The birds have vanished down the sky
and now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.
translated by Sam Hamill
T’ang Dynasty
Written while Traveling on the Kweilin Road by Li Shang-yin
In this warm country, there is no autumn hue;
Over the clear river, a bright sunset.
Buzz, buss–a few remaining cicadas,
Still reluctant to bid the traveler farewell.
In the small village a dog guards me;
On the flat sand, a monk alone returns.
I wish to gaze toward the northwest,
But all I see are partridges flying again!
translated by James J.Y. Liu
At Ch’iu-pu Lake by Li Po
White hair! Three thousand yards of it.
And a sadness, a sorrow, as long.
I don’t understand. Where did my bright mirror
find all this autumn frost?
translated by J.P. Seaton
Home Thoughts by Li Shang-yin
Though there is a tower with railings to lean on,
How can I do without wine to pour?
Dank clouds hang over the mountain range in spring;
The river moon shines clear and bright at night.
The fish are disturbed–to whom can letters be entrusted?
The apes cry sadly–my dreams are easily startled.
My old home adjoined the Imperial Park:
It was the time when the oriole moved to the tall tree.
translated by James J.Y. Liu
Bamboo Pavilion by Wang Wei
I sit alone among the tallest of the tall bamboo,
pluck the lute, and whistle melodies, again.
This deep grove’s unknown to other men.
Bright moon, when it comes: we shine together.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Hearing a Flute on a Spring Night in Luoyang by Li Bai (Li Po)
Whose jade flute secretly soars in the night?
Spring wind scatters sound all over Luoyang.
The midnight flute keens a farewell song, “Snap the Willow Branch.”
Thinking of my old home and garden, I break.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Hearing Cicadas by Xue Tao
Washed clean by dew, cicada songs go far
and like windblown leaves piling up
each cicada’s cry blends into the next.
Yet each lives on its own branch.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Seeing a Friend Off by Xue Tao
In water lands, night frost on reeds,
a cold moon the color of the mountains.
Who says our thousand-mile separation starts tonight?
My dream can travel to the farthest border pass.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Fisherman by Liu Zongyuan
A fisherman spends the night under West Rock,
pails clear river water and burns bamboo.
Smokes vanishes, sun rises, and no one is seen.
The swishing oar turns mountains and water green.
Floating the central current, he turns to gaze at the sky
above rock where mindless clouds chase each other.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Ballad of a Voyager by Li Po (Li Bai)
Ocean voyager, on heaven’s winds,
in his ship, far wandering. . .
Like a bird, among the clouds,
gone, he will leave no trace.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Leonard Durso 