Alone, a noon dove calling in spring
shade, I lie in a valley of forest quiet.
Scraps of cloud pass, scattering rain,
and I listen, late in life, to its clatter.
Eyes full of red and green confusion,
our sad times unraveling my legacy,
there’s no word near these thoughts
still as Bell Mountain in its slumber.
translated by David Hinton
cold ashes
cold ashes
fall from fingers
leftover life
blows away
Spring Rain by Wang An-shih
Bitter mist hides spring colors. Grief-
drizzle sickens the splendor of things.
That dark isolate wonder impossible
now, I swill down a cup of dusk haze.
translated by David Hinton
Leaving the City by Wang An-shih
I’ve lived in the country long enough to know its wild joys:
it feels like I’m a child back home in my old village again.
Leaving the city today, I put all that gritty dust behind me,
and facing mountains and valleys, feel them enter my eyes.
translated by David Hinton
With my goosefoot staff by Wang An-shih
With my goosefoot staff, I wander the stream winding around
East Ridge. When interest fades, I go home to bed. But in dream,
emperors Yao and Chieh sometimes appear: one noble, one vile.
So my practice isn’t over. There are a few last things to forget.
translated by David Hinton
all the talking: for JEP
some time toward dawn
a shot of whiskey
burns its way
down my throat
in memory
of you
and all the talking
we had
and all the talking
we missed
Off-Hand Poem by Wang An-shih
It’s a blessing, the ten thousand things
spoken. Don’t forget even a single line,
for I’m sending in these words a place
far from this loud world of confusion.
translated by David Hinton
following a line from Wang An-shih: these distances
3am darkness
the street empty
no laughter passing by
this silence this night
weighs heavy
on my mind
and you old friend
thousands of miles
of years away
but not lost to me
knowing you still
in these distances
between us
feeling the warmth
your memory brings
A Clear Stream in Ch’ih-chou by Tu Mu
I’ve played all day in the stream. Not twilight’s yellow
lights autumn’s destined coming, root of this white hair.
What is it I’ve trusted you to rinse a thousand times away,
until not, the dust fouling my brush-tip leaves no trace?
translated by David Hinton
Bidding Farewell by Chong Chi-sang
A single leaf falls in the yard.
Near my desk, crickets chirp sadly.
I know I cannot hold you here.
I wonder where your journey will take you.
My longing will follow you to where the mountains end,
As I seek you in my dream on a moonlit night.
When the spring river ripples green along the bank,
I beg you not to forget your promise to return.
translated by Sung-Il Lee
Leonard Durso 