Ocean voyager, on heaven’s winds,
in his ship, far wandering. . .
Like a bird, among the clouds,
gone, he will leave no trace.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Ocean voyager, on heaven’s winds,
in his ship, far wandering. . .
Like a bird, among the clouds,
gone, he will leave no trace.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Before the bed, bright moonlight.
I took it for frost on the ground.
I raised my head to dream upon that moon,
then bowed my head, lost, in thoughts of home.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Birds have vanished into deep skies.
A last cloud drifts away, all idleness.
Inexhaustible, this mountain and I
gaze at each other, it alone remaining.
translated by David Hinton
We drink deeply beneath dragon bamboo,
our lamp faint, the moon cold again.
On the sandbar, startled by drunken song,
a snowy egret lifts away past midnight.
translated by David Hinton
I love this T’ung-kuan joy. A thousand
years, and still I’d never leave here.
It makes me dance, my swirling sleeves
sweeping all Five-Pine Mountain clean.
translated by David Hinton
On heaven’s wind, a sea traveler
wanders by boat through distances.
It’s like a bird among the clouds:
once gone, gone without a trace.
translated by David Hinton
Kou Chien shattered Wu, then returned to his Yüeh kingdom.
Noble warriors home again boasting brocade robes, palace
women like blossoms filled springtime galleries here.
There’s nothing left now–only quail breaking into flight.
translated by David Hinton
When grasses in Yen ripple like emerald silk
and lush mulberry branches sag in Ch’in,
he’ll dream of coming home one day,
and I’ll still be waiting, brokenhearted.
We’re strangers, spring wind and I. Why is it
here, slipping inside my gauze bed-curtains?
translated by David Hinton
Seeing moonlight here on my bed
and thinking it’s frost on the ground,
I look up, gaze at the mountain moon,
then back, dreaming of my old home.
translated by David Hinton
Thoughts of you unending
here in Ch’ang-an,
crickets where the well mirrors year-end golds cry out
autumn, and under a thin frost, mats look cold, ice-cold.
My lone lamp dark, thoughts thickening, I raise blinds
and gaze at the moon. It renders the deepest lament
empty. But you’re lovely as a blossom born of cloud,
skies opening away all bottomless azure above, clear
water all billows and swelling waves below. Skies endless
for a spirit in sad flight, the road over hard passes
sheer distance, I’ll never reach you, even in dreams,
my ruins of the heart,
thoughts of you unending.
translated by David Hinton
Travelling is a good way to make your life different as well as fitness and a balanced diet.
open your mind to a growth mindset and new perspectives
"Là où il n'y a pas de rivage" (Al Hallaj)
here to transcend
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