At Incense Pavilion below East Peak
the flowers in the mist were from another world
I held up a lantern on a deep mountain night
and pulled back the curtain on a lakeland fall
the swans stayed behind on the walls
the Dipper and the Ox spent the night in the window
the road to Heaven seemed so close again
I dreamed I was traveling with clouds
translated by Red Pine
I love unnoticed plants that grow beside a stream
orioles singing overhead somewhere in a tree
at dusk the current quickens fed by springtime rain
I pull myself across an unmanned country ferry
translated by Red Pine
You ask when I’ll be back–
I wish I knew!
night rain on Pa Mountain
overflows the autumn ponds
when will we trim the candle wick
under our own west window?
I’ll be telling you this story
night rain will be falling.
translated by David Young
Before my bed the light is so bright
it looks like a layer of frost
lifting my head I gaze at the moon
lying back down I think of home
translated by Red Pine
If only I could climb somewhere
but no one sends me wine
my poor distant garden of mums
blooms by a battlefield now
translated by Red Pine
Here where Yen Tan said goodbye
a hero raised his hat with his courage
the men of the past are gone
but the water is still cold today
translated by Red Pine
This is Lo Pin-wang’s reference to a failed attempt to kill a tyrant and I post it for all those, here in Turkey and beyond, who oppose tyrants. The struggle never ends.
Through the red dust I tramped for ten years
green mountains though were often in my dreams
a purple cord brings fame but can’t compare to sleep
crimson gates are grand but having less is better
how sad to hear swords guarding a feeble lord
how depressing the songs of noisy drunks
I’m taking my old books back to my retreat
to wildflowers and birdsongs and the same old spring
translated by Red Pine
Perhaps the last moment is here
I haven’t left a will
Only a pen. . .to my mother
I’m not a hero
In an era without heroes
I just wanted to be a man
The quiet horizon
Separated the ranks of the living from the dead
I had to choose the sky
And would never kneel on the ground
To let executioners look gigantic
So they could block the wind of freedom
Out of starlike bullet holes
A bloody dawn is flowing
from the book The Red Azalea
translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin
for martyrs everywhere
Wistful, away from my friends and kin,
Through mist and fog I float and float
With the sail that bears me toward Lo-yang.
In Yang-chou trees linger bell-notes of evening,
Marking the day and the place of our parting. . . .
When shall we meet again and where?
. . .Destiny is a boat on the waves,
Borne to and fro, beyond our will.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
It’s a long way home, a long way east.
I am old and my sleeve is wet with tears.
We meet on horseback. I have no means of writing.
Tell them three words: “He is safe.”
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
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
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 