In this little river town
the autumn rain lets up
the wine’s all gone
well then, goodbye!
you stretch out in your boat
the sail fills, you skim home
past islands burning with flowers
banks crowded with willows
what about me? I don’t know
I think I’ll go sit
on that big rock
and fish
translated by David Young
You ask why I live
in these green mountains
I smile
can’t answer
I am completely at peace
a peach blossom
sails past
on the current
there are worlds
beyond this one
translated by David Young
My old friend takes off from the Yellow Crane Tower,
In smoke-flower third month down to Yangchou.
A lone sail, a distant shade, lost in the blue horizon.
Only the long Yangtze is seen flowing into the sky.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
Whose jade-flute is this, notes flying invisibly
Scatter into spring winds, filling City of Loyang?
Hearing the “Break-a-Willow-Twig” tonight,
Who can withhold the surge of thoughts of home?
ytranslated by Wai-lim Yip
I would cross the Yellow River, but ice chokes the ferry;
I would climb the T’ai-hang Mountain, but the sky is blind with snow. . .
I would sit and poise a fishing-pole, lazy by a brook–
But I suddely dream of riding a boat, sailing for the sun. . .
Journeying is hard,
Journeying is hard.
There are many turnings–
Which am I to follow?. . .
I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves
And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Li Po on board, ready to push off,
suddenly heard the tramping and singing on the bank.
Peach Flower Pool a thousand feet deep
is shallower than the love of Wang Lun who sees me off.
translated by Burton Watson
It’s been so long since I headed for East Mountain—
how many times have the roses bloomed?
White clouds have scattered themselves away—
and this bright moon—whose house is it setting on?
translated by Burton Watson
In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting,
scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang?
Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song,
who could help but long for the gardens of home?
translated by Burton Watson
note: people break off willow wands to give as gifts when parting.
My old friend takes leave of the west at Yellow Crane Tower,
in the misty third-month blossoms goes downstream toYang-chou.
The far-off shape of his lone sail disappears in the blue-green void,
and all I see is the long river flowing to the edge of the sky.
translated by Burton Watson
The garden’s desert, crumbling walls, as willows green again.
Even the sweet song of spring’s a lament.
Nothing of what was, but the moon above the river,
moon that shone on a pretty face in the palace of the king of Wu.
translated by J.P. Seaton
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