Plums are yellow and days are sunny
where the river turns shallow I take the trail
the canopy of green doesn’t get less shady
the occasional sound of orioles though is new
translated by Red Pine
Sung Dynasty
Spring Day by Chu Hsi
Along the Ssu River it’s a fine day for blossoms
the landscape is endless and suddenly new
I recognize the East Wind’s familiar face
a thousand pinks and purples and everywhere spring
translated by Red Pine
Spring Night by Su Shih
A spring night hour is worth a ton of gold
the pure scent of flowers the moon’s pale light
music from the terrace finer than silk
swinging in the courtyard far into the night
translated by Red Pine
from Reading the Poetry of Meng Chiao by Su Tung-p’o
Man’s life is like morning dew,
a flame eating up the oil night by night.
Why should I strain my ears
listening to the squeaks of this autumn insect?
Better lay aside the book
and drink my cup of jade-white wine.
translated by Burton Watson
Spring Night by Su Tung-p’o
Spring night–one hour worth a thousand gold coins;
clear scent of flowers, shadowy moon.
Songs and flutes upstairs–threads of sound;
in the garden, a swing, where night is deep and still.
translated by Burton Watson
On the Lake by Hsu Yuan-chien
Orioles chatter madly in trees of red blossoms
egrets converge on a lake of tall grass
everyone loves a clear mild day
boats return at dusk on waves of flutes and drums
translated by Red Pine
Pliant by Chu Shu Chen
Spring flowers, Autumn moons,
Water lilies still carry
Away my heart like a lost
Boat. As long as I am flesh
And bone I will never find
Rest. There will never come a
Time when I will be able
To rest my emotions.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Fisherman by Ou Yang Hsiu
The wind blows the line out from his fishing pole.
In a straw hat and grass cape the fisherman
Is invisible in the long reeds.
In the fine spring rain it is impossible to see very far
And the mist rising from the water has hidden the hills.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Moon, Flowers, Man by Su Tung P’o
I raise my cup and invite
The moon to come down from the
Sky. I hope she will accept
Me. I raise my cup and ask
The branches, heavy with flowers,
To drink with me. I wish them
Long life and promise never
To pick them. In company
With the moon and the flowers,
I get drunk, and none of us
Ever worries about good
Or bad. How many people
Can comprehend our joy? I
Have wine and moon and flowers.
Who else do I want for drinking companions?
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Returning To My Retreat by Ch’en T’uan
Through the red dust I tramped for ten years
green mountains though were often in my dreams
a purple cord brings fame but can’t compare to sleep
crimson gates are grand but having less is better
how sad to hear swords guarding a feeble lord
how depressing the songs of noisy drunks
I’m taking my old books back to my retreat
to wildflowers and birdsongs and the same old spring
translated by Red Pine
Leonard Durso 