The boatman of Ts’ang-lang is quite old,
But his heart is as clean as flowing water.
He never talks about where he lives,
And nobody knows exactly what his name is.
At dawn he cooks on the riverbank;
Nightfalls, he glides into the rushes and sleeps.
He sings, too, one song after another,
And he holds in hand a bamboo pole:
The line at the end of the fishing pole
Is more than ten feet long.
He rows and rows, following where the river goes,
And he doesn’t have a permanent abode.
How can anyone in the world imagine
What the old man really thinks?
The old man looks for what he himself thinks fit,
And he never cares about the fish.
translated by C.H. Wang
Composed at Sunset at the Dunes of Ho-yen by Ts’en Shen
On the sands is seen the sun rising.
On the sands is seen the sun setting.
Regret for having come ten thousand li:
Achievement, fame, what things are these?
translated by Ronald C. Miao
from Peach-Blossom Spring by T’ao Ch’ien
Wandering in the world, who can fathom
what lies beyond its clamor and dust. O,
how I long to rise into thin air and
ride the wind in search of my own kind.
translated by David Hinton
from a poem by Hafez
I heard the lilies say, “The world is old,
to take things lightly here–is sweet.”
Hafez, the happy heart ignores the world;
don’t think dominion here–is sweet
translated by Dick Davis
Forgotten Mind by Sowol Kim
How lonely I have wandered
torn apart from home!
How is it that you’re back
when flowers flare in the spring wind?
Lost to each other, we’ve become strangers.
Why should my old dreams visit me?–
recurring in waves of grief.
translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch
Dreaming of Old Days by Sowol Kim: for John Corden
Snow is falling, falling outside.
The moonlight steals through the window.
Dusk-borne, she enters my dream
to be held in my arms.
Tears soak my pillow
now she has left me.
At quiet dawn a shadowy star
peeps through the window.
translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch
from a love poem by Hafez
And like a hawk I’ve seeled* my eyes to all
The world, to glimpse the face that I adore.
Whover strays within your street, it is
Your eyebrow’s curve that he will pray before;
O friend, to know the fire in Hafez’ heart
Ask candles what they’re burning, melting, for.
translated by Dick Davis
*seeled is an archaic verb that means to close the eyes, to prevent from seeing
from The Message by Rabindranath Tagore
Evidently the only way to find the path is to set fire to my own life.
translated by Robert Bly
6am in Moda
the cat
looks up
as I pass
before returning
to batting a dead mouse
with its paws
the hunter home
from the street
with a nod to The Waterboys: a bang on the ear
there was sweet Annie
dark eyed Karen
smouldering Maryanne
the loves of my teenage years
I was too awkward
to keep
others followed later
to grace or taint my life
but those three
linger in dreams
while most others
melt away
and so I send my love
and a bang
on the ear*
5000 miles and more
to the loves
I was foolish
not to use
the words needed
to have them stay
*a bang on the ear is an old Celtic expression meaning to give a kiss or a pat on the head
Leonard Durso 