Fragrant fireweed grows in the rain.
Tonight, August nears the mountains,
they bloom in lonely places.
Moss and grass slowly overtake
this stony rutted road
I craved eight years ago.
translated by Sam Hamill
9th Century Chinese poetry
Drinking Wine by Liu Tsung-yuan
Feeling less than happy this morning
I got up and opened a fresh jug
Lifting my cup I thanked the wine gods
for this gift to chase away cares
a moment later I felt different
suddenly the whole world was fine
the gloom disappeared from the mountains
the warmth of the sky filled the river
at the town’s overgrown South Rampart
trees formed a canopy of leaves
the cool shade provided welcome relief
we heard fine words here last night
once we were drunk we stopped talking
we stretched out on sweet-smelling grass
the wealthiest men in the past
surely possessed nothing like this
translated by Red Pine
River Snow by Liu Tsung-yuan
A thousand mountains and not a bird flying
ten thousand paths and not a single footprint
an old man in his raincoat in a solitary boat
fishes alone in the freezing river snow
translated by Red Pine
Night Duty in the Palace, Dreaming of a Hsien-yu Temple by Po Chu-i
Tired of my writing brush, I gazed out the window:
bamboo and pine were perfectly still.
At moonrise, a slight breeze came up,
like on those long-ago nights in the hills.
As though dreaming, I returned to the Hsien-yu Temple
near my home in the southern mountains.
When that palace water clock awakened me,
I thought it was the laughter of mountain streams.
translated by Sam Hamill
another translation of a famous poem: After Reading Lao Tzo by Po Chu-i
“One who speaks does not know; one who knows does not speak.”
Thus I have been instructed by the Old Master.
If you tell me the Old Master was one who knew, I ask,
Why did he write five thousand words to explain it.
translated by Sam Hamill
River Flute by Po Chu-i
Downriver, someone plays
a bamboo flute at midnight.
Note by note, I’m transported
back into my youth at home.
Listening, I feel my thin hair
quickly turning white:
still growing old, still
sleepless, still alone.
translated by Sam Hamill
Alone beside the Autumn River by Li Shang-yin
All spring, my sorrows grew like lotus leaves.
Now they wither as my autumn sadness grows.
Grief is as long and wide as life.
Watch the autumn river. Listen to it flow.
translated by Sam Hamill
From the Heights by Li Shang-yin
I drag my heavy heart
up to these dazzling heights:
this beautiful, beautiful sunset!
And then the onrushing night.
translated by Sam Hamill
Empty House by Yuan Chen
I leave my empty house at dawn
and ride to my empty office.
I fill the day with busywork.
At nightfall, back to my empty house.
Moonlght seeps through the cracks.
My wick has burned to ash.
My heart lies cold inHsien-yang Road,
under the wheels of a hearse.
translated by Sam Hamill
a third translation of Reading Yuan Chen on a Boat by Po Chu-i
By candlelight, I read your poems.
It is almost dawn when I finish.
I rub my weary eyes
beside the guttering candle.
I sit motionless
in the predawn dark,
listening to the wind-driven waves
lapping at the bow.
translated by Sam Hamill
Leonard Durso 