Eleven years ago I was a southbound exile
after four thousand li I’m in the North again
together with the summons warm weather arrived too
along the postal route new flowers every day
translated by Red Pine
Recalled to the Capital, I Send This to Friends back in Lingling by Liu Tsung-yuan
I keep thinking about this minnow in that tiny pond
then I worry about these puny wings trying to reach Heaven
I’ve lost count of the markers along the shore
each one farther from where we parted
translated by Red Pine
“Why can’t people just sit and read books and be nice to each other?”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
“Why can’t people just sit and read books and be nice to each other?”
Early Spring in Lingling by Liu Tsung-yuan
Before it departed I asked Spring
when it would reach the Ch’in Plains
and could it carry a dream back home
all the way to my old garden
translated by Red Pine
To See Meng Hao-jan Off to Yang-chou by Li Po
My old friend takes off from the Yellow Crane Tower,
In smoke-flower third month down to Yangchou.
A lone sail, a distant shade, lost in the blue horizon.
Only the long Yangtze is seen flowing into the sky.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
On and On: An Ancient Song (Yüeh-fu) by Li Ho
White reflection retreats to western hills.
A jasper corona goes up in the distance.
The past, the present: where to end?
A thousand years gone with the winds.
Sands of the sea turn into stones.
Fish bubble, blast the bridge of Ch’in.
Light of the sky wanders far away.
Bronze pillars erode with the years.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
the words
the words
so faint now
at three am
with a glass
or three
of Jameson
to add to the haze
that is memory
here there
somewhere
a voice fades
in out
and time
that old bandit
robs me
once again
of the words
To Li Po on a Winter Day by Tu Fu
Alone in my secluded hut,
I think of you all day, Li Po.
Whenever I read of friendship,
I remember your friendly poems.
Harsh winds tatter your old clothes
as you search for the wine of endless life.
Unable to go with you, I remember only
that old hermitage we’d hoped to make a home.
translated by Sam Hamill
the questions
there is a world
out there
beyond the window screen
and as he feels
the breeze brush his face
on this mild winter day
he wonders
what would life be like
outside the safety
of this house
and the cat
looks back
at me
as if I had
all the answers
to all the questions
in both of our heads
the volumes in my heart: for Jimmy
there are some mornings
the call to prayer
resonates
after a long illness
or a hardship endured
but at no times
more than these
with the passing
of a beloved friend
for words fail
to express
what the Ezan
does for me now
it speaks the volumes
in my heart
Leonard Durso 