You, the dweller of the East Mountain,
You, the lover of the beauty of hills and valleys,
In the green spring you sleep in the empty woodland,
And hardly rise in the broad daylight.
The pine wind shakes your garment,
And the stony brook cleanses your soul.
How I envy you, who, unperturbed,
Are pillowed high in a mist of emerald!
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
Here at the city wall
green mountains to the north
white water winding east
we part
one tumbleweed
ten thousand miles to go
high clouds
wandering thoughts
sunset
old friendship
you wave, moving off
your horse
whinnies
twice
translated by David Young
The guests have all left
their high pavilion
and in the little garden
a whirling storm of petals
they lie in random heaps
across the twisting path
and stretch into the distance
to catch the setting sun
it breaks my heart
to sweep them up
instead I stand and stare
till they mostly blow away
these fragrant-hearted beings
going the way of the spring
they die and earn their tribute–
the tears that spot my clothes.
translated by David Young
A stream of pure water can soothe a poet’s soul
it alone knows how warm or cold the years have been
flowing into West Lake it carries entertainers
looking back it’s changed since the mountains
translated by Red Pine
The North Wind blows white clouds
a thousand miles and across the Fen
the hopes of my heart shudder and fall
the sounds of autumn are hard to bear
translated by Red Pine
A spring day
here at the world’s end
the world’s end where once again
the sun is going down
the oriole’s cry–
if it had tears
it could water the blossoms
on top of the trees.
translated by David Young
women like goddesses
are dancing inside
all silk and perfume
guests in sable furs
music of pipes and fiddles
camel-pad broth being served
with frosted oranges and pungent tangerines
behind those red gates
meat and wine are left to spoil
outside lie the bones
of people who starved and froze
luxury and misery a few feet apart!
my heart aches to think about it.
translated by David Young
Roaming through thousand-year-old books,
I meet timeless exemplars. I’ll never
reach their high principles, though I’ve
somehow mastered resolute in privation,
and there’s no chance renown will redeem
this poverty. But I’m no fool for coming
here. I send findings beyond all words:
who could understand this bond we share?
translated by David Hinton
A paper screen a stone pillow a square bamboo bed
a book falls from my hand during a midday dream
I wake up pleased and smile to myself
at the sound of a fisherman’s lute on the waves
translated by Red Pine
Wandering in the world, who can fathom
what lies beyond its clamor and dust. O,
how I long to rise into thin air and
ride the wind in search of my own kind.
translated by David Hinton
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 