Ch’ing-ts’ao Lake is wrapped in serpent dens,
And White-Sand lost beyond Dragon-Back Island.
Ancient, cragged trees shelter flood-dikes
Here. Crow spirits dance, greeting these oars.
Returning, waves high and south winds strong, I
Fear sunsets. But tonight, a dazzling lake
Stretches into distant heavens–as if any moment,
On this raft of immortals, I will drift away.
translated by David Hinton
For thirty years an itinerant official
I no longer recognized the fields
but since it was my day to bathe
I traveled back to our village
the rains had stopped and the mountains were clear
The wind was warm and plants were thriving
the mountain-fed streams were deep and pure
the forests beginning to dance with light
but the bamboo was looking a bit sad
and the garden was nothing but weeds
and I was startled by the gray at your temples
and the sight of where we once played
and the heartbreaking news of departures
and the changes that had ravaged this place
I wanted to speak but who would care
and now I’m worrying about reports again
I’d be better off giving up this worldly career
fortune and fame are so hollow
compared to finally being with you
here in my declining and future years
translated by Red Pine
Steady and full, all surging swells and white gulls in flight,
it flows springtime deep, a green so pure it should dye robes.
Going south and coming back north, I’ve grown older, older.
Late light lingers, farewell to a fishing boat bound for home.
translated by David Hinton
For several miles I have heard the chill waters,
Homes in the mountain, no one else around–
Strange birds scream over the broad plain;
The setting sun puts fear into the traveler’s heart.
A new moon before the twilight’s gone,
Beacons of war never come this far–
There in the gloom beyond the mulberries
Are home fires to which I gradually draw closer.
translated by Stephen Owen
they talk about roads not taken
but I think of roads took
choices made
that led me here
so very far from home
and home is where you go
when there’s no place left
to run
a familiar landscape
under a familiar sun
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
it’s like a Frank Sinatra song
a bartender named Joe
why they’re always called Joe
is beyond me
but why the bottle’s always the same
is another burning question
on what’s left of my mind
so set them up
one more for the road
and like old Deacon Blues
I’ll play a saxophone
or maybe a trumpet
killing the blues
all the way home
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
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet 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 