Tonight at Fu-chou, this moon she watches
Alone in our room. And my little, far-off
Children, too young to understand what keeps me
Away, or even remember Ch’ang-an. By now,
Her hair will be mist-scented, her jade-white
Arms chilled in its clear light. When
Will it find us together again, drapes drawn
Open, light traced where it dries our tears?
translated by David Hinton
Autumn returns, and again we are cast thistledown together
on the winds. The elixir of immortality has eluded us—
Ko Hung must be ashamed. Days drunk and singing too loud,
Given to the wind, yet resolute–so brave, and for whom?
translated by David Hinton
Now fine homes in ten prefectures have dead sons
making water with their blood on Ch’en-t’ao Marsh.
An early winter’s panoramic waste: crystal sky,
the silence of war. Forty thousand dead in a day.
Mongol battalions return. Their arrows bathed blood-
black, drunk in the markets, they sing Mongol songs.
And we face north to mourn, another day conjuring
our army’s appearance passing into hopeful night.
translated by David Hinton
I love this T’ung-kuan joy. A thousand
years, and still I’d never leave here.
It makes me dance, my swirling sleeves
sweeping all Five-Pine Mountain clean.
translated by David Hinton
This night of yellow-blossom wine
Finds me old, my hair white. Joys
I ponder lost to youth, I look out
Across distances. Seasons run together.
Brothers and sisters inhabit desolate
Songs. Heaven and Earth fill drunken eyes.
Warriors and spears, frontier passes. . . .
All day, thoughts have gone on and on.
translated by David Hinton
Above K’uei-chou’s wall, a cloud-form village. Below:
wind-tossed sheets of falling rain, a swollen river
Thrashing in the gorge. Thunder and lightning battle.
Kingfisher-gray trees and ashen ivy shroud sun and moon.
War horses can’t compare to those back in quiet pastures.
But of a thousand homes, a bare hundred remain. Ai–
Ai–the widow beaten by life’s toll, grief-torn,
Sobbing in what village where on the autumn plain?
translated by DAvid Hinton
On heaven’s wind, a sea traveler
wanders by boat through distances.
It’s like a bird among the clouds:
once gone, gone without a trace.
translated by David Hinton
Kou Chien shattered Wu, then returned to his Yüeh kingdom.
Noble warriors home again boasting brocade robes, palace
women like blossoms filled springtime galleries here.
There’s nothing left now–only quail breaking into flight.
translated by David Hinton
The ox path I’m on ends in a rabbit trail, and suddenly
I’m facing open plains and empty sky on all four sides.
My thoughts follow white egrets–a pair taking flight,
leading sight across a million blue mountains rising
ridge beyond ridge, my gaze lingering near then far,
enthralled by peaks crowded together or there alone.
Even a hill or valley means thoughts beyond knowing–
and all this? A crusty old man’s now a wide-eyed child!
translated by David Hinton
It has turned crystal clear lately
And flows away like a ribbon of smoke
With a music like a ten strınged zither.
The sound penetrates to my pillow,
And turns my mind to past loves,
And won’t let me sleep for melancholy.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung
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 