Too fragile to endure the heat of a summer day,
Yet pretty enough to cheer the cool morning—
Head stooped, a golden cup raised high,
Reflecting the splendor of the sun’s first light.
A heart of sandalwood color forms its own halo;
Its leaves of kingfisher sheen grow dense and prickly.
Of all who sketched from still life since ancient times,
Who could have excelled the art of Chao Ch’ang?
Fresh morning makeup, or drunken stupor at noon:
Its true likeness holds the yin and the yang.
Just look within this flower and its stem,
There you’ll find the fragrance of wind and dew.
translated by Irving Y. Lo
Sung Dynasty
Spring Fades by Li Ch’ing-chao
Spring fades. Why should I suffer so much from homesickness?
I am ill. Combing my long hair exasperates me.
Under the roof beams the swallows chatter too much all day long.
A soft breeze fills the curtains with the perfume of roses.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
Journeying to Hsiang-yi by Ch’en Yü-yi
Speeding flowers along the shores mirror my boat red;
A bank of elms for a hundred li, half a day’s breeze—
Lying, I watch the clouds motionless everywhere in the sky,
Not knowing that the clouds and I are both traveling east.
translated by Irving Y. Lo
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
Golden-Tomb City by Wang An-Shih
Old lichen and moss: what more remains of Golden-Tomb,
where people came and went, wandering north and south?
Spring wind past stone walls remembers best: home after
home, apricot and peach in broken courtyards blossoming.
translated by David Hinton
Death of My Horse by Wang An-Shih
In loving devotion to this old guest among pine and bamboo, it
slept nights beneath my east window how many years? A colt
come from heaven’s stable, it’s turned dragon now and set out,
leaving only a lame little donkey for my wanderings in idleness.
translated by David Hinton
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
Farewell at the River Tower by Wang An-shih
This clear stream keeps leaving these hundred mountains rising
ridge beyond ridge, and you’re a windblown thing carried north.
Past midnight, my thoughts at ease where shadowy origins of it
all begin, a moon lights this lone form I am, friend to cold pines.
translated by David Hinton
from Climbing Mount Chang to visit the temple by Su Dongpo
life is like the morning dew
fading fast
white hair overtakes us
pressing day and night.
Let it go, friends,
what else is there to say?
Everything eventually
will turn to blowing ashes.
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
Baby’s First Bath by Su Dongpo
Parents raising children
hope they will become
intelligent and wise
but all my life
I’ve been the victim
of my own cleverness
all I want for my kids
is that they be
ignorant and stupid
so they can grow into
high-ranking nobles
free from misfortunes and suffering.
translated by Jiann I. Lin & David Young
Leonard Durso 