What does the spring wind have in mind,
coming day and night to these groves and gardens?
It never asks who owns the peach and damson trees
but blows away their crimson without a word.
translated by Burton Watson
10th Century Chinese poetry
Admonishing a Younger Teacher by Ch’i-chi
You decline to write poetry, won’t listen to sutras,
too lazy to visit the other peaks of Ch’an—
when at last your head is white and they question you,
what stories will you have to tell your students?
translated by Burton Watson
Golden-Tomb City by Wang An-Shih
Old lichen and moss: what more remains of Golden-Tomb,
where people came and went, wandering north and south?
Spring wind past stone walls remembers best: home after
home, apricot and peach in broken courtyards blossoming.
translated by David Hinton
Ten Years—Dead and Living Dim and Draw Apart by Su Tung-p’o
To the tune “Song of River City.” The year yi-mao, first month, twentieth day: recording a dream I had last night.
Ten years—dead and living dim and draw apart.
I don’t try to remember
but forgetting is hard.
Lonely grave a thousand miles off,
cold thoughts—where can I talk them out?
Even if we met you wouldn’t know me,
dust on my face,
hair like frost—
In a dream last night suddenly I was home.
By the window of the little room
you were combing your hair and making up.
You turned and looked, not speaking,
only lines of tears coursing down—
year after year will it break my heart?
The moonlit grave,
its stubby pines—
translated by Burton Watson
Tune: “The Beautiful Lady Yu” by Li Yü
When will the last flower fall, the last moon fade?
So many sorrows lie behind.
Again last night the east wind filled my room—
O gaze not on the lost kingdom under the bright moon.
Still in her light my palace gleams as jade
(Only from bright cheeks beauty dies).
To know the sum of human suffering
Look at this river rolling eastward in the spring.
translated by Cyril Birch
from After the Rebellion, Visiting West Mountain Temple by Ch’i-chi
I for one have no plans to abandon the road I’m on.
translated by Burton Watson
The Year Keng-wu, Night of the Fifteenth, Facing the Moon by Ch’i-chi
Sea calm, sky blue, moon just now full–
in my poems I think how cold Hsuan-tsung must be tonight.
The jade rabbit in the moon, if he has a heart, will remember too,
as he looks west and cannot see the old Ch’ang-an.
translated by Burton Watson
from the series Don’t Ask: 11 by Ch’i-chi
Don’t ask if I’ve ceased wanting anything–
we all know the simile of the drifting clouds.
Excess wouldn’t fit the precepts:
take what comes and you’re never in doubt.
How happy, that worthy Yen!
Even the sage Confucius was poor.
Once you’ve passed the age of understanding
stop trying to change destiny’s course.
translated by Burton Watson
Delighted That The Monk Chien-chou Has Come A Long Way To Visit Me by Ch’i-chi
He and I both nearing seventy,
what does it mean to meet like this?
The age of a sage king has yet to arrive,
but partings and rebellions–we have plenty of that!
Though the gate to detachment is hard to attain,
days of leisure pass quickly.
For the rest of our lives, aside from writing letters,
we’ll just be at the beck of the poetry devil.
translated by Burton Watson
Summer Night by Han Wo
Wild wind, chaotic lightning–black clouds are born.
Splashing, splashing in tall woods–the sound of dense rain.
Night wears on, rain lets up–wind, too, is settled.
Torn clouds–a floating moon once more slants down its light.
translated by Edward H. Schafer
Leonard Durso 