Blue is the water and clear the moon.
He is out on the South Lake,
Gathering white lilies.
The lotus flowers seem to whisper love,
And fill the boatman’s heart with sadness.
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
T’ang Dynasty
On The Tung-ting Lake II by Li Po (Li Bei)
The autumn night is vaporless on the lake.
The swelling tide could bear us on to the sky.
Come, let us take the moonlight for our guide,
We’ll sail away and drink where the white clouds are!
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
The Ching-ting Mountain by Li Po (Li Bai)
Flocks of birds have flown high and away;
A solitary drift of cloud, too, has gone, wandering on.
And I sit alone with the Ching-ting Peak, towering beyond.
We never grow tired of each other, the mountain and I.
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
In The Mountains by Li Po (Li Bai)
Why do I live among the green mountains?
I laugh and answer not, my soul is serene;
It dwells in another heaven and earth belonging to no man.
The peach trees are in flower, and the water flows on. . .
translated by Shigeyoshi Obata
from The Hard Road by Li Po (Li Bai)
Journeying is hard,
Journeying is hard.
There are many turnings–
Which am I to follow?. . .
I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves
And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
In A Retreat Among Bamboos by Wang Wei
Leaning alone in the close bamboos,
I am playing my lute and humming a song
Too softly for anyone to hear–
Except my comrade, the bright moon.
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
from Dreaming of Li Po, Two Poems by Tu Fu: Poem 2
Drifting clouds pass by all day long;
The wanderer is long in getting here.
Three nights now you’ve entered my dreams–
Which shows how good a friend you are.
But your leave-takings are hurried,
Bitterly you say, it’s not easy to come;
The river’s waters are wind-blown and choppy,
And you’re afraid to lose your oars.
Outside the door, you scratch your white head,
As if a lifetime’s ambition were forfeit.
Officials teem in the capital city,
Yet you alone are wretched.
Who says the net is wide,
When it tangles such a man in his old age?
An imperishable fame of a thousand years
Is but a paltry, after-life affair.
translated by Eugene Eoyang
from Dreaming of Li Po, Two Poems by Tu Fu: Poem 1
Parted by death, we swallow remorse;
Apart in life, we always suffer.
South of the river, miasmal place,
From the banished exile, not a word!
Old friend, you appeared in a dream,
It shows you have been long in my thoughts.
Perhaps it wasn’t your living soul:
The way’s too far, it couldn’t be done.
Your spirit came: and the maples were green:
Your spirit left: the mountain pass darkened.
Friend, now that you’re ensnared down there,
How did you manage to wing away?
Moonlight shines full on the rafters,
Yet I wonder if it isn’t your reflection.
The waters are deep, the waves expansive:
Don’t let the water-dragon get you!
translated by Eugene Eoyang
Last Poem by Po Chü-I
They have put my bed beside the unpainted screen;
They have shifted my stove in front of the blue curtain.
I listen to my grandchildren, reading me a book;
I watch the servants, heating up my soup.
With rapid pencil I answer the poems of friends;
I feel in my pockets and pull out medicine-money.
When this superintendence of trifling affairs is done,
I lie back on my pillow and sleep with my face to the South.
translated by Arthur Waley
On Hearing Someone Sing A Poem By Yüan Chen by Po Chü-I
No new poems his brush will trace;
Even his fame is dead.
His old poems are deep in dust
At the bottom of boxes and cupboards.
Once lately, when someone was singing,
Suddenly I heard a verse–
Before I had time to catch the words
A pain had stabbed my heart.
translated by Arthur Waley
Leonard Durso 