A Selection of Tang Poems Translated to English: Du Fu, Li Bai, Wang Wei, et al.

ANONYMOUS

THE SPRING SONG OF LADY NIGHT

The spring woods

hold flowers of great beauty.

The spring birds

cause thoughts of great grief.

The spring breeze has also great feeling,

blowing open

my gauzy silk skirt.

     --300-600 C.E.

    THE AUTUMN SONG OF LADY NIGHT

Opening the window

to the autumn moon,

she puts out the candle,

slipping off her silk skirt.

And suppressing a smile

within the curtained bed,

she arches her body,

spreading orchid fragrance

DU FU




Thoughts of the Night Traveller

Slender grass in the shore breeze.

Tall mast on a lonely boat.

Stars sink over spreading fields.

The moon rides on the river.

Too old and sick for office--

and will scribblings make my name?

Drifting, drifting, what am I?

One gull between earth and sky.

Spring Prospect

The nation in ruin,

mountains and rivers remain.

The city in spring,

deep in grass and trees.

Lost in wretched times,

weeping over flowers.

Sunk in loneliness,

startling at birdsong.

Beacon fires,

burning for three months.

Family letters,

worth thousands in gold

I've pulled so at my white hair

that my hatpin barely holds.

Alt:  And I've pulled at my white hair
         till my hatpin barely holds.

        Pulling so at my white hair
        that my hatpin barely holds.

Moonlit Night

Just now, alone in our room,

you gaze at the Fuzhou moon.

Our children--I ache for them

from far away--they don't see

why you brood upon Changan.

Fragrant fog scents your gathered hair.

Lustrous moon chills your slender arms.

When, between the gauzy curtains,

will we lean together again,

these tears dried on our faces,

their traces limned in moonlight?

On the River I Saw the Water Surging like the Ocean:  A Sketchy Account

I have always been a little off,

      so driven by love of well-made verse,

pursuing that 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?

Alt:  In place of a boat, I had been angling from an anchored raft


FACING SNOW


Battle cries, many new ghosts.
Old, alone--worry and grief.
Ragged clouds low in the dusk.
Snow swirls around and around.
Ladle and cup--green wine gone.
Dying embers--stove still red.
I sit, no news from anywhere,
my books blank with my sorrow.
     

WANG WEI

Passing the Temple of Teeming Fragrance

The Temple of Teeming Fragrance,
measureless miles in summit clouds.
Ancient forest, a pathless way.
Deep mountains, directionless bell.
Spring water over jagged rocks.
Yellow sun on cool green pines.
Twilight, winding pool.  Quiet sitting
uncoils the poison dragon of the heart.




XINYI VILLAGE


Limbs, branches, hibiscus flowers.
Throughout the hills, their red calyces.
House by the stream, stillness, and no one.
All around, all blooming and falling.




RILL BY THE HOUSE OF THE LUANS


Hard wind blows through autumn rain.
Shallow rills flow over rocks.
Water beads splash against each other.
White egret starts, then settles back.




MAGNOLIA ENCLOSURE


Autumn hills gather waning light.
Back and forth, birds chase through the air.
All things green are suddenly bright.
At sunset, mists are here, then there.

Deer Fence

Empty Mountain.
Seeing no one.
Hearing someone's
echoing voice.
The late day sun
enters again
the deep forest,
shining once more
on the green moss.

In my old age, I want only peace.
The ten thousand things are not my concern.
I've no plans for the rest of my life
but to come back to this, my ancient woods.
Piney wind blows my girdle open.
Mountain moon lights upon the lute I play.
So where's the warp and weft of the world?
Fishermen's songs come far up the inlet.

Surely you can say,
having come from my village,
if the winter plum
has already blossomed there
by the filigreed window.





SITTING ALONE ON AN AUTUMN NIGHT


Alone, grieving over my graying hair.
In the empty hall, nearly nine o'clock.
Mountain fruit fall in heavy rain.
Grasshoppers sing in my lamplight.
Hair gone white can never go back.
Nothing can change to yellow gold.
Want to cast off age and illness?
You need to study not being born.

Some translators have "no rebirth" in the last line for what is most literally "no-birth."  But I think that with Wang Wei's Buddhism being the Dao-tinged Buddhism of Zen, he wouldn't have been so concerned with reincarnation.  Perhaps the the reference would have been more to the illusion of self, of ego, of something that came into being at a certain time and persisted in its essence all through one's life.  To not hang on to that illusion.

AUTUMN EVENING, MOUNTAIN LODGE


Empty mountain, just after rain.
Evening air, the air of autumn.
The bright moon shines through the trees.
A clear spring flows over stones.
Bamboo rustles, washergirls return.
Lotus leaves sway, fishing boats glide by.
Sweet grass of spring withers as it will.
Noble friends, of course we should stay!

LI BAI

Blue mountains to the north of town.

White water to the east of town.

We stop here for a last goodbye:

Thistledown flies a thousand li.

Now you must be a floating cloud,

and your old friend, the setting sun.

Waving, each goes his separate way.

Parting horses nicker and neigh.

Two versions of "Jade Stairs:"

Resentment on the Jade Stairs

Midnight on the stairs of jade,

white dew soaks her silken hose.

Draw down then the crystal shade:

fall's moon glitters in its gems.

Stood Up on the Jade Stairs

Midnight on the stairs of jade,

white dew soaked your silken hem.

Draw down then the crystal shade:

moonlight glitters in its gems.

