Water to the horizon
veils the base of clouds;
mountain mist
blurs the far village.
Returning to nest, birds
make tracks in the sand;
passing on the river, a boat
leaves no trace on the waves.
I gaze at the water
and know its gentle nature;
watch the mountains
until my spirit tires.
Though not yet ready
to leave off musing,
dusk falls,
and I return by horse.
translated by Mike O’Connor
Each year, come the late autumn evenings,
I sit by the lamp recalling my old home,
gardens and groves red with oranges and pomelos,
windows and doors blue with Hsiao and Hsiang waters.
But since I left you old age has come on,
I quail at the long road that parts us.
Brothers young and old, just so you’re well,
tending fields and silkworms amid these fires of war!
translated by Burton Watson
I wish I could go again, make the Wise One my teacher,
but my head is white and the road so very long.
translated by Burton Watson
Don’t ask if I’ve ceased wanting anything–
we all know the simile of the drifting clouds.
Excess wouldn’t fit the precepts:
take what comes and you’re never in doubt.
How happy, that worthy Yen!
Even the sage Confucius was poor.
Once you’ve passed the age of understanding
stop trying to change destiny’s course.
translated by Burton Watson
After late spring rain the falling petals swirl
weightlessly celestial scent covers my patched robe
a simple vacant mind has no place to go
resting on a peak I watch the clouds return
translated by Red Pine
I thought of you these past fall evenings,
both of us facing the cold lamp, composing.
translated by Burton Watson
While absent from home,
your hair’s turned white;
but at wave’s end
blue hills will arise.
Separated by water,
we’ll be in each other’s thoughts;
but no letters
to distract your quiet life.
translated by Mike O’Connor
Sea calm, sky blue, moon just now full–
in my poems I think how cold Hsuan-tsung must be tonight.
The jade rabbit in the moon, if he has a heart, will remember too,
as he looks west and cannot see the old Ch’ang-an.
translated by Burton Watson
And one day, all under heaven
Will see beautiful free women,
Blooming like fields of flowers,
And bearing brilliant and noble human beings.
translted by Kenneth Reroth & Ling Chung
You who come from my village
Ought to know its affairs
The day you passed the silk window
Had the chill plum bloomed?
translated by Gary Snyder
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 