From five-needle pines in beryl-blue gorges
gathered in the clouds along with the dew
you made your magic pills after summoning the immortals
thinking of benighted friends you sent some down to me
fasting before an altar today I finally ate them
suddenly the stench of mundane life seems wrong
gazing at your cloud-wrapped peak I send this back in thanks
the brass seal at my waist tugs against my heart
translated by Red Pine
Dew drips from tall trees on a clear summer night
in the hills to the south a cuckoo calls
the widow next door comforts her child
I turn in bed and wait for the first light
translated by Red Pine
When we were fifteen we both served at court
we climbed the red steps through incense at dawn
we toured the Han Garden in bloom
and bathed on Lishan in the snow
but the immortal has flown and isn’t expected back
his advisors are scattered assuming they’re alive
meeting you today as I think about the past
one cup makes me happy, the next one sad
translated by Red Pine
The two of us drinking and wildflowers blooming
one cup another cup and still one more
I’m drunk and need to sleep and you’re about to go
tomorrow if you come again don’t forget your zither
translated by Red Pine
From this high up I can see in all directions
from the window I can make out a robe and a belt
a mountain in the clouds
a river beyond the plains
summer foliage forming a curtain
autumn lotus leaves turning into a canopy
but whenever I look toward the capital
my heart is like a flag in the wind
translated by Red Pine
River traffic keeps heading southwest
the ocean-bound current surges northwest
I see boats on the horizon sailing home
and trees along the river wrapped in clouds
thinking about this trip exhausts and deflates me
I’ve journeyed alone so many times
but it meets my need for a salary
and accords my interest in eremitic realms
cut off henceforth from dust and noise
surely I’ll find what brings my heart joy
although I lack a panther’s guise
I will disappear at last into the misty southern peaks
translated by Red Pine
The place where Lord Hsieh said goodbye
everything here makes me sad
the departing travelers the moon in the sky
the deserted mountain the current in the stream
the flowers by the pond the longer spring days
the bamboo outside the window the sounds of autumn nights
today and the past are connected
in this song about a journey long ago
translated by Red Pine
Green grass is spreading like fine silk thread
even ordinary trees are decked out in pink
it doesn’t matter you haven’t returned
by the time you do spring will be gone
translated by Red Pine
I’ve only lived thirty years and already I feel old
wherever I look I’m beset by sorrow
I’ve come in this little boat to say goodbye tonight
here where the shores of life and death divide us
translated by Red Pine
note: written to his daughter who was buried on a small hill beyond a moat just before he had to leave the district for his next government posting
In the east wind last night a thousand trees burst forth
showered down
a rain of stars
jeweled horses and carriages and incense filled the road
the tremulous sound of a phoenix flute
the transforming glow of a jade vase
all night lanterns swayed
and she of the moth eyebrows and flower-decked hair
of laughter that beguiles and the subtlest of perfumes
whom I have searched for in crowds a hundred times
as I turned my head
she was there
where the lantern light was faint
translated by Red Pine
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 