Two camellia trees
facing each other
wonder who planted them?
I’ve come by myself
to visit them
in this fine drizzle
I wanted to talk with them
but that won’t happen
they are beyond language
brilliantly, thoroughly red,
as if on fire
blooming here in snow.
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
10th Century Chinese poetry
Poem in reply to my brother’s poem of nostalgia for Mianchi by Su Tung-p’o
Who can say how life should look?
We are like swans that walk on slushy snow,
leaving their muddy footprints,
and when they soar, go off in what direction?
The old monks died, the new pagoda’s built,
ruined walls and old inscriptions vanish.
Then why do we still recall the tumult,
long roads, exhausted travelers, crippled braying donkeys?
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
The Willow Tree by Su Tung-p’o
This year I plant it myself,
using my own hands.
Somebody asked me what year
I went away?
Another year,
and I came back again.
The little tree waves and shakes,
same as my hurting heart.
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
Pear blossom poem for Kong by Su Tung-p’o
The flowering pear trees
are like white frost
the willows a deep green
willow catkins float past
flowers fill the city
I have a sense of sadness
that comes from watching
a couple of snowy pear trees
how many Qing Ming festivals
are left for me to witness
in this brief lifetime?
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
Song of the Spring Wind by Ch’i-chi
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
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
Leonard Durso 