The coastal mountains are as sharp as swords;
When autumn comes each cleaves my sore heart.
If my body could be dissolved into a thousand selves,
I’d have them scattered on the highest peaks to gaze homeward.
translated by Jan W. Walls
thoughts of home
Autumn Evening: To Send to My Nieces and Nephews by Ch’i-chi
Each year, come the late autumn evenings,
I sit by the lamp recalling my old home,
gardens and groves red with oranges and pomelos,
windows and doors blue with Hsiao and Hsiang waters.
But since I left you old age has come on,
I quail at the long road that parts us.
Brothers young and old, just so you’re well,
tending fields and silkworms amid these fires of war!
translated by Burton Watson
far from home: with a tip of the hat to Su Tung-p’o
the pain
in the legs
the ache
in the heart
the chill
in the bones
so far
so very far
from home
like some weary traveler
I am like some weary traveler
in a hotel room
lost between the shower and the ice machine
with plans to come home
for the holidays
we would have coffee
a candle flickers on the table
your hands play with your spoon
I watch you brush the hair from your forehead
loosen the scarf at your neck
your eyes look beyond me
to some future that almost was
and I fade from the table
stranded on some stretch of highway
a long way from home
on the other side of the world: for Thanksgiving absent again
there are voices calling my name
on the other side of the world
an empty chair
a glass not filled with wine
dark meat with gravy
stuffing with mushrooms
manicotti
and Robert’s famous meatballs and gravy
hot and sweet sausage
broccoli with garlic, lemon and oil
Johnny bought blueberry pie
only I’m not getting a piece
’cause I’m over here
on the other side of the world
quietly finishing a bottle of wine
trying not to think of your voice
the sorrow in the air
fresh flowers don’t quite kill the smell
of disappointment
regret
another year gone by
that empty chair
that bottle of wine unopened
ice cream melting on a plate
Al Martino singing love songs
George serving salad
and you sliding food onto my plate
the cat under the table
my hand reaching across
space
grabbing nothing
grabbing air
on the other side
of the world
another untitled poem by Yosano Akiko
Purple butterflies
fly at night through my dreams.
Butterflies, tell me,
have you seen in my village
the falling flowers of the wisteria?
translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ikuko Atsumi
Night Rain, Sent North by Li Shang-yin
You ask when I’ll return but when doesn’t have a date
the rain tonight in the hills of Pa floods the autumn lakes
when will we trim candlewicks by the west window again
and talk about when it rained in the hills of Pa this night
translated by Red Pine
a good day
red wine
in my glass
the sun
on my face
a breeze
in the air
an image
in my head
a good day
to be thinking
of home
Remembering Peach Blossoms by Li Shang-yin
Settled, settled: I dwell on the shore of the world.
Longingly, longingly, I gaze toward the view.
The winter plum is most hateful,
For it always blossoms with last year’s flowers.
translated by James J.Y. Liu
Mid-Autumn Moon by Su Tung-p’o
Six years the moon shone at mid-autumn;
five years it saw us parted.
I sing your farewell song;
sobs from those who sit with me.
The southern capital must be busy,
but you won’t let the occasion pass:
Hundred-league lake of melted silver,
thousand-foot towers in the pendant mirror–
at third watch, when the songs and flutes are stilled
and figures blur in the shade of trees,
you return to your north hall rooms,
cold light glinting on the dew of leaves;
calling for wine, you drink with your wife
and tell the children stories, thinking of me.
You have no way of knowing I’ve been sick,
that I face the pears and chestnuts, cup empty,
and stare east of the old riverbed
where buckwheat blossoms spread their snow.
I wanted to write a verse to your last year’s song
but I was afraid my heart would break.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 