Only a little high, as if I had drunk no wine at all—
the chilly night seems to last a year.
I woke up at midnight and wrote down a dream
but couldn’t go back to sleep.

Thousands of things rise from the depths of my mind
and appear before my eyes.
The lucid depression is unbearable—
a single wild goose crying in the cold night.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

The room is stuffy and uncomfortable:
I open a window to let in the cool air.
Forest trees shade the sunlight;
the inkstone on my desk glitters jade green.
My hand reaches naturally for a book of poetry
and I read some poems out loud.

The ancients had a mountain of sorrows
but my heart is as calm as a river.
If I am different from them,
how is it that they move me so deeply?

The feeling passes and I laugh to myself.
Outside a cicada urges on the sunset.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

The tall pagoda is not pointed, the short one is.
One of them wears an embroidered robe,
the other a silver shirt.
Do you wonder why they never say a word?
It’s because the rapids speak for them
with the voice of Buddha.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

There’s never been such a hot summer before:
tonight the moon is out, and it still isn’t cool.
The withered sprouts are angry with me:
“You lazy poet!” they seem to say,
“why don’t you write a poem praying for rain?”

translated by Jonathan Chaves

You’ve thrown away all your scholarly books;
now you read books on fortunetelling
and look at scholars with cold eyes.
Master Tseng, wil you be my friend?
Together we’ll get into a fishing boat
and sail off to the Five Lakes.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

Once, passing Ch’en’s Trail in a boat,
I raised my head to listen to the wind in the pines.
Now, a year later, I am standing in that wind
looking down at the boats traveling east and west.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

It is raining: the sail blocks our view.
We raise it and the scene becomes even more beautiful.
Tall pines stand like writing brushes on the bank,
their cold reflections rippling like snakes.
Then a silver mirror floats out of the clouds,
and rays of morning light glitter on the jade sand.
We go to the bow and gaze into the distance
at range upon range of green mountains.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

Two little boys in a fishing boat—
they pull in their paddles and sit quietly.
Though it isn’t raining, they hold up umbrellas,
not to cover their heads, but to catch the wind.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

I idly open a book of T’ang poems
and find a petal of peach blossom, still fresh.
I remember taking the book with me
to read among the flowers
and realize that another year has passed.

translated by Jonathan Chaves

I don’t ask to be one of the three ministers;
there’s enough to eat—who needs a lot of money?
I just want to lead a happy life
enjoying the moon and the wind.

translated by Jonathan Chaves