In what dynasty, under what emperor,
did we live without war?
And in every war
every man dreamed of peace.
And now the farmer
finds more bones than soil.
And here comes the draft board,
wanting more bodies.
translated by Sam Hamill
Tang Dynasty poet
Reaching the Pa River Pavilion in the Second Month After Being Summoned Back to the Capital by Liu Tsung-yuan
Eleven years ago I was a southbound exile
after four thousand li I’m in the North again
together with the summons warm weather arrived too
along the postal route new flowers every day
translated by Red Pine
Recalled to the Capital, I Send This to Friends back in Lingling by Liu Tsung-yuan
I keep thinking about this minnow in that tiny pond
then I worry about these puny wings trying to reach Heaven
I’ve lost count of the markers along the shore
each one farther from where we parted
translated by Red Pine
Early Spring in Lingling by Liu Tsung-yuan
Before it departed I asked Spring
when it would reach the Ch’in Plains
and could it carry a dream back home
all the way to my old garden
translated by Red Pine
On and On: An Ancient Song (Yüeh-fu) by Li Ho
White reflection retreats to western hills.
A jasper corona goes up in the distance.
The past, the present: where to end?
A thousand years gone with the winds.
Sands of the sea turn into stones.
Fish bubble, blast the bridge of Ch’in.
Light of the sky wanders far away.
Bronze pillars erode with the years.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
A Farewell To Li Tuan by Lu Lun
By my old gate, among yellow grasses,
Still we linger, sick at heart.
The way you must follow through cold clouds
Will lead you this evening into snow.
Your father died; you left home young;
Nobody knew of your misfortunes.
We cry, we say nothing. What can I wish you,
In this blowing wintry world?
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
On Returning to Sung Mountain by Wang Wei
The clear stream girdles the long copse,
Carriage horses amble with ease, with ease.
Flowing water seems to be purposeful.
Evening birds in pairs return.
Barren city walls overlook the cold ford,
Fading sunlight fills the autumn mountains.
Far and distant–below Sung’s height;
I’ve come home, and close the gate.
translated by Paul Kroll
from Sand of Silk-washing Stream, Five Lyrics by Wei Chuang
Every night I think of you until the water clock fades;
Sadly, under the bright moon, I lean against the balcony;
I think you too feel the cold in your lonely quilt.
A short foot away, the painted hall is as deep as the sea;
In remembrance I have only your old letters to read;
When can we be together, hand in hand, in Ch’ang-an?
translated by Lois M. Fusek
Thoughts While Traveling By Night by Tu Fu
Slender grass, light breeze on the banks.
Tall mast, a solitary night on board.
A falling star, and the vast plain broader.
Surging moon, on the Great River flows.
Can fame grow from the written word alone?
This officer, both old and sick, must let that be.
Afloat, afloat, just so. . .
Heaven, and Earth, and one black gull.
Leonard Durso 