We dismount; I give you wine
and ask, where are you off to?
You answer, nothing goes right!–
back home to lie down by Southern Mountain.
Go then–I’ll ask no more–
there’s no end to white clouds there.
translated by Burton Watson
Chinese poet
Not weak by nature, but still there are lines here, and a sentiment, I cannot help but relate to and admire: Poem without a Category, No. 7 by T’ao Yüan-ming
Sun and moon refuse to slow their pace;
the four seasons press and hurry each other onward.
Cold wind shakes the bare branches,
fallen leaves blanket the long lane.
Weak by nature, I feel myself decay with time’s passing,
the black hair at my temples already turned white.
Flecks of gray find their way into my head,
signs that the road ahead wll grow more and more narrow.
What is a house but an inn on a journey,
and I a traveler who must keep moving on?
Move on, move on–and where will I go?
My old home is there on the southern mountain.
translated by Burton Watson2
from Substance, Shadow, and Spirit by T’ao Yüan-ming
When the body perishes the name fades too–
thinking of it, my heart’s on fire!
Let us do good and win the love of ages after;
why not bend all efforts toward that?
Wine they say can wash away care,
but surely it cannot compare to such a goal!
transalated by Burton Watson
from To the Tune of “Partridge Sky” by Su Tung-p’o in way of acknowledging the rain that fell this morning in Izmir
Thanks to the rain that fell at the third watch last night
I got another cool day in this floating life.
translated by Burton Watson
from The Nineteen Old Poems of the Han by Liu Pang: from No. 17
A traveler from afar has come
and brought a missive meant for me:
“I’ll forever think of you,” it opened
and ended “long though we be parted.”
I’ve kept that letter in my sleeve
three years, the words unfading.
That my heart, alone, should cling to such a little thing. . .
My only fear, that you don’t know.
translated by J.P. Seaton
from The Nineteen Old Poems of the Han by Liu Pang: No. 6
I forded the River to pluck the hibiscus,
and in the orchid marsh of many fragrant grasses:
To whom shall I give what I have taken?
The one I think of is on a far-off way;
does he still turn to gaze on his old home?
On the long road the distance slowly grows,
the single heart we share is forced to dwell in two places:
naught but grief and worry as slowly we grow old.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Autumn Day on the Lake by Hsueh Ying
Sailing on the Great Lake at sunset
mist and waves and everywhere sorrow
rising and falling events of the past
who can tell me why they flow east
translated by Red Pine
Written at the Sungting Relay Station by Chang Hu
Hill shapes merge with the far-off sky
east of the mist-covered marshlands
the ocean glows with the day’s first light
the river turns white in the distant wind
steep trails lead to a high plateau
small paths link columns of smoke
why are all my retired friends
not here among the Five Lakes
translated by Red Pine
Chiupu River Song by Li Pai (Li Po)
My white hair extends three miles
the sorrow of parting made it this long
looking in a mirror who would guess
where autumn frost comes from
translated by Red Pine
for Memorial Day: Northern Campaign by Li I
After Tien-shan’s snows, cold desert wind.
Flute sounds all about, the going hard.
Three hundred thousand men, among these rocks,
this once, as one, together turn: gaze on the moon.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Leonard Durso 