I daydream, melancholy at the windowsill—-
memories I will never tell—-
our passion in the late-night hours,
our tearful good-byes at dawn.
Mountains and rivers divide us,
and I’ve given up hoping for rain.
Divided, I dream of you today—-
I even embrace the pain.
translated by Sam Hamill
Light rain settles this white dust,
and her perfume penetrates thin walls.
Her jade-white body slips into a jade-white gown.
The embroidery is beautiful, but sad.
She blossoms like a pear against an ivory couch.
A silk blouse and green skirt
hang in the smoky incense of aloe.
Why do I waste time painting early morning clouds?
translated by Sam Hamill
My old friend takes off from the Yellow Crane Tower,
In smoke-flower third month down to Yangchou.
A lone sail, a distant shade, lost in the blue horizon.
Only the long Yangtze is seen flowing into the sky.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
Alone in my secluded hut,
I think of you all day, Li Po.
Whenever I read of friendship,
I remember your friendly poems.
Harsh winds tatter your old clothes
as you search for the wine of endless life.
Unable to go with you, I remember only
that old hermitage we’d hoped to make a home.
translated by Sam Hamill
The road reaches beyond mountains.
The boat moves on the green water.
Tides now calm: two banks widen.
Wind stills: one sail straight.
Sun grows from sea: the night tatters.
Upon the river, spring: the year ages.
A letter from home: where to send to?
With the returning geese to Lo-yang.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
I sit alone among dark bamboos,
Strum the lute and let loose my voice.
Grove so deep, no one knows.
The moon visits and shines on me.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
Dismount and drink this wine.
Where to? I ask.
At odds with the world:
Return to rest by the South Hill.
Go. Go. Do not ask again.
Endless, the white clouds.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
Thinking of you, in autumn night,
Strolling, chanting the cool air.
Empty mountain: pine cones fall.
Secluded man: staying up, still?
translated by Wai-lim Yip
Whose jade-flute is this, notes flying invisibly
Scatter into spring winds, filling City of Loyang?
Hearing the “Break-a-Willow-Twig” tonight,
Who can withhold the surge of thoughts of home?
ytranslated by Wai-lim Yip
Dismount and drink this wine.
Where to? I ask.
At odds with the world:
Return to rest by the South Hill.
Go. Go. Do not ask again.
Endless, the white clouds.
translated by Wai-lim Yip
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 