TO AN OLD FRIEND LOST IN TIBET

Lost, a whole army,

        before the gates of a city,

the year before last

        fighting the Yuezhi.

Lost, the torn, scattered tents,

        with no one to collect them.

There were only the tattered banners

        on horses straggling back.

Lost, any news of you,

        along the way from Tibet.

What offerings can I make

        if your fate is unknown?  

Lost, you and I to each other,

        whether or not you still live.

I offer these tears

        from far, far away.

          --Zhang Ji, my tr.  

This road here runs

     up to white clouds.
Spring is as long
     as the clear stream.
At times fallen petals
     float by,
flowing off
     on scented water.
My door idles
     on the mountain path.
My study's deep
     in willow shade;
my sleeves, sunlit
     on sunny days.
       --Liu Shenxu, my tr.

ON THE RIVER, I SAW THE WATERS SURGING LIKE THE OCEAN: A SKETCHY ACCOUNT

I have always been peculiar,
      driven by love of well-wrought verse.
Seeking a word of startling rightness,
      I'd sooner die than rest.
In my reckless old age,
      my words and I overwhelm each other.
So you needn't fear, birds and flowers,
     for the secrets of your spring.
Just now, I've put in a pier
      to dangle a fishing line from.
Before, I was angling from an anchored raft
      in place of a boat.
Who could I get with the mind of a master
      like Tao or Xie
to help out with my writing
      and wander the nearby world with me?
--Du Fu, my tr.