Lotus withered, no more umbrellas to the rain.
A single branch, chrysanthemum stands against the frost.
The good sights of the year: remember those,
and now too: citrons yellow, tangerines still green.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Chinese poet
The Old Fisherman by Liu Tsung-yuan
The old fisherman spends his night beneath the western cliffs.
At dawn, he boils Hsiang’s waters, burns bamboo of Ch’u.
When the mist’s burned off, and the sun’s come out, he’s gone.
The slap of oars, the mountain waters green.
Turn and look, at heaven’s edge, he’s moving with the flow.
Above the clıffs, the aimless clouds go too.
translated by J.P. Seaton
from Pouring Out My Feelings after Parting from Yüan Chen by Po Chü-i
With friends it’s not how many you have
but only whether they share your heart or not.
translated by Burton Watson
from Bring the Wine! by Li Po
Why does my host tell me the money has run out?
Buy more wine at once–my friends have cups to be refilled!
My dappled mount,
my furs worth a thousand–
call the boy, have him take them and barter for fine wine!
Together we’ll wash away ten thousand years of care.
translated by Burton Watson
from Long Ago I Lived in the Country by Su Tung-p’o
But those days are gone—I see them only in a painting.
No one believes me when I say I regret
not staying a herdsman all my life.
translated by Burton Watson
because Paol Soren asked: Sorrow of Departure to the Tune “Cutting a Flowering Plum Branch” by Li Ch’ing-chao
Red lotus incense fades on
The jeweled curtain. Autumn
Comes again. Gently I open
My silk dress and float alone
On the orchid boat. Who can
Take a letter beyond the clouds?
Only the wild geese come back
And write their ideograms
On the sky under the full
Moon that floods the West Chamber.
Flowers, after their kind, flutter
And scatter. Water after
Its nature, when spilt, at last
Gathers again in one place.
Creatures of the same species
Long for each other. But we
Are far apart and I have
Grown learned in sorrow.
Nothing can make it dissolve
And go away. One moment
It is on my eyebrows.
The next, it weighs on my heart.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
from Autumn Thoughts by Han Yü
Leaves fall turning turning to the ground,
by the front eaves racing, following the wind;
morning voices seem to speak to me
as they whirl and toss in headlong flight.
An empty hall in the yellow dusk of evening:
I sit here silent, unspeaking.
The young boy comes in from outdoors,
trims the lamp, sets it before me,
asks me questions I do not answer,
brings me a supper I do not eat.
He goes and sits down by the west wall,
reading me poetry–three or four poems;
the poet is not a man of today–
already a thousand years divide us–
but something in his words strikes my heart,
fills it again with an acid grief.
I turn and call to the boy;
Put down the book and go to bed now–
a man has times when he must think,
and work to do that never ends.
translated by Burton Watson
At Parting by Ho Sun
The traveler’s heart has a hundred thoughts already,
his lonely journey piling mile on endless mile.
The river darkens, rain about to fall;
waves turn white as the wind comes up.
translated by Burton Watson
Wrecked Boat on the River Shore by Chiang Lu
So fine, the boards of magnolia;
splendid, the cinnamon woodwork!
You chased the waves, only to come to this;
rode the wind, yet brought on your own downfall.
Grasses are rank, your canopy was buried long ago;
the sands are monstrous, your hull would never budge.
How long it’s been since you sank in the dry land,
never again to ride the rippling sun.
translated by Burton Watson
from After the Rebellion, Visiting West Mountain Temple by Ch’i-chi
I for one have no plans to abandon the road I’m on.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 