A spring day on the shore of the world–
On the shore of the world the sun is slanting again.
If the oriole’s cry had tears,
They should wet the highest flower for me!
translated by James J.Y. Liu
9th Century Chinese poetry
Written while Traveling on the Kweilin Road by Li Shang-yin
In this warm country, there is no autumn hue;
Over the clear river, a bright sunset.
Buzz, buss–a few remaining cicadas,
Still reluctant to bid the traveler farewell.
In the small village a dog guards me;
On the flat sand, a monk alone returns.
I wish to gaze toward the northwest,
But all I see are partridges flying again!
translated by James J.Y. Liu
Home Thoughts by Li Shang-yin
Though there is a tower with railings to lean on,
How can I do without wine to pour?
Dank clouds hang over the mountain range in spring;
The river moon shines clear and bright at night.
The fish are disturbed–to whom can letters be entrusted?
The apes cry sadly–my dreams are easily startled.
My old home adjoined the Imperial Park:
It was the time when the oriole moved to the tall tree.
translated by James J.Y. Liu
Visiting the Meandering Stream Alone Late in Autumn by Li Shang-yin
When the lotus leaves grew, my spring sadness grew.
Now that the lotus leaves have withered, my autumn sadness is full.
I well know that as long as life remains, emotions remain;
Gazing ahead wistfully by the river, I hear the river’s flow.
translated by James J. Y. Liu
Fording the Han River by Li P’in
Crags cut sound. No word past
winter’s gone. I come
with spring, and the closer
I come, the more afraid.
Don’t dare to ask
word of you.
translated by J.P. Seaton
See a Friend Off to Wu by Tu Hsun-ho
I see you to Ku-su.
Homes there, sleeping by the stream.
Ancient palace, few abandoned spots.
And by the harbor, many little bridges.
In the night market, lotus, fruit and roots.
On the spring barges, satins and gauze.
Know, far off, the moon still watches.
Think of me there, in the fisherman’s song.
translated by J.P. Seaton
A Confession by Tu Mu
With my wine-bottle, watching by river and lake
For a lady so tiny as to dance on my palm,
I awake, after dreaming ten years in Yang-chou,
Known as fickle, even in the Street of Blue Houses.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
The Temple of Su Wu by Wen T’ing-yun
Though our envoy, Su Wu, is gone, body and soul,
This temple survives, these trees endure. . .
Wildgeese through the clouds are still calling to the moon there
And hill-sheep unshepherded graze along the border.
. . .Returning, he found his country changed
Since with youthful cap and sword he had left it.
His bitter adventures had won him no title. . .
Autumn-waves endlessly sob in the river.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
North Among Green Vines by Li Shang-yin
Where the sun has entered the western hills,
I look for a monk in his little straw hut;
But only the fallen leaves are at home,
And I turn through chilling levels of cloud.
I hear a stone gong in the dusk,
I lean full-weight on my slender staff. . .
How within this world, within this grain of dust,
Can there be any room for the passions of men?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
To A Friend Bound East by Wen T’ing-yun
The old fort brims with yellow leaves. . .
You insist upon forsaking this place where you have lived.
A high wind blows at Han-yang Ferry
And sunrise lights the summit of Ying-men. . .
Who will be left for me along the upper Yang-tsze
After your solitary skiff has entered the end of the sky?
I ask you over and over when we shall meet again,
While we soften with winecups this ache of farewell.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Leonard Durso 