Birds have vanished into deep skies.
A last cloud drifts away, all idleness.
Inexhaustible, this mountain and I
gaze at each other, it alone remaining.
translated by David Hinton
8th Century Chinese poetry
At West Creek in Ch’u-chou by Wei Ying-wu
Alone, I savor wildflowers tucked in along the creek,
and there’s a yellow oriole singing in treetop depths.
Spring floods come rain-swollen and wild at twilight.
No one here at the ferry, a boat drifts across of itself.
translated by David Hinton
Returning East to Choukuei Village on Bathing Day: For Tuan by Wei Ying-wu
For thirty years an itinerant official
I no longer recognized the fields
but since it was my day to bathe
I traveled back to our village
the rains had stopped and the mountains were clear
The wind was warm and plants were thriving
the mountain-fed streams were deep and pure
the forests beginning to dance with light
but the bamboo was looking a bit sad
and the garden was nothing but weeds
and I was startled by the gray at your temples
and the sight of where we once played
and the heartbreaking news of departures
and the changes that had ravaged this place
I wanted to speak but who would care
and now I’m worrying about reports again
I’d be better off giving up this worldly career
fortune and fame are so hollow
compared to finally being with you
here in my declining and future years
translated by Red Pine
Earth God Day: To Water Commissioner Ts’ui and My Cousins and Relatives by Wei Ying-wu
Festivals abound in this mountain town
on Earth God Day officials stay home
sitting upstairs feeling bored
I walked out to the pond for the light
spring wind rustled the willows
I shut the garden gate at dusk
as I thought of you together in our village
disappointment slipped into my heart
translated by Red Pine
Farewell to Yin Shu by Li Po (Li Bai)
We drink deeply beneath dragon bamboo,
our lamp faint, the moon cold again.
On the sandbar, startled by drunken song,
a snowy egret lifts away past midnight.
translated by David Hinton
Night at the Tower by Tu Fu
Yin and Yang cut brief autumn days short. Frost and snow
Clear, leaving a cold night open at the edge of heaven.
Marking the fifth watch, grieving drums and horns erupt as
A river of stars, shadows trembling, drifts in Three Gorges.
Pastoral weeping–war heard in how many homes? And tribal
Songs drifting from the last woodcutters and fishermen. . . . .
Chu-ko Liang, Pai-ti: all brown earth in the end. And it
Opens, the story of our lives opens away. . . .vacant, silent.
translated by David Hinton
note: Chu-ko Liang & Pai-ti were both state ministers: one famous, the other infamous. Thus,Tu Fu uses another set of opposites in this poem.
Moonlit Night by Tu Fu
Tonight at Fu-chou, this moon she watches
Alone in our room. And my little, far-off
Children, too young to understand what keeps me
Away, or even remember Ch’ang-an. By now,
Her hair will be mist-scented, her jade-white
Arms chilled in its clear light. When
Will it find us together again, drapes drawn
Open, light traced where it dries our tears?
translated by David Hinton
For Li Po by Tu Fu
Autumn returns, and again we are cast thistledown together
on the winds. The elixir of immortality has eluded us—
Ko Hung must be ashamed. Days drunk and singing too loud,
Given to the wind, yet resolute–so brave, and for whom?
translated by David Hinton
Ch’en-t’ao Lament by Tu Fu
Now fine homes in ten prefectures have dead sons
making water with their blood on Ch’en-t’ao Marsh.
An early winter’s panoramic waste: crystal sky,
the silence of war. Forty thousand dead in a day.
Mongol battalions return. Their arrows bathed blood-
black, drunk in the markets, they sing Mongol songs.
And we face north to mourn, another day conjuring
our army’s appearance passing into hopeful night.
translated by David Hinton
Drunk on T’ung-Kuan Mountain, a Quatrain by Li Po (Li Bai)
I love this T’ung-kuan joy. A thousand
years, and still I’d never leave here.
It makes me dance, my swirling sleeves
sweeping all Five-Pine Mountain clean.
translated by David Hinton
Leonard Durso 