more
by my side
foretelling what awaits
in a future
void of time
where loneliness fades
an exile
come home
Longing in My Heart by Wei Ying-wu
Shall I ask the willow trees on the dike
For whom do they wear their green spring dress?
In vain I saunter to the places of yesterday,
And I do not see yesterday’s people.
Weaving through myriad courtyards and village squares,
Coming and going, the dust of carriages and horses—
Do not say I have met with no acquaintances:
Only they are not those close to my heart.
translated by Irving Y. Lo
Leonard Durso 