Whose jade-flute is this, notes flying invisibly
Scatter into spring winds, filling City of Loyang?
Hearing the “Break-a-Willow-Twig” tonight,
Who can withhold the surge of thoughts of home?
ytranslated by Wai-lim Yip
8th Century Chinese poetry
To See A Friend Off by Wang Wei
Dismount and drink this wine.
Where to? I ask.
At odds with the world:
Return to rest by the South Hill.
Go. Go. Do not ask again.
Endless, the white clouds.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
Running from Trouble by Tu Fu
Barely fifty, but already my face is old, hair white.
I traveled this whole coast fleeing the state.
Rough cloth saved my shivering bones
as I roamed the awful cold.
Thus began the years of my disease.
Everywhere, people were mud and ash.
Between heaven and earth,
there’s nowhere a body is safe.
I see my wife and children follow.
We sigh for mutual sorrows.
My old home gone to weeds,
and all my neighbors scattered,
we may never find the road back home.
We add our tears to the river.
translated by Sam Hamill
Spring Dreams by Meng Hao-jan
In spring, I dream through dawn,
but hear birds everywhere, singing.
O voice of all-night wind snd rain,
do you count the petals that are falling?
translated by Sam Hamill
Peach Blossoms by Yuan Chen
Infinite peach-blossom shades,
her rouged and powdered cheeks.
Spring breezes help her break my heart,
blowing peach petals from her dress.
translated by Sam Hamill
Watching the Distances by Tu Fu
I watch the limitless distance of autumn,
the far-off dark rising up in layers
where icy waters merge with the frozen sky
and the city is blurred with mist.
Last leaves are torn into flight by winds,
and sunless, distant peaks fade fast.
A lone crane flops home at dusk.
The trees are full of crows.
translated by Sam Hamill
Seeing off Yuan Er on a Mission to Anhsi by Wang Wei
Morning rain dampens the dust in Weicheng
new willow branches have turned the inn green
drink one more cup of wine my friend
west of Yang Pass there’s no one you know
translated by Red Pine
A Night-Mooring at Wu-chang by Lu Lun
Far off in the clouds stand the walls of Han-yang,
Another day’s journey for my lone sail . . .
Though a river merchant ought to sleep in this calm weather,
I listen to the tide at night and voices of the boatman.
. . . My thin hair grows wintry, like the triple Hsiang streams,
Three thousand miles my heart goes, homesick with the moon;
But the war has left me nothing of my heritage—
And oh, the pangs of hearing these drums along the river!
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
A Farewell to Li Tuan by Lu Lun
By the old gate, among yellow grasses;
Still we linger, sick at heart.
The way you must follow through cold clouds
Will lead you this evening into snow.
Your father died; you left home young;
Nobody knew of your misfortunes.
We cry, we say nothing. What can I wish you
In this blowing wintry world?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
A Political Prisoner Listening to a Cicada by Lo Ping-wang
While the year sinks westward, I hear a cicada
Bid me to be resolute here in my cell,
Yet it needed the song of those black wings
To break a white-haired prisoner’s heart . . .
His flight is heavy through the fog,
His voice drowns in the windy world.
Who knows if he is singing still?—
Who listens any more to me?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Leonard Durso 