I on the sunny side of Three Rivers,
you in the gloom south of Five Lakes,
mountains and seas vast between us,
farther apart than bird and fish–
my eyes envision your lovely form,
my ears still ring with your soft sweet voice.
I lie down alone, full of far-off thoughts;
waking, I stroke the collar of my empty robe.
Beautiful one, sharer of my longing,
who but you will ever hold my heart?
translated by Burton Watson
Bell and drum on the south river bank–
home! I wake startled from a dream.
Drifting clouds–so the world shifts;
lone moon–such is the light of my mind.
Rain drenches down as from a tilted basin;
poems flow out like water spilled.
The two rivers vie to send me off;
beyond treetops I see the slant of a bridge.
translated by Burton Watson
I pick up your scroll of poems, read in front of the lamp;
the poems are ended, the lamp gutters, the sky not yet light.
My eyes hurt, I put out the lamp, go on sitting in the dark;
a sound of waves blown up by head winds, sloshing against the boat.
translated by Burton Watson
They say you’re staying in a mountain temple,
In Hang-chou–or is it Yüeh-chou?
In the wind and grime of war, how long since we parted!
At Chiang-han, bright autumns waste away.
While my shadow rests by monkey-loud trees,
my soul whirls off to where shell-born towers rise.
Next year on floods of spring I’ll go downriver,
to the white clouds at the end of the east I’ll look for you!
translated by Burton Watson
All my life has been like this–
what way to turn and not run into blocks?
But Heaven has sent me a dipper of water;
arm for a pillow, my happiness overflows.
translated by Burton Watson
Ten years ago I was a visitor at the wine jar,
the moonlight white, the wind clear.
Then care and worry whittled me away,
time went by with astounding swiftness, and I grew old.
But though my hair has changed, my heart never changes.
Let me lift the golden flagon,
listen again to the old songs,
like drunken voices from those years long past.
translated by Burton Watson
I think of when she sleeps–
struggling to stay awake when others have retired,
undoing her sheer gown without waiting to be urged,
resting on the pillow till caresses find her.
Fearful that the one by her side is watching,
she blushes under the candle’s glow.
translated by Burton Watson
I think of when she sits–
prim, prim before the gauze curtain,
sometimes singing four or five songs,
sometimes plucking two or three strings.
When she laughs, there’s no one like her;
when she sulks, she’s more lovely than before.
translated by Burton Watson
I think of when she comes–
shining, shining, up the garden stairs,
impatient, impatient to end our parting.
Tireless, tireless, we talk of love,
gaze at each other but never get our fill,
look at one another till hunger is forgotten.
translated by Burton Watson
We send you home to a grave on Stone Tower Mountain;
through the green green of pine and cypress, mourners’ carriages return.
Among white clouds we’ve laid your bones–it is ended forever;
only the mindless waters remain, flowing down to the world of men.
translated by Burton Watson
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.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author 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 