I went back to bed puzzled, uncertain what I’d seen—
not human, not ghostly, what could it have been?
All these river hills, and I don’t go home to hills of my own—
the river god sent this wonder to chide my stupidity!
Apologies to the river god, but right now what can I do?
If in the end I don’t return to homeland fields, let him punish me as he will!
translated by Burton Watson
Su Tung-p’o
The Southern Room Over the River by Su Tung-p’o
The room is prepared, the incense burned.
I close the shutters before I close my eyelids.
The patterns of the quilt repeat the waves of the river.
The gauze curtain is like a mist.
Then a dream comes to me and when I awake
I no longer know where I am.
I open the western window and watch the waves
Stretching on and on to the horizon.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Spring Night by Su Tung-p’o
The few minutes of a Spring night
Are worth ten thousand pieces of gold.
The perfume of the flowers is so pure.
The shadows of the moon are so black.
In the pavilion the voices and flutes are so high and light.
In the garden a hammock rocks
In the night so deep, so profound.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
The Turning Year by Su Tung-p’o
Nightfall. Clouds scatter and vanish.
The sky is pure and cold.
Slowly the River of Heaven turns in the Jade Vault.
If tonight I do not enjoy life to the full,
Next month, next year, who knows where I will be?
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Epigram by Su Tung-p’o
I fish for minnows in the lake.
Just born, they have no fear of man.
And those who have learned,
Never come back to warn them.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
To the Tune of “West River Moon” Part II: for Qian Dai-Zhi by Su Tung-p’o (Su Dong-Po)
Do not sigh over the desolate prairie
Linger before you leave for Lu
We remember the fire of youth
understand life as a brief lodging
My thousand stems of white hair salute you
I fine you a hundred deep cups of wine
Who needs to float in a pond of wine
I am utterly drunk on account of you
translated by Yun Wang
Farewell to Shu Gu by Su Tung-p’o (Su Dong-Po)
I looked back at the jumbled ridges
No sign of people only their walls
I envy the stupa on Linping Mountain
It stands tall
greeted travelers from the west and saw one off
Dusk wind swept over my path home
My pillow turns chill and dreams don’t come
Tonight in the slanting light of a flickering lamp
tears glimmer
The autumn rains have stopped but not the tears
translated by Yun Wang
Ten Years—Dead and Living Dim and Draw Apart by Su Tung-p’o
To the tune “Song of River City.” The year yi-mao, first month, twentieth day: recording a dream I had last night.
Ten years—dead and living dim and draw apart.
I don’t try to remember
but forgetting is hard.
Lonely grave a thousand miles off,
cold thoughts—where can I talk them out?
Even if we met you wouldn’t know me,
dust on my face,
hair like frost—
In a dream last night suddenly I was home.
By the window of the little room
you were combing your hair and making up.
You turned and looked, not speaking,
only lines of tears coursing down—
year after year will it break my heart?
The moonlit grave,
its stubby pines—
translated by Burton Watson
Held Up by Head Winds on the Tz’u-hu-chia: Five Poems: the first poem in the series by Su Tung-p’o
Stays and mast whine in the sky;
the boatman sleeps soundly by white-blossomed waves.
Mooring lines must know how I feel—
their weak strands hold fast against measureless wind.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 