A pair of red-collared swallows gently brush the waves:
From both banks, flowng foam and tiny ripples are born.
Heading south or north, two boats pass each other without a word,
As a sail in the wind cuts a swath on the river just for one instant.
translated by Irving Lo
17th Century Chinese poetry
Upper Garrison Farm: A Ballad A Lament for a Woman Killed by the Soldiery by Shih Jun-chang
In the village there is a crying child;
Wail upon wail, it calls for its mother.
Its mother is dead; blood soaks her clothing,
But still she clasps it to her breast to suckle.
translated by William Schultz
from Chen-chou Quatrains I by Wang Shih-chen
At dawn I climb a river tower to its very highest storey,
The gentle and delicate look of departing sail is hard to bear.
The tide stretches a thousand yards below White Sand Pavilion;
Sending a homesick heart all the way back to Mo-ling.
translated by Daniel Bryant
a mountain poem by Han-shan Te-ch’ing
After late spring rain the falling petals swirl
weightlessly celestial scent covers my patched robe
a simple vacant mind has no place to go
resting on a peak I watch the clouds return
translated by Red Pine
The Tiniest of Lives by Chin Jen-jui
Beneath the leaf a green insect, and frost upon the leaf;
The tiniest of lives, having come to this, is most to be pitied.
Had I the strength of high heaven and rotund earth,
I’d make you live a thousand autumns, ten thousand years.
translated by Irving Lo
Ancient Sentiments by Wu Wei-yeh
My love is like the silk on the loom,
To be woven into a Tree of Longing.
I’m like blossoms on your cloth coat
Which no spring wind can deflower.
translated by Irving Lo
On the Road to Tang Lake by P’eng Sun-yü
In the evening I gaze out from atop a high tower;
The sun’s radiance in the forest has been clear all day.
On Lonely Mountain the autumn garrison is cold,
Up the three branches of the Mao River the night tides are born.
Fishermen’s fires appear out in the main current,
Gull-topped waves stay bright all night long.
It’s time for our boat to stop for a moment:
The misty moon is just too filled with feeling.
translated by William H. Nienhauser, Jr.
On the Road to Tang Lake by P’eng Sun-yü
In the evening I gaze out from atop a high tower;
The sun’s radiance in the forest has been clear all day.
On Lonely Mountain the autumn garrison is cold,
Up the three branches of the Mao River the night tides are born.
Fisherman’s fires appear out in the main current,
Gull-topped waves stay bright all night long.
It’s time for our boat to stop for a moment:
The misty moon is just too filled with feeling.
translated by William H. Nienhauser
A Miscellany on the Garden of Autumn Clouds: Peach-Blossom Pond by Sung Wan
Green water reflects scales of bright red;
Weeds and algae appear as clear as in a mirror.
When the fisherman rapped on his boat,
I thought it was petals falling.
translated by Yin-nan Chang
Random Poem on the lake by Sung Wan
Of mountain scenery, the Southern Screen is best;
Its atmosphere misty, half is hidden, half is there.
A small skiff moors in the winding pond;
Pelicans rest under withered willow trees.
Clouds rise up and a thousand peaks are thrown together;
The sky clears and a single pagoda stands alone.
With inspiration come thoughts of distant views;
Melodies from a Tartar flute fill West Lake.
translated by Yin-nan Chang
Leonard Durso 