Parting is hard, I’ll tell you twice.
Fallen petals in the wind make me sad again.

When you came, the plum bloomed through the snow.
When you left, the willows were in their spring glory.

Time and seasons hasten the traveler,
there is good weather again on the homeward road.

The world of cares is already far behind:
In a murky dream, I see your face again.

translated by Geoffrey Waters

Since I entered the inner rooms
I haven’t seen the spring.
I write this poem on a fallen leaf
and send it out to a wandering man.

translated by Geoffrey Waters

On heaven’s wind, a sea traveler
wanders by boat through distances.

It’s like a bird among the clouds:
once gone, gone without a trace.

translated by David Hinton

How many times will I see spring green
again, or yellow birds tireless in song?

The road home ends at the edge of heaven.
Here beyond the river, my old hair white,

my heart flown north to cloudy passes,
I’m shadow in moonlit southern mountains.

My life a blaze of spent abundance, my old
fields and gardens buried in weeds, where

am I going? It’s year’s end, and I’m here
chanting long farewells at heaven’s gate.

translated by David Hinton

Autumn wind clear,
autumn moon bright,

fallen leaves gather in piles, then scatter,
and crows settling-in, cold, startle away.

Will we ever see, ever even think of each other again?
This night, this moment: impossible to feel it all.

translated by David Hinton

2

In the Po-ko night, a long wind howls.
Streams and valleys turn suddenly cold.

Fish and dragons roaming shoreline waters,
billows surge and waves swell everywhere.

Though heaven’s loaned its moon, bright
moon come soaring over emerald clouds,

I can’t see my old home anywhere. Heart-
stricken, I face west and look and look.

translated by David Hinton

1

Where could evening wandering be so fine?
Here along Po-ko shores, the moon bright,

mountain light trembles on drifted snow,
and gibbon shadow hangs from cold branches.

Only when this exquisite light dies away,
only then I turn my oars and start back.

When I came, it was such bright clear joy.
Now, it’s all these thoughts of you again.

translated by David Hinton

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

On a white horse bridled in gold, I go east of Liao-hai,
spread embroidered quilts, fall asleep in spring winds.

The moon sets, lighting my porch, probing dark lamps.
Blossoms drift through the door, smile on my empty bed.

translated by David Hinton

After wine, I go out into the fields,
wander open country—singing,

asking myself how green grass
could be a white-haired old man.

But looking into a bright mirror,
I see him in my failing hair too.

Blossom scent seems to scold me.
I let grief go, and face east winds.

translated by David Hinton