9th Century Chinese poetry

The River Han by Tu Mu

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Rich and full, all surging swells and white gulls in flight,
it flows springtime deep, its green a crystalline dye for robes.

Going south and coming back north, you grow older, older.
Late light lingers, farewell to a fishing boat bound for home.

translated by David Hinton

To Tzu-chih: among the “Flowers” by Li Shang-yin

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The light on the pool suddenly hides behind the wall,
Mingled scents of flowers invade the room.
On the edge of the screen, powder smeared by the butterfly:
On the lacquered window the yellow print of the bee.
Push those state papers across to the clerks,
There’s a maid for every honest civil servant.
Let’s ride abreast and hear each other’s poems.
What’s so urgent about this business you waste your heart on?

translated by A.C.Graham

Evening: for Chang Chi and Chou K’uang by Han Yü

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The sunlight thins, the view empties:
Back from a walk, I lie under the front eaves.
Fairweather clouds like torn fluff
And the new moon like a whetted sickle.
A zest for the fields and moors stirs in me,
The ambition for robes of office has long since turned to loathing.
While I live, shall I take your hand again
Sighing that our years will soon be done?

translated A.C. Graham

For Lotus Flower by Li Shang-yin

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Leaves and flowers are never rated the same:
Flowers put into pots of gold, leaves turn to dust.
Still there are the green foliage and the red blooms.
Folded, stretched out, open or closed: all naturally beautiful.
These flowers, these leaves, long mirror each other’s glory:
When their greens pale, their reds fade–it’s more than one can bear.

translated by Eugene Eoyang & Irving Y. Lo

Wine and Rain by Li Shang-yin

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I ponder on the poem of The Precious Dagger.
My road has wound through many years.
. . .Now yellow leaves are shaken with a gale;
Yet piping and fiddling keep the Blue Houses merry.
On the surface, I seem to be glad of new people;
But doomed to leave old friends behind me,
I cry out from my heart for Shin-feng wine
To melt away my thousand woes.

\translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu

To One Unnamed: poem 1 by Li Shang-yin

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A faint phoenix-tail gauze, fragrant and doubled,
Lines your green canopy, closed for the night. . .
Will your shy face peer round a moon-shaped fan,
And your voice be heard hushing the rattle of my carriage?
It is quiet and quiet where your gold lamp dies,
How far can a pomegranate-blossom whisper?
. . .I will tether my horse to a river willow
And wait for the will of the southwest wind.

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu