Ten long years I’ve honed this sword:
frost white blade as yet untried.
Today, like any other gentleman,
it’s looking for injustice.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Chinese poet
A Hundred Days, Free to Go by Su Tung-p’o
A hundred days, free to go, and it’s almost spring;
for the years left, pleasure will be my chief concern.
Out the gate, I do a dance, wind blows my face;
our galloping horses race along as magpies cheer.
I face the wine cup and it’s all a dream,
pick up a poem brush, already inspired.
Why try to fix the blame for trouble past?
Years now I’ve stolen posts I never should have had.
*written on his release from prison
translated by Burton Watson
Remembering Peach Blossoms by Li Shang-yin
Settled, settled: I dwell on the shore of the world.
Longingly, longingly, I gaze toward the view.
The winter plum is most hateful,
For it always blossoms with last year’s flowers.
translated by James J.Y. Liu
Rhyming with Tzu-yu’s “At Mien-ch’ih, Recalling the Past” by Su Tung-p’o
Wanderings of a lifetime–what do they resemble?
A winging swan that touches down on snow-soaked mud.
In the mud by chance he leaves the print of his webs,
but the swan flies away, who knows to east or west?
The old monk is dead now, become a new memorial tower;
on the crumbling wall, impossible to find our old inscriptions.
Do you recall that day, steep winding slopes,
road long, all of us tired, our lame donkeys braying?
translated by Burton Watson
Viewing Peonies at the Temple of Good Fortune by Su Tung-p’o
I’m not ashamed at my age to stick a flower in my hair.
The flower is the embarrassed one, topping an old man’s head.
People laugh as I go home drunk, leaning on friends–
ten miles of elegant blinds raised halfway for watching.
translated by Burton Watson
Feet Stuck Out, Singing Wildly by Su Tung-p’o
Feet stuck out, singing wildly, I beat an old clay tub;
singeing fur, roasting meats, like a northwest nomad.
Outriders shout through the market–you’ve come to fetch me;
on Fishing Point, sand is swept, wine jars set out.
Boys from the foothills crowd to watch us dance;
white bones by the river remember your kindness.
One cloud, a slanting sun–I gaze southwest
and envy crows that know the way back home.
POET’S NOTE TO THE POEM: Governor Chan came to visit me, bringing wine. Using a previous rhyme of mine, he composed a poem, and I responded with another poem in the same rhyme.
translated by Burton Watson
On First Arriving at Huang-chou by Su Tung-p’o
Funny–I never could keep my mouth shut;
it gets worse the older I grow.
The long river loops the town–fish must be tasty;
good bamboo lines the hills–smell the fragrant shoots!
An exile, why mind being a supernumerary?
Other poets have worked for the Water Bureau.
Too bad I was no help to the government
but still they pay me in old wine sacks.
translated by Burton Watson
On a Boat, Awake at Night by Su Tung-p’o0
Faint wind rustles reeds and cattails;
I open the hatch, expecting rain–moon floods the lake.
Boatmen and water birds dream the same dream;
a big fish splashes off like a frightened fox.
It’s late–men and creatures forget each other
while my shadow and I amuse ourselves alone.
Dark tides creep over the flats–I pity the cold mud-worms;
the setting moon, caught in a willow, lights a dangling spider.
Life passes swiftly, hedged by sorrow;
how long before you’ve lost it–a scene like this?
Cocks crow, bells ring, a hundred birds scatter;
drums pound from the bow, shout answers shout.
translated by Burton Watson
Brushed on the Wall of Xilin Temple by Su Tung-p’o
From the side it is a range; straight on, a peak.
Far, near, high, low, it never looks the same.
I can’t see Mount Lu’s true face
because I’m on the mountain.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Written While Living at Dinghui Temple in Huangzhou, to the Tune of “Divination Song” by Su Tung-p’o
A broken moon hangs from a gaunt parasol tree.
The water clock has stopped, and people hush into sleep.
Who sees a hermit like me passing alone
like a shadow of a flying wild goose?
Startled and soaring off, I look back
with grief no one understands,
going from branch to branch, unwilling to settle,
and landing at last on a cold and desolate shoal.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Leonard Durso 