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
Tu Fu
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
No Word by Tu Fu
Haven’t seen my friend Li Po for some time:
It’s really too bad, his feigning madness.
The whole world would want him executed,
Save I,who cherrish his abilities.
A thousand fine and spirited poems he’s written,
With a cup of wine, and wandering in solitude.
Here I am in K’uang Shan, where he used to study:
He’d do worse than come back—now that his hair’s turned white.
translated by Eugene Eoyang
At Horizon’s End, Thinking of Li Po by Tu Fu
Chill wind stirs at horizon’s end:
My friend, what news?
When will the geese arrive?
Autumn swells river and stream.
Writers abhor worldly success;
Mountain demons like to entrap us.
Perhaps we should talk with the abused soul,
By sending a poem to the River Mi-lo.
translated by Eugene Eoyang
from Seven Songs Written While Living at T’ung-ku in 759 : 7 by Tu Fu
I am a man who’s made no name, already I’ve grown old,
Wandering hungry three years on barren mountain roads,
In Ch’ang-an the ministers are all young men;
Wealth and fame must be earned before a man grows old.
In the mountains here are scholars who knew me long ago.
We only think of the good old days, our hearts full of pain.
Alas! This is my seventh song, oh! with sorrow I end the refrain,
Looking up to the wide sky where the white sun rushes on.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
from Two Quatrains: 2 by Tu Fu
Birds the more white, against green stream
Blooms burst to flame, against blue hills
I glance, the spring is gone again.
What day, what day, can I go home?
Translated by Jerome P. Seaton
from dreaming of Li Po, Two Poems: from 1 by Tu Fu
Old friend, you appeared in a dream,
It shows you have long been 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
Leonard Durso 