Those two lines cost me three years:
I chant them once and get two more, of tears.
Friend, if you don’t like them. . .
I’ll go home, and lie down,
in the ancient mountain autumn.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Chinese poet
Sick Cicada by Chia Tao
A sick cicada, unable now to fly,
Walks over onto my palm.
Its broken wing can still grow thinner.
And its bitter songs are clear as ever.
Dewdrops stick on its belly,
Dust specks fallen by mischance in its eyes.
The oriole and the kite as well
Both harbor the thought of your ruin.
translated by Stephen Owen
Evening View as the Snow Clears by Chia Tao
I lean on my staff, gaze at the sunlit snow,
Clouds and gullies in countless layers.
The woodcutter returns to his plain hut,
As the winter sun falls behind sheer peaks.
A wildfire burns over the grass of the hills;
Broken patches of mist rise from among the rocks and pines.
Then, turning back on the mountain temple road,
I hear the bells ring in the evening sky.
translated by Stephen Owen
To the Waters of the Chia-ling, Two poems by Yuan Zhen
1
Long ago you were perhaps
a river flowing down a mountain!
Since then you’ve been flowing,
deepening your bed;
If I could make a river current
understand human feeling,
Then you might know my mind
on coming from so far.
2
You, water with no feeling,
Have you regrets as you flow east?
In my heart are things I cannot express,
Does that make me different from you?
translated by William H. Nienhauser
from Missing Her After Separation by Yuan Zhen
A mountain spring randomly flows over the steps:
a small house among thousands of peach flowers.
Before getting up, I leaf through a Daoist book
and watch her combing her hair under the crystal curtain.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Petals Falling in the River by Yuan Zhen
At sunset the Jialing River flows east
and thousands of pear petals chase the river wind.
What twists my stomach as I watch the river flowers?
Half have fallen in the river, half drift on the air.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Song of Lung-hsi by Ch’en T’ao
Sworn to the death to exterminate the Huns:
five thousand sable doublets on that alien ground.
Pity, by Lost River there, those bones,
men still, in the dreams of their lovers.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Han Shan tells why he came to Cold Mountain
Thirty years ago I was born into the world.
A thousand, ten thousand miles I’ve roamed.
By rivers where the green grass lies thick,
Beyond the border where the red sands fly.
I brewed potions in a vain search for life everlasting,
I read books, I sang songs of history,
And today I’ve come home to Cold Mountain
To pillow my head on the stream and wash my ears.
translated by Burton Watson
Han Shan speaks again
When I see a fellow abusing others,
I think of a man with a basketful of water.
As fast as he can, he runs with it home,
But when he gets there, what’s left in the basket?
When I see a man being abused by others,
I think of the leek growing in the garden.
Day after day men pull off the leaves,
But the heart it was born with stays the same.
translated by Burton Watson
Han Shan again
As long as I was living in the village
They said I was the finest man around.
But yesterday I went to the city
And even the dogs eyed me askance.
Some people jeered at my skimpy trousers,
Others said my jacket was too long.
If someone would poke out the eyes of the hawks
We sparrows could dance wherever we pleased.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 