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TO A JAPANESE MONK RETURNING HOME

Destined to come seeking the source in China.

Your voyage here was like a dream of distance,

floating between heaven and the vast green sea.

Now, the vessel goes lightly that carries the Way.

Water and moon are solitary as your Zen.

Fish and dragons absorb the sound of your chanting.

The single lamp of your compassion, its light

returns to watchers at the heart of the world.

     --Qian Qi, my translation

TO SOUTH CREEK SEEKING DAO MAN CHANG IN HIS SECRET PLACE

All along the single path,

footprints in strawberry moss.

White clouds over quiet islands.

Spring grass latching the idle gate.

After rain, the look of the pines.

Up the mountain, the river’s source.

Sitting Zen in flowers by the creek.

Face to face, I forget what to say.

     --Liu Changqing, my translation

POEMS FOR SOMEONE


I.

Your coming was an empty promise.
     Your going was without a trace.
At the fifth bell,
     moonlight slanted across the tower
as I wakened from despairing dreams,
     my cries not calling you back.
These pale words, this hasty letter,
     written before the ink could thicken.
One candle lights half the quilt
     with the kingfisher in a golden cage.
A faint scent of musk
     lingers on the embroidered lotus curtain.
Young Master Liu
     raged at the distance to the faerie hill.
But you are ten thousand mountains,
     ten thousand ranges farther.

          --Li Shangyin

PARTING WITH HAN SHEN AT SUN CLOUD INN

Old men long separated by rivers and seas,

unable to cross mountains and plains between us.

Suddenly meeting here, as if in a dream,

grieving over the years, asking how they’d passed.

A single lamp shining into cold rain.

A smokey mist rising from dense bamboo.

More and more dreading the bright coming morning,

we share the precious wine of parting again.

     --Sikong Shu, my tr.

TO MENG HAORAN

I love you Meng Fuzi, Master Meng,

free spirit, famous under heaven.

In rosy youth, you spurned cap and carriage.

With snowy head, you lie among clouds and pines,

drunk beneath the moon, remaining the sage,

addled among flowers, serving no lord.

At the foot of your unscaleable heights.

I bow in gathering mountain fragrance.

     --Li Bai

RETURNING TO MOUNT SONG

Trees flanking the clear stream.

My cart horse ambling on.

Flowing water knows how I feel.

Evening birds come home with me.

Empty town above the old ferry.

Setting sun filling the autumn hills.

Far away from the outside world,

returned to the foot of the mountain.

    --Wang Wei

Alt:  back home at the foot of the mountain.

Returning to My Country Home, No. 1


From the first, I was unsuited to society,
but I had a natural love of hills and valleys.
Still, I fell into the snare of the world.
One little slip and thirteen years were gone.
Birds in cages love their old forests.
Fish in ponds still miss their home waters.
Tilling the south field at the edge of the wild,
still just a rustic, I've returned to my farm.
Around my house are ten or so acres,
dotted with the thatch of eight or nine huts.
Elm and willow overhang the back eaves.
Peach and plum lead away from the front hall.
A distant village is faint in the haze.
Thin smoke curls from the adandoned hamlet.
A dog barks from deep in the lane.
A cock crows in the mulberry tree.
This house is still free of the dust of the world,
its empty rooms full of time and quiet.
After so long, long in a cage,
I can at last get back to nature.
     --Tao Qian

Alt.:  This shuttered house, free of the dust of the world,
         its empty rooms full of time and quiet.

Ancient Spirit

Old men there on the River Han,

stiff corpses at the river's mouth,

their white hair wet with yellow mud.

Black ravens come for what remains.

Their cunning we may now forget.

Their selves--or souls--have come to what?

Wind blows, the fishing line snaps,

darting fish are hard to catch.

Islands are bright with white water.

Reeds crowding onto the steep bank

retain a trace of the small boat

now tied at the long river's edge.

Towering dried-up pines, their branches

hold up ropey hanging vines.

Must we depend on things like this?

Survey the world today and see

everywhere all are like you.

