Jade ridges and incense-veiled terraces stretch halfway to heaven
ten thousand households and mist-covered trees line the clearing river
I don’t know the monks because they’re all new
but listening to the fading bell I recall that distant year
translated by Red Pine
You polish words in rue-scented libraries,
and I live in bamboo-leaf gardens, a recluse
wandering every day the same winding path
home to rest in the quiet, no noise anywhere.
A bird soaring the heights can choose a tree,
but the hedge soon tangles impetuous goats.
Today, things seen becoming thoughts felt:
this is where you start forgetting the words.
translated by David Hinton
The cold river spreads boundless away.
Autumn rains darken azure-deep skies.
You ask about Whole-South Mountain:
the mind knows beyond white clouds.
translated by David Hinton
1
Lonely bones can’t sleep nights. Singing
insects keep calling them, calling them.
And the old have no tears. When they sob,
autumn weeps dewdrops. Strength failing
all at once, as if cut loose, and ravages
everywhere, like weaving unraveled,
I touch thread-ends. No new feelings.
Memories crowding thickening sorrow,
how could I bear southbound sails, how
wander rivers and mountains of the past?
translated by David Hinton
It’s the same Ch’ang-an moon when I ask
which doctrine remains with us always.
It flew with me when I fled those streets,
and now shines clear in these mountains,
carrying me through autumn desolations,
waiting as I sleep away long slow nights.
If I return to my old homeland one day,
it will welcome me like family. And here,
it’s a friend for strolling beneath pines
or sitting together on canyon ridgetops.
A thousand cliffs, ten thousand canyons–
it’s with me everywhere, abiding always.
translated by David Hinton
The Great River wraps an arm
angling around Wu-ch’ang
Parrot Island faces the gates
of ten thousand homes.
Spring sleep in a pleasure boat
unfulfilled at dawn–
In dreams a butterfly
still seeking blossoms.
translated by Jan W. Walls
Ch’ing-ts’ao Lake is wrapped in serpent dens,
And White-Sand lost beyond Dragon-Back Island.
Ancient, cragged trees shelter flood-dikes
Here. Crow spirits dance, greeting these oars.
Returning, waves high and south winds strong, I
Fear sunsets. But tonight, a dazzling lake
Stretches into distant heavens–as if any moment,
On this raft of immortals, I will drift away.
translated by David Hinton
After midnight, eluding tigers on the road, I return
home below dark mountains. My family asleep inside,
the Northern Dipper drifts nearby, sinking low
on the river. Venus blazes–huge in empty space.
Holding a candle in the courtyard, I call for two
torches. A gibbon in the gorge, startled, shrieks once.
Old and tired, my hair white, I dance and sing out.
Goosefoot cane, no sleep. . . .Catch me if you can!
translated by David Hinton
Trees surround a wide pool, the moon casts many shadows;
Beyond the wind-blown vine, in the village and on the bank,
the pounding of wash and the sounds of the flute.
In the west pavilion, the kingfisher quilt leaves a fragrance that fades;
All through the night, my sorrow turns toward the wilted lotus.
translated by Eugene Eoyang & Irving Y. Lo
Suddenly I’m governing Wu Prefecture
and suddenly chrysanthemums are blooming
as I start to think of my garden back home
happily a group of guests arrives
translated by Red Pine
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
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author 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 