In one generation both court and city change–
be assured, that’s no idle saying.
Man’s life is a phantom affair,
and he returns at last to the empty void.
translated by Burton Watson
Chinese poetry
On Encountering Evening Rain While Seeing Off Li Wei by Wei Ying-wu
River of Ch’u in light rain
evening bells of Chienyeh
rows of sails spreading out
birds disappearing slowly
Ocean Gate too far to see
riverside trees a distant green
there’s no end to goodbye
a pair of silk streams soak my sleeves
translated by Red Pine
from Four “Tzu-yeh” songs: Song 4
Long night: unable to sleep
The moon, how beautifully bright.
Calling, someone seems calling.
Into the empty air, I answer “Yes?”
translated by Wai-lim Yip
from Nineteen Old Poems by an anonymous Chinese poet
A friend who is not firm as a great rock
Is of no profit and idly bears the name.
translated by Arthur Waley
Song 3 by Tzu-yeh
Nights are long and I cannot sleep
the clear moon so bright and shining.
I think I hear a voice fitfully calling,
and futilely I answer yes to the empty sky.
translated by Burton Watson
Song 2 by Tzu-yeh
In the hottest time, when all is still and windless
and summer clouds rise up at dusk,
under the dense leaves, take my hand
and we’ll float melons on the water, dunk crimson plums.
translated by Burton Watson
Song by Tzu-yeh
Cool breezes–I sleep by the open window
where the light of the setting moon shines in.
At midnight there are no voices,
but within my gauze curtains, a pair of smiles.
translated by Burton Watson
from Dawn in Stone City by Li Ho
no words can describe
the emotions of spring
translated by David Young
Flowers and Moonlight on the Spring River by Yang-ti
The evening river is level and motionless–
The spring colours just open to their full.
Suddenly a wave carries the moon away
And the tidal water comes with its freight of stars.
translated by Arthur Waley
A Riddle and a Gift by Li Shang-yin
A brocade curtain parts: there’s
the legendary beauty, Madam Wei!
embroided quilts, meantime,
still cloak the boatman’s shoulders. . .
or think of the slow dance, Hanging Hands,
and carved jade dangling from a sash
and the fast dance, Bending Waist,
with a fluttering saffron skirt!
colors flaring from candles
a rich man never thinks to trim
and fragrance like that of the holy man
who needed no incense or perfume. . .
I dreamed I was that poor poet
who got hold of a genius’s brush:
wanting to create such leaves, such blooms,
that I could send to you
my lady of dawn clouds,
my peony.
translated by David Young
Leonard Durso 