Su Tung P’o

Poem Composed on Horseback and Sent to Tzu-you after Parting at the West Gate of Chengchou on the Nineteenth Day of the Eleventh Month by Su Tung-p’o

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Why do I feel drunk without drinking
my heart is following your saddle horse
your thoughts are already with our father
but how shall I deal with this loneliness of mine
climbing above the ramparts between us
all I see is your bobbing black hat
the weather is so cold and your robe so thin
and you’re riding that nag beneath a waning moon
“On the road people sing at home they’re happy”
offered my attendant seeing me so sad
of course I know life is full of partings
what bothers me is how fast it’s passing
remember when we faced that sputtering lamp
listening to the wind that rain-filled night
that is something I know you won’t forget
don’t fall in love with a government career

translated by Red Pine

Seeing the Year Out by Su Tung-p’o

/ zdunno03 / 8 Comments

Want to know what the passing year is like?
A snake slithering down a hole.
Half his long scales already hidden,
how to stop him from getting away?
Grab his tail and pull, you say?
Pull all you like–it does no good.
The children try hard not to doze,
chatter back and forth to stay awake,
but I say let dawn cocks keep still!
I fear the noise of watch drums pounding.
We’ve sat so long the lamp’s burned out.
I get up and look at the slanting Dipper.
How could I hope next year won’t come?
My mind shrinks from the failures it may bring.
I work to hold on to the night
while I can still brag I’m young.

translated by Burton Watson

Bright Moon, When Did You Appear? by Su Tung-p’o

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Bright moon, when did you appear?
Lifting my wine, I question the blue sky.
Tonight in the palaces and halls of heaven
what year is it, I wonder?
I would like to ride the wind, make my home there,
only I fear in porphyry towers, under jade eaves,
in those high places the cold wind would be more than I could bear.
So I rise and dance and play in your pure beams,
though this human world–how can it vie with yours?

Circling red chambers,
low in the curtained door,
you light our sleeplessness.
Surely you bear us no ill will–
why then must you be so round at times when we humans are parted!
People have their griefs and joys, their togetherness and separation,
the moon its dark and clear times, its roundings and wanings.
I only hope we two may have long long lives,
may share the moon’s beauty, though a thousand miles apart.

translated by Burton Watson

New Year’s Eve: Spending the Night Outside Ch’ang-chou City by Su Tung-p’o

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

From the traveler, singing; from the field, weeping–both spur sorrow.
Fires in the distance, dipping stars move slowly toward extinction.
Am I waiting up for New Year’s Eve? Aching eyes won’t close.
No one here speaks my dialect: I long for home.
A double quilt and my feet still cold–the frost must be heavy;
my head feels light–I washed it and the hair is getting thin.
I thank the flickering torch that doesn’t refuse
to keep me company on a lonely boat through the night.

translated by Burton Watson

I’m a Frightened Monkey Who’s Reached the Forest by Su Tung-p’o

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I’m a frightened monkey who’s reached the forest,
a tired horse unharnessed at last,
my mind a void to fill with new thoughts;
surroundings are old to me–I see them in dreams.
River gulls flock around, growing tamer;
old Tanka men drop in to visit.
South pond lotus spreads green coins;
north hill bamboo sends up purple shoots.
Bring-the-wine jug (what does he know about wine?)
inspires me with a fine idea.
The spring river had a beautiful poem
but, drunk, I dropped it somewhere far away.

translated by Burton Watson

To the Tune of “Partridge Sky” by Su Tung-p’o

/ zdunno03 / 4 Comments

Mountains shine through forest breaks, bamboo hides the wall;
withered grass by small ponds, jumbled cicada cries.
White birds again and again cut across the sky;
faint scent of lotus pink on the water.

Beyond the village,
by old town walls,
with goosefoot cane I stroll where late sunlight turns.
Thanks to rain that fell at the third watch last night
I get another cool day in this floating life.

translated by Burton Watson

Grasses Bury the River Bank by Su Tung-p’o

/ zdunno03 / 6 Comments

Grasses bury the river bank, rain darkens the village;
the temple is lost in tall bamboo–I can’t find the gate.
They’re gathering wood and brewing herbs–I’m sorry a monk is sick;
they’ve swept the ground and burned incense–it cleans my spirit.
Farm work not finished, though we’re into Little Snow;
lamps lit before the Buddha, signal of dusk–
lately I’ve developed a taste for the quiet life.
I think how we could lie and talk together through the night.

translated by Burton Watson