A general dies in a great siege.

The Han soldiers still press forward,

a hundred horses on one bit,

ten thousand wheels on one axle.

Are you mainly name or mainly flesh?

Gentlemen, think well on this.

     --Chang Jian, my tr.

Alt:  Towering pines, their dried-up branches...

Climbing Stork Tower

White sun sets against the mountains.

Yellow River flows to the sea.

To look out for a thousand miles,

you should go up one more story.

     --Wang Zhihuan

A Poem of the Evening River

A ray of late sun lies across the water.
Half the emerald river is ruby red.
On this third night of the ninth month
dewdrops are pearls, the moon a bow.
     --Bai Juyi





On Seeing the Snow-Peak of Zhongnan Mountain

Beautiful, the north face of Zhongnan's peak,
piled-up snow above the floating clouds,
bright blue sky shining through the tree tops.
The city below colder with sunset.
     --Zu Young




The Late Shen Xiaxian

To your clear voice, who could echo in chorus or 
     answer in verse?
Here on grassy paths gone to moss and weeds, if 
     sought, you are not found.
Dreaming, from dusk into night, at the foot of Little 
     Fu Mountain.
Water's a circlet of jade; moon, a silver silk panel over 
     the heart.
     --Du Mu




Summer Palace

Faded old travel palace.
Solitary red flowers.
Idle gray-haired ladies speak
of Emperor Li Long Ji.
   --Yuan Zhen

Oleh Mengikuti Tanganku, Saya Menulis

Saya menulis "sarang"

dan di itu, burung menjadi terkejut kemudian terbanglah.

Saya menulis "api"

dan lembaran kertas ini tidak ada.

Saya menulis "kegelapan"

dan itu sudah diresapi oleh cahaya.

Saya menulis "kelanggengan"

dan saya menyaksikan berlian sedang mencair.

     --Dai Wei, my tr.

Dai Wei is a contemporary Chinese poet.  I've seen two of her poems and so far have not been able to find any others.

　随手写下
　　　　　　　代薇
当我写下“鸟巢”           

里面的鸟群惊飞了

当我写下“火”
这页纸已不存在

当我写下“黑暗”
它其实已经被照亮

当我写下“永恒”
我就是在目睹钻石的溶化

Separation Sickness

Red beans of the longing tree grow there in the south.
Come the spring, the branches bush out and fill with seeds.
I hope, friend, that you will pick more and more and more
of what is the best thing for this illness of ours.
    --Wang Wei

alt:  of what is the simple for this illness of ours.
        of what is the simple for our mutual illness.

王維

相思

紅(Red)豆(Bean)生(Born/Grow)南(South)國(Country)，

春(Spring)來(Come)發(Produce)幾(How Many)枝(Branch)。

願(Wish)君(You)多(Much)采(Pluck)擷(Pick)，

此(This)物(Item/Thing)最(Most)相(To)思(Think)。

相思: (combination of these two character means Lovesickness)

     --word for word translation by Laijon Liu

A River Village Moment

Back home from fishing, not tying up the boat,
sleeping sound in the light of the falling moon:
Should the night wind blow the boat away, away's
as far as the reeds of the nearby shallows.
     --Sikong Shu







A Zen Retreat Behind Broken Mountain Temple

Clear, quiet dawn enters the old temple.

Early sun illumines the forest heights.

Crooked path comes to a secluded space:

a monk’s cottage deep in trees and flowers.

Light through the mountains plays over bird flight.

Deep pool reflects the sky that mirrors the heart.

Ten thousand sounds of nature are suffused

with the single tone of the temple bell.

    --Chang Jian

Alt:  ...are resolved/in the single tone...

Short as a segment
of Naniwa marsh reed,
not even that much

time for us to meet again
on the long passage, is there?
    --Lady Ise

 難波潟 

みじかき芦の
ふしのまも
あはでこの世を
過ぐしてよとや

Naniwa gata mijikaki ashi no fushi no ma mo awade kono yo o sugushite yo to ya