Who planted banana trees in front of my window?
Their shadows fall in the midst of the courtyard.
Their shadows fall in the midst of the courtyard.
Leaves like hearts, leaves like hearts,
That open and close with excess of love.
Midnight, rain, on the leaves saddens my own heart.
Dien! Di! Dien! Di! Bitter cold, unceasing rain.
Drip! Drop! Drip! Drop! Bitter cold, unceasing rain.
Loneliness. Loneliness.
Sorrow corrodes this exile from the North.
How can I bear to lie awake and listen?

translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung

I stand on a high tower
And look out over jumbled mountains
And wilderness plains
And thin gleaming mist—
Thin gleaming mist.
As the raven’s fly home to roost,
Bugles ring out against the sunset sky.
The incense has faded,
But some wine remains.
My arms embrace nothing but remorse.
The wu-t’ung leaves fall—
The wu-t’ung leaves fall.
Autumn colors return.
My desolation returns.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung

Deep in the silent inner room
Every fiber of my soft heart
Turns to a thousand strands of sorrow.
I loved the Spring,
But the Spring is gone
As rain hastens the falling petals.
I lean on the balustrade,
Moving from one end to the other.
My emotions are still disordered.
Where is he?
Withered grass stretches to the horizon
And hides from sight
Any road by which he might return.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung

The twisted limbs break
Into ten thousand flecks of gold,
On layer upon layer of carved jade leaves,
Fresh and bright as the grace of Yen Fu.
The heaps of plum petals seem vulgar.
The lilacs seem coarse and contorted.
Your perfume has broken into
My sorrowful dream of the one
A thousand miles away,
And left me drained of emotion.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung

All night you can hear
The sad cries of the wild geese.
They make me think of my old home.
I have been sick since the new year.
The sight of flowers might cheer me
Up. I am no longer your guest,
Among the flowers at Lo Yang,
But even the wild flowers,
If they would only come would be
Enough to make me happier.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth

Wet rain and soft breeze by turns
Have just broken
And driven away the chill.
Moist as pussy willows,
Light as the plum blossoms,
Already I feel the heart of Spring vibrating.
But now who will share with me
The joys of wine and poetry?
Tears streak my rouge.
My hairpins are too heavy.
I put on my new quilted robe
Sewn with gold thread
And throw myself against a pile of pillows,
Crushing my phoenix hairpins.
Alone, all I can embrace is my endless sorrow.
I know a good dream will never come.
So I stay up past midnight
Trimming the lamp flower’s smoking wick.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung

Poor Tung-p’o is a sick old man
his white hair flutters like snow in the wind
his son mistakenly smiles to see his face so rosy
I laugh how could he know the red is from the wine

translated by Red Pine

Slender willow wands
warm and genial breezes
a time to gather and write poems

under the groves of trees
beside the brimming ponds
footsteps of friends on the move

since we last said goodbye
I’ve grown more idle and lazy
about meeting or staying in touch

sunset and the cicadas
set up a ragged chorus
enlarging my sadness.

translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young

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