An old temple leans against the green hillside,
The Traveling Palace nestles next to the emerald flow.
Sounds of waters, and the sheen of the mountain locked in the painted tower.
Past memories send my thoughts far away.
Morning rain and clouds return at dusk,
Mist and flowers, in spring as in autumn.
Why should the screeching of the monkeys get so close to the solitary boat?
The traveler has enough sorrows of his own.
translated by Hellmut Wilhelm
From non-being into being: the cloud peaks gather;
From being back to non-being: the lightning flash goes out.
To gather or to disperse is all illusory:
Only the meddlers keep up their useless jabbering.
translated by Irving Y. Lo
where I gaze
the rain is ending and the clouds break up
as I lean at the rail in anxious silence
seeing off the last of autumn’s glow
the evening scene is lonely
enough to chill Sung Yü to sadness
though touch of wind and rain is light
the duckweed gradually grows older
in moon’s frost cold
the wu-t’ung leaves whirl yellow
giving love is taking pain
where are you now?
the misty waters vast, and vague.
it’s hard to forget
writing or drinking
how many nights alone beneath a clouded moon
again the changes, stars and frost
the seas are broad, the heavens far
and no way home.
the swallows pair
and I depend on letters
I point into the evening sky
to sight in vain the returning boat
at dusk we’ll gaze toward one another
in the sound of the swan’s cry
standing till the slanting sun is set.
translated by Jerome P. Seaton
The drifting clouds disgorge a bright moon,
Its fleeting shadow darkens the jade staircase.
A thousand li away we share the same reflection,
But how can I let you know this heart night after night?
translated by Irving Y. Lo
Everyone says it is good to live south of the Yangtze;
The traveler can but stay there until he grows old.
The spring waters are more blue than the heavens;
On the painted boat drowsily I listen to the rain.
The girl who pours wine is like the moon;
Her wrists are as bright as frosted snow.
If you are not yet old, don’t return home;
To return home is to be broken hearted!
translated by Lois M. Fusek
Here from the tower we may view
The whole fair region of Yo-yang,
And the winding river
Opening into the Tung-ting Lake.
O wild geese, flying past,
Take away with you the sorrow of the heart!
And, come, thou mountain, give us thy happy moon!
Here will we sit to feast
And tarry a while with the clouds
And pass the cup high above the world of cares.
When we are goodly warm with wine,
Then, thou cooling breeze, arise!
Come and blow as we dance!
And our sleeves will flap like wings.
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
Here! is this you on the top of Fan-ko Mountain,
Wearing a huge hat in the noon-day sun?
How thin, how wretchedly thin, you have grown!
You must have been suffering from poetry again.
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
The white clouds float over the mountains of Chu–
As over the mountains of Chin.
Everywhere the white clouds will follow you on.
They will follow you on everywhere–
With you they will enter the Chu mountains,
And cross the waters of the Hsiang.
Yonder across the waters of the Hsiang,
There is a cloak of ivy to wear,
And you may lie in a bed of white clouds.
Go swiftly home, O my friend!
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
You have left me behind, old friend, at Yellow Crane Terrace,
On your way to visit Yang-chou in the misty month of flowers;
Your sail, a single shadow, becomes one with the blue sky,
Till now I see only the river, on its way to heaven.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
While I watch the moon go down, a crow caws through the frost;
Under the shadows of maple trees a fisherman moves with his torch;
And I hear, from beyond Su-chou, from the temple on Cold Mountain,
Ringing for me, here in my boat, the midnight bell.
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 