Who’d paint a white-haired ancient?
I smile. I’d rather be a duck.
If you’re born with your head snow-white already,
no one can laugh and shout, “You’re getting old!”
translated by J.P. Seaton
18th Century Chinese poetry
Bent Willows by Li Chien
The river’s waves reflect a bent willow,
Unbothered by the darkening sky at dusk.
If this tree can be said to hold a grievance,
Who hasn’t felt the pangs of lost love?
I’m listless and the road home for a traveler is far;
And autumn winds rise after our leave-taking.
One day sporting a young girl’s pearl coiffure,
This morning I dread to look into the mirror bright.
translated by Hsin-sheng C. Kao
Chatting about the Past with the Elder (Ching-jen) by Hung Liang-chi
All ambitions of youth yield place to calamities;
Parted as in a dream–reunited, we can’t trust our eyes.
Shall we match our strength in climbing one more mountain?
Winning fame in literature, there’s you alone.
In a sea of dust, we still can tarry for a little while;
Or sit in a granary of books, all day, without food.
This morning I took myself to Yen Pavilion for a look,
Trying to find the leanest horse to ride down the capital street.
translated by Irving Lo
from Stones and Trees by Shih-shu
how pitiful, the feelings of the world
still, the hills are not afraid
with forests of trees to clothe them
the hunting ground of poems and verse
my heart is free as the white clouds
body light as a crimson leaf
apes and birds pull me forward
lusty as ever, we rise up–cross over
translated by James H. Sanford
After Shih-te by Shih-shu
I climb these hills as if walking on air
body too light to fall
bamboo staff resting against a great stone
torn cloak snapping in the wind
a lone bird soars the azure depths
far distant springs reflected in its eye
carefree, singing a timeless song
gone–on a journey without end
translated by James H. Sanford
Remembering by Yuan Mei
The years, their months
turn, grave and slow, their
fall and spring, again.
Mountain flowers, mountain leaves and
each time’s new.
Sometimes I sit alone
and smile upon the child I was,
in memory now distant
and a friend.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Leonard Durso 