T’ang Dynasty

The Old Fisherman by Liu Tsung-yuan

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The old fisherman spends his night beneath the western cliffs.
At dawn, he boils Hsiang’s waters, burns bamboo of Ch’u.
When the mist’s burned off, and the sun’s come out, he’s gone.
The slap of oars, the mountain waters green.
Turn and look, at heaven’s edge, he’s moving with the flow.
Above the clıffs, the aimless clouds go too.

translated by J.P. Seaton

from Bring the Wine! by Li Po

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Why does my host tell me the money has run out?
Buy more wine at once–my friends have cups to be refilled!
My dappled mount,
my furs worth a thousand–
call the boy, have him take them and barter for fine wine!
Together we’ll wash away ten thousand years of care.

translated by Burton Watson

from Autumn Thoughts by Han Yü

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Leaves fall turning turning to the ground,
by the front eaves racing, following the wind;
morning voices seem to speak to me
as they whirl and toss in headlong flight.
An empty hall in the yellow dusk of evening:
I sit here silent, unspeaking.
The young boy comes in from outdoors,
trims the lamp, sets it before me,
asks me questions I do not answer,
brings me a supper I do not eat.
He goes and sits down by the west wall,
reading me poetry–three or four poems;
the poet is not a man of today–
already a thousand years divide us–
but something in his words strikes my heart,
fills it again with an acid grief.
I turn and call to the boy;
Put down the book and go to bed now–
a man has times when he must think,
and work to do that never ends.

translated by Burton Watson

Late in the Day, Gazing Out from a River Pavilion by Chia Tao

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Water to the horizon
veils the base of clouds;
mountain mist
blurs the far village.

Returning to nest, birds
make tracks in the sand;
passing on the river, a boat
leaves no trace on the waves.

I gaze at the water
and know its gentle nature;
watch the mountains
until my spirit tires.

Though not yet ready
to leave off musing,
dusk falls,
and I return by horse.

translated by Mike O’Connor

Meandering Poems, One by Tu Fu

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A single petal swirling diminishes the spring.
Ten thousand dots adrift in the wind, they sadden me.
Shouldn’t I then gaze at flowers about to fall before my eyes?
Never disdain the hurtful wine that passes through my lips.
In the small pavilion by the river nest the kingfisher birds;
Close by a high tomb in the royal park lie stone unicorns.
This, a simple law of nature: seek pleasure while there’s time.
Who needs drifting fame to entangle the body?

translated by Irving Y. Lo