Chinese poet

Autumn Night by Wei Ying-wu

/ zdunno03 / 7 Comments

I

It’s autumn again. Courtyard trees rustle.
Deep in shadow, insects grieve on and on.

Alone, facing the upper library, I doze,
listening to cold rain clatter in the dark,

window-lattice now and then in the wind
trembling, lamp left failing on the wall.

Grief and sorrow, a lifetime remembered
this far away–all abandoned to the night.

II

Frost and dew spread away–thick, cold.
Star River swings back around, radiant.

Come a thousand niles, north wind rises
past midnight, startling geese. Branches

whisper. Icy leaves fall. And such clarity
in isolate depths of quiet, fulling-stones

grieve. I gaze out through empty space,
tangles of the heart all cold scattered ash.

translated by David Hinton

Thoughts Of You Unending by Li Po (Li Bei)

/ zdunno03 / 9 Comments

Thoughts of you unending
here in Ch’ang-an,

crickets where the well mirrors year-end golds cry out
autumn, and under a thin frost, mats look cold, ice-cold.

My lone lamp dark, thoughts thickening, I raise blinds
and gaze at the moon. It renders the deepest lament

empty. But you’re lovely as a blossom born of cloud,

skies opening away all bottomless azure above, clear
water all billows and swelling waves below. Skies endless

for a spirit in sad flight, the road over hard passes
sheer distance, I’ll never reach you, even in dreams,

my ruins of the heart,
thoughts of you unending.

translated by David Hinton

Sailing On The Lake To The Ching River by Lu Yu

/ zdunno03 / 2 Comments

It is Spring on the lake and
I run six or seven miles.
Sunset, I notice a few
Houses. Children are driving
Home the ducks and geese. Young girls
Are coming home carrying
Mulberry leaves and hemp. Here
In this hidden village the
Old ways still go on. The crops
Are good. Everybody is
Laughing. This old man fastens
His boat and climbs up the bank.
Tipsy, he holds fast to the vines.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth

Evening in the Village by Lu Yu

/ zdunno03 / Leave a comment

Here in the mountain village
Evening falls peacefully.
Half tipsy, I lounge in the
Doorway. The moon shines in the
Twilit sky. The breeze is so
Gentle the water is hardly
Ruffled. I have escaped from the
Lies and trouble. I no longer
Have any importance. I
do not miss my horses and
Chariots. Here at home I
Have plenty of pigs amd chickens.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth

 

After T’ao Ch’ien’s “Drinking Wine” bySu Tung-p’o

/ zdunno03 / 2 Comments

This little boat of mine, truly a lone leaf,
and beneath it, the sound of dark swells:

I keep paddling in depths of night, drunk,
pleasures of home, bed and desk,forgotten.

At dawn, when I ask about the road ahead,
I’m already past a thousand ridges rising

beyond ridges. O where am I going here,
this Way forever leaving ever returning?

Never arriving, what can we understand,
and always leaving, what’s left to explain?

translated by David Hinton