Crags cut sound. No word past
winter’s gone. I come
with spring, and the closer
I come, the more afraid.
Don’t dare to ask
word of you.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Chinese poet
Thoughts of a Quiet Night by Li Po (Li Bai)
Before the bed, bright moonlight.
I took it for frost on the ground.
I raised my head to dream upon that moon,
then bowed my head, lost, in thoughts of home.
translated by J.P. Seaton
See a Friend Off to Wu by Tu Hsun-ho
I see you to Ku-su.
Homes there, sleeping by the stream.
Ancient palace, few abandoned spots.
And by the harbor, many little bridges.
In the night market, lotus, fruit and roots.
On the spring barges, satins and gauze.
Know, far off, the moon still watches.
Think of me there, in the fisherman’s song.
translated by J.P. Seaton
For Someone Far Away by Wang Wei
All year I stay alone in my bedroom
dreaming of Mountain Pass, remembering our separation.
No swallow comes with letters in its claws.
I see only the new moon like the eyebrow of a moth.
translated by Tony Barnstone, Willis Barnstone, & Xu Haixin
A Confession by Tu Mu
With my wine-bottle, watching by river and lake
For a lady so tiny as to dance on my palm,
I awake, after dreaming ten years in Yang-chou,
Known as fickle, even in the Street of Blue Houses.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
The Temple of Su Wu by Wen T’ing-yun
Though our envoy, Su Wu, is gone, body and soul,
This temple survives, these trees endure. . .
Wildgeese through the clouds are still calling to the moon there
And hill-sheep unshepherded graze along the border.
. . .Returning, he found his country changed
Since with youthful cap and sword he had left it.
His bitter adventures had won him no title. . .
Autumn-waves endlessly sob in the river.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
North Among Green Vines by Li Shang-yin
Where the sun has entered the western hills,
I look for a monk in his little straw hut;
But only the fallen leaves are at home,
And I turn through chilling levels of cloud.
I hear a stone gong in the dusk,
I lean full-weight on my slender staff. . .
How within this world, within this grain of dust,
Can there be any room for the passions of men?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
To A Friend Bound East by Wen T’ing-yun
The old fort brims with yellow leaves. . .
You insist upon forsaking this place where you have lived.
A high wind blows at Han-yang Ferry
And sunrise lights the summit of Ying-men. . .
Who will be left for me along the upper Yang-tsze
After your solitary skiff has entered the end of the sky?
I ask you over and over when we shall meet again,
While we soften with winecups this ache of farewell.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
A Poem to a Taoist Hermit on Ch’uan-chiao Mountain by Wei Ying-wu
My office has grown cold today;
And I suddenly think of my mountain friend
Gathering firewood down in the valley
Or boiling white stones for potatoes in his hut. . .
I wish I might take him a cup of wine
To cheer him through the evening storm;
But in fallen leaves that have heaped the bare slope,
How should I ever find his footprints?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
On Meeting My Friend Feng Chu in the Capital by Wei Ying-wu
Out of the east you visit me,
With the rain of Pa-ling still on your clothes,
I ask what you have come here for;
You say: “To buy an axe for cutting wood in the mountains.”
. . .Hidden deep in a haze of blossom,
Swallow fledglings chirp at ease
As they did when we parted, a year ago. . . .
How grey our temples have grown since then!
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Leonard Durso 