My white hair extends three miles
the sorrow of parting made it this long
looking in a mirror who would guess
where autumn frost comes from
translated by Red Pine
8th Century Chinese poetry
Ruins: The Ku-su Palace by Li Po
The garden’s desert, crumbling walls, as willows green again.
Even the sweet song of spring’s a lament.
Nothing of what was, but the moon above the river,
moon that shone on a pretty face in the palace of the king of Wu.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Metaphor by Chiao Jan
My Tao: at the root, there’s no me. . .
yet I don’t despise worldly men.
And now I’ve been in the city. . .
so I know I really mean that.
translated by J.P. Seaton
poem 2 by Wang Fan-chih
Having power need not warp your heart and mind,
but if you cheat folks, you put yourself in danger.
Just look at the fire on the wood:
once it’s burned up the fuel, the fire’s gone, too.
translated by J.P. Seaton
poem 1 by Wang Fan-chih
Nobody lives to be a hundred.
But they try to write rhymes that’ll last a thousand.
Forge an iron gate to fence out the demons:
demons watch, clapping, and laughing.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Off for the rest of the week to Istanbul and traveling without a computer, just my phone, which I refuse to use for anythng other than phonecalls & some text messaging. So I will not be back until next week. Thus, I leave this poem as my last post until then. Enjoy your days if the weather wherever you are is as lovely as here, and if not, hope you make the best of it. The poem: Gazing at the Moon from South Tower by Chiao Jan
Moon tonight, and everyone’s moon-gazing,
but I’m alone, and in love with this tower.
Threads of cloud are shattered in the stream:
trailing willow is the picture of late fall.
As it brightens, you can see a thousand peaks.
Far off, the veins of ridges flow.
Mountain passes. . .
will I ever climb again?
I stand alone,
and let the border sadness rise.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Sending Off a Friend amid the Cries of Gibbons by Chiao Jan
You’ll go ten thousand miles
beyond those ancient mountains. . .
Three gibbons’ cries,
a chasm full of moonlight. . .
How long’s this road been here?
How many travelers
have wet their sleeves beside it?
A broken wall divides the drooping shadows.
Rushing rapids sing a bitter song.
In the cold, when we have finally parted,
it will be all the more wounding to hear.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Goodbyes by Chiao Jan
I’ve heard that even “men of feeling”
don’t treasure the feeling of parting.
Frosty sky drips a chill
on the cold city wall.
The long night spreads
like water overflowing.
There’s the sound of the watch-horn, too.
The zen man’s heart is empty, yes,
of all but these.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Saying Goodby to the Monk Ling-ch’e by Liu Ch’ang-ch’ing
Dark and dim, the Bamboo Grove Monastery,
Faint and faraway, the sound of bells at dusk.
Your bamboo hat carrying home the evening sun,
Alone you return to the distant green hills.
translated by Dell R. Hales
from Bring the Wine! by Li Po
Why does my host tell me the money has run out?
Buy more wine at once–my friends have cups to be refilled!
My dappled mount,
my furs worth a thousand–
call the boy, have him take them and barter for fine wine!
Together we’ll wash away ten thousand years of care.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 