This high up, I begin to see how small our human realm is,
face distances and know the kingdom of perception is pure
emptiness. Turning away, I start home through the morning
markets–a kernel of darnel tumbling into the vast granary.
translated by David Hinton
T’ang Dynasty
Reply to Yüan Chen by Po Chü-i
You write out my poems, filling monestary walls,
and I crowd these door-screens here with yours.
Old friend, we never know where it is we’ll meet—
we two duckweed leaves adrift on such vast seas.
translated by David Hinton
After Lunch by Po Chü-i
After eating lunch, I feel so sleepy.
Waking later, I sip two bowls of tea,
then notice shadows aslant, the sun
already low in the southwest again.
Joyful people resent fleeting days.
Sad ones can’t bear the slow years.
It’s those with no joy and no sorrow—
they trust whatever this life brings.
translated by David Hinton
Idle Song by Po Chü-i
After such painstaking study of empty-gate dharma,
everything life plants in the mind dissolved away:
there’s nothing left now but that old poetry demon.
A little wind or moon, and I’m chanting an idle song.
translated by David Hinton
from My Thatch Hut NewlyBuilt Below Incense Burner Peak. I Chant My thoughts Then Copy Them Onto the Rocks by Po Chü-i
I admire how easily contentment comes
just sitting here in the midst of all this,
and marveling at the song of heaven.
I blend in a few tipsy words and let it
voice my nature: a far-country recluse
caught in nets of human consequence.
translated by David Hinton
Fallen Flowers by Li Shang-yin
From the tall pavilion the guests have all departed;
In the little garden flowers helter-skelter fly.
They fall at random on the winding path,
And travel far, setting off the setting sun.
Heartbroken, I cannot bear to sweep them away;
Gazing hard, I watch them till few are left.
Their fragrant heart, following spring, dies;
What they have earned are tears that wet one’s clothes.
translated by James J. Y. Liu
Early Rising by Li Shang-yin
Light breeze and dew in the early morning—
By the curtains I rise, all alone.
The oriole cries while the flowers smile:
Who owns this spring after all?
translated by James J. Y. Liu
from Chamber Music by Li Shang-yin: a lament for his wife
I remember the spring of the year before last—
You said nothing but were full of sadness.
Now I have returned but you are gone!
The ornamented zither has lasted longer than you.
To-day, a pine at the bottom of the valley;
To-morrow, a po tree on the top of the hill!
I shall grieve till heaven and earth turn round,
Till we no longer recognize each other face to face!
translated by James J. Y. Liu
Living a Quiet Life by Li Shang-yin
Distant letters and home-going dreams are both few and far between;
Only the empty bed valiantly faces the pale autumn.
Under the steps, nothing but green moist and red leaves.
In rain, there is solitude; in moonlight, grief.
translated by James J. Y. Liu
Lines to Be Sent Home Written on a Rainy Night by Li Shang-yin
You ask me the date of my return—no date has been set.
The night rain over the Pa Mountain swells the autumn pond.
O when shall we together trim the candle by the west window,
And talk about the time when the rain fell on the Pa Mountain?
translated by James J. Y. Liu
Leonard Durso 