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
Yüan Chen
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
from To the Waters of the Chia-ling, Two Poems : 2 by Yüan Chen
You, waters with no feeling,
Have you regrets as you flow east?
In my heart are things I cannot express,
Does that make me different from you?
translated by William H. Nienhauser
Remembering by Yuan Chen
I daydream, melancholy at the windowsill—-
memories I will never tell—-
our passion in the late-night hours,
our tearful good-byes at dawn.
Mountains and rivers divide us,
and I’ve given up hoping for rain.
Divided, I dream of you today—-
I even embrace the pain.
translated by Sam Hamill
White Dress by Yuan Chen
Light rain settles this white dust,
and her perfume penetrates thin walls.
Her jade-white body slips into a jade-white gown.
The embroidery is beautiful, but sad.
She blossoms like a pear against an ivory couch.
A silk blouse and green skirt
hang in the smoky incense of aloe.
Why do I waste time painting early morning clouds?
translated by Sam Hamill
Empty House by Yuan Chen
I leave my empty house at dawn
and ride to my empty office.
I fill the day with busywork.
At nightfall, back to my empty house.
Moonlght seeps through the cracks.
My wick has burned to ash.
My heart lies cold inHsien-yang Road,
under the wheels of a hearse.
translated by Sam Hamill
Letter Smuggled in a Fish by Yuan Chen
Your letter unfolds and unfolds forever.
I flatten it with my hands to read:
tearstrains, trarstrains and a trace of rouge
where it must have touched your cheek.
translated by Sam Hamill
Dreaming of My Wife by Yuan Chen
The candle burned out, my boat is windblown.
You ask about my southern sailing:
I sat awake all night in silence,
waves pounding on the lake.
translated by Sam Hamill
Bamboo Mat by Yuan Chen
I cannot bear to put away
the bamboo sleeping mat–
that first night I brought you home,
I watched you roll it out.
translated by Sam Hamill
Peach Blossoms by Yuan Chen
Infinite peach-blossom shades,
her rouged and powdered cheeks.
Spring breezes help her break my heart,
blowing peach petals from her dress.
translated by Sam Hamill
Leonard Durso 