The river, looking bleak,
reflects the autumn sky
bits of lotus and chestnut
drift along on its surface
I’m wandering slowly
into my empty old age
I watch the sand and pebbles
stirring along the shoreline
hearing a lone swan call
in search of other swans.
translated by David Young
T’ang Dynasty
Ch’ang-o by Li Shang-yin
Against the screen of “mother-of-clouds” the candle throws its deep shadow;
The Long River gradually sinks, the morning star sets.
Ch’ang-o should regret having stolen the elixir:
The green sea—the blue sky—her heart every night!
translated by James J. Y. Liu
Thinking About My Brother by Du Fu
I heard you were in a monastery
somewhere in the hills
maybe in Hangzhou
maybe in Yuchzhou
all this time apart
all this war and chaos
through this entire autumn
I’ve thought and thought about you
my body may be among the noisy gibbons
here in Kuizhou woods
but my spirit floats out to a tower
that hovers above the Eastern Sea
next year in spring I’ll sail
down this swollen river
east as far as the clouds themselves
in search of you.
translated by David Young
from Leyou Park by Du Fu
the party will end
and what will become of me?
here amid this vastness
I stand alone and chant my poem.
from Meipi Lake by Du Fu
youth gives way as it must
to realities of age
joy and sadness take turns
in a dance we don’t control
translated by David Young
from Random Feelings: 4 by Du Fu
March is long gone
April is half over
how many more spring seasons
can any old man have?
well, stop these thoughts about
life, death, and infinity!
drink what’s left of your wine
enjoy it while you can.
translated by David Young
from Random Feelings: 1 by Du Fu
My sorrow is perfectly visible
to spring, that painted hussy
but she visits my river pavilion
as if it meant nothing at all
encourages the flowers
to open shamelessly
then persuades the orioles
to sing themselves into a frenzy.
translated by David Young
Village Snow, Sitting at Night by Po Chü-i
At the south window, my back to a lamp,
I sit. Wind scatters sleet into darkness.
In lone depths of silent village night:
the call of a late goose in falling snow.
translated by David Hinton
from Three Dreams at Chiang-ling: III by Yüan Chen
Your bones have long since turned to dust,
My heart for just as long to ashes!
A hundred -year life has no end!
For three nights you’ve come to me in a dream.
The flowing waters have passed and are gone,
The floating clouds, where are they now?
As I sit watching the morning sun come up,
A flock of birds by twos returns.
translated by William H. Nienhauser
Late Spring by Yüan Chen
Evening swallows keep twittering by my curtain,
Pairs of sparrows squabble, stir up dust on the steps;
The wind closes my wicker gate at sundown,
Quietly the flowers fall one by one, but no one comes.
translated by Dell B. Hales
Leonard Durso 