The day when feathered wings are damaged,
The time when the country garden is quiet—
The cock at dawn disturbs the snow on the tree;
The duck in the cold guards the icy pond.
Time passes quickly; the year is ending.
Worn with age, I am gradually declining.
Why has it never been my lot to fulfill
My lifelong wish to assist the State?
translated by James J. Y. Liu
9th Century Chinese poetry
Second Day of the Second Month by Li Shang-yin
On the second day of the Second Month I walk by the river;
The east wind in the warm sun wafts the sound of pipes.
The flowers’ whiskers and the willows’ eyes are listless in different ways;
The purple butterfly and the yellow bee both seem to have feelings.
My thoughts return to Yüan-liang’s well ten thousand miles away;
For three years I have been following General Ya-fu’s camp.
The new rapids do not understand the exile’s feelings,
But make a noise like wind and rain on the eaves at night.
translated by James J. Y. Liu
The Gate Tower of Ch’i-an City by Tu Mu
The sound grates on the river tower, one blast of the horn.
Pale sunlight floods, sinking by the cold shore.
Pointless to lean on the balcony and look back miserably:
There are seventy-five post-stations from here to home.
translated by A.C. Graham
On the Road by Tu Mu
Sadness at the hairs in the mirror is no longer new,
The stains on my coat are harder to brush away.
I waste my hopes by river and lakes, a fishing-rod in the hand
Which screens me from the Western sunlight as I look towards Ch’ang-an.
translated by A. C. Graham
more than the heart can bear
On a Visit to Ch’ung Chén Taoist Temple I See in the South Hall the List of Successful Candidates in the Imperial Examinations by Yü Hsüan-chi
Cloud capped peaks fill the eyes
In the Spring sunshine.
Their names are written in beautiful characters
And posted in order of merit.
How I hate this silk dress
That conceals a poet.
I lift my head and read their names
In powerless envy.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
Answering Li Ying Who Showed Me His Poems About Summer Fishing by Yü Hsüan-chi
Though we liverd in the same lane,
A whole year we deidn’t meet,
Until his tender phrases touched this aging girl.
I broke a new cinnamon branch.
The Tao nature cheats ice and snow.
The enlightened heart laughs at summer silks.
Footsteps climb the River of Clouds,
Lost beyond roads in a sea of mist.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
For Hidden Mist Pavilion by Yü Hsüan-chi
Spring flowers and autumn moon enter poems.
Bright days and clear nights are fit for idle gods.
Raised in vain the pearl screen, never lowered.
Long ago, I moved my couch to face the mountain.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
Rhyming a Friend’s Poem by Yü Hsüan-chi
What can melt a traveler’s grief?
Opening your letter I see the words in your fine hand.
Rain sprinkles a thousand peaks,
Tartar winds bleach ten thousand leaves.
Morning, word by word, I see the light blue jade;
Evening, page by page, I hum beneath my quilt.
I hide this letter in a scented box,
And when I’m sad, I take it out again.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
To Tzu-an by Yü Hsüan-chi
Parting, a thousand cups won’t wash away the sorrow.
Separation is a hundred knots I can’t untie.
After a thaw, orchids bloom, spring returns,
Willows catch on pleasure boats again.
We meet and part, like the clouds, never fixed.
I’ve learned that love is like the river.
We won’t meet again this spring,
But I can’t rest yet, winesick in Jade Tower.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
Leonard Durso 