Solitary at a tavern,
I am shut in with loneliness and grief.
Under the cold lamp, I brood on the past;
I am kept awake by a lost wildgoose.
. . .Roused at dawn from a misty dream,
I read, a year later, news from home—
And I remember the moon like smoke on the river
And a fisher-boat moored there, under my door.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
How can a deep love seem deep love,
How can it smile, at a farewell feast?
Even the candle, feeling our sadness,
Weeps, as we do, all night long.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Stories of passions make sweet dust,
Calm water, grasses unconcerned.
At sunset, when birds cry in the wind,
Petals are falling like a girl’s robe long ago.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Her candle-light is silvery on her chill bright screen.
Her little silk fan is for fireflies. . .
She lies watching her staircase cold in the moon,
And two stars parted by the River of Heaven.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
With twilight shadows in my heart
I have driven up among the Lo-yu Tombs
To see the sun, for all his glory,
Buried by the coming night.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
The green peach of heaven thrives in the dew
the red apricot of the sun flourishes by the clouds
the lotus that rises from a river in fall
doesn’t blame the East Wind for not blooming sooner
translated by Red Pine
You ask when I’ll be back–
I wish I knew!
night rain on Pa Mountain
overflows the autumn ponds
when will we trim the candle wick
under our own west window?
I’ll be telling you this story
night rain will be falling.
translated by David Young
The guests have all left
their high pavilion
and in the little garden
a whirling storm of petals
they lie in random heaps
across the twisting path
and stretch into the distance
to catch the setting sun
it breaks my heart
to sweep them up
instead I stand and stare
till they mostly blow away
these fragrant-hearted beings
going the way of the spring
they die and earn their tribute–
the tears that spot my clothes.
translated by David Young
A spring day
here at the world’s end
the world’s end where once again
the sun is going down
the oriole’s cry–
if it had tears
it could water the blossoms
on top of the trees.
translated by David Young
Alone on a river tower my thoughts full of sorrow
the moonlight like the water the water like the sky
where is the person with whom I shared the moon
the view isn’t quite the same as last year
translated by Red Pine
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 