Spring Night:  A Flute in Loyang

From which house, fleeting, invisible notes

mingling with the wind and filling the city?

Hearing that tune, A Willow Twig for Parting,

who could not dwell on thoughts of home?

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 SHANGYIN

The Cicada

In the first place,

however refined you are

and able to live on wind and dew,

they will never satisfy your hunger.

So why keep up your bitter cry?

By the fifth hour

your voice is weak and hoarse

in the green, indifferent tree.

I'm just a minor functionary,

a drifting twig.

And the old fields at home

lie wasted and full of weeds.

So thank you for reminding me

that my family has a long history

of pure character.

 Thoughts in the Cold

My guests have all gone,

the river rises to my doorstep,

cicadas cease whirring,

branches fill with dew:

a time when you fill my heart,

the time that passes while I stand

still beneath the Big Dipper,

as distant as spring.

Here beyond the edge

of your Nanjing sky

no messenger comes.

I am left with only

my dreams to divine

if you've found a new friend.




SIX "UNTITLED" LOVE POEMS





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.







Sighs of the east wind bringing fine rain.
Faint thunder from beyond the lotus pond.
Incense seeps through the jaw of the golden toad lock.
Water comes up on the silk of the jade tiger winch.
Jia's daughter peeped through the screen at Han the young clerk.
Princess Mi left her pillow for the poet prince of Wei.
Spring heart, don't contend with flowers for opening.
One inch of burning passion makes one inch of ash.

A few comments on interpretation:  Some say the "faint thunder" should be taken as the sound of carriage wheels--a lover leaving or not stopping.  Possible, but I don't see any evidence in the text for it.  The lock is an ornamental one that latches by closing the toad's mouth.  The jade tiger is a decoration on a pulley or winch over a well.  For clarity, I was going to go with "rope" rather than "silk," but I read that "silk" in conjunction with the "incense" of the preceding line is suggestive of sex or romance.  And then the 5th and 6th lines each refer to a story of illicit love. The image in the last line is probably of an incense stick that does not diminish in length as the incense burns away.  

Phoenix tails, folds of fragrant silk.

Green canopy, a late night tryst.

Her fan hides the moon, but not her shame.

A carriage thunders off, closed to words.

Silence and emptiness, gold embers, dark ashes.

Nothing left but the red pomegranate wine.

A piebald horse still tied to a hanging willow.

And from where in the southwest may a sweet breeze blow?

Meeting is hard and parting is harder.
The east wind slackens and flowers wither.
The spring silk worm spins silk till it dies.
The wax candle sheds tears till it'd ash.
Morning mirror, fretting over disordered hair.
Midnight chanting, not feeling the cold.
Penglai, the faerie mountain, is somewhere near.
Bluebird, would you spy it out for me?

Alt:  The spring silk worm spins till it dies.
       The wax candle weeps till it's ash.
   
        Penglai, her faerie mountain, can't be far.

      

Miss No Worries' rooms, hung with heavy curtains.
Lying in her bed through the long, quiet night.
Sleeping with the Goddess, that's just a dream.
Courting the little maiden, that's not me either.
Wind and waves flatten the water chestnut stems.
Moon and dew sweeten scentless cassia leaves.
Love, be it little but lovesickness,
I'm mad for its fevered clarity.




Under last night's stars, among last night's winds,
west painted chamber, East Cassia Hall.
Bodies have no brightly flashing phoenix wings to fly together.
Hearts have a magic tie like the single line down a rhino horn.
At the table, playing pass the hook, drinking warm spring wine.
Split into teams, guessing which hand, all red in candlelight.
And then came the summons to duty of rolling drums.
My horse and I, chaff blowing toward the Orchid Terrace.


In my reading, lines one and two and five through eight carry the narrative of a gathering of friends drinking and playing party games the previous night and then of Li's being called away to his government duties in the Orchid Terrace where his office was located.  His lover was presumably in the group of friends he had to leave.  It is common in lushi, eight-line regulated verse, for one or both of the middle two couplets to say something philosophical or symbolic rather than give details of the specific scene or event that the poem is about.  That is the function here of the second couplet, lines three and four. According to L.C. Wang, there is supposedly an unbroken line from tip to base on a rhinoceras horn that symbolizes an unbreakable bond between distant lovers.




In the heading for this post I have "untitled" in quotes because the poems actually do have titles.  Each is titled "No Title."

    

      

BAI JUYI

Saying Goodbye on the Plain of Ancient Ruins

Grasses growing lush on the plain

year after year wither and flourish.

No wildfire can consume them all.

In winds of spring they grow again.

Their bright green reaches the far ruined wall.

Their fragrance flows over the ancient road.

Once again we say goodbye here,

a place lush with feelings of parting.

     

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.




READING LAOZI


Those who speak, don't know.  Those who know, don't speak.
I heard this line from that old gentleman.
So if the old fellow did know the Dao,
what did he think of his five thousand words?
     --Bai Juyi, my tr.

读老子

言者不如知者默
此语吾闻于老君
若道老君是知者
缘何自著五千文

dú lǎo zi

yán zhě bù zhī zhī zhě mò
cǐ yǔ wú wén yú lǎo jūn
ruò dào lǎo jūn shì zhī zhě
yuán hé zì ruò wǔ qiān wén

LIU SHENXU


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.




CHANG JIAN

A BUDDHIST RETREAT BEHIND BROKEN MOUNTAIN TEMPLE


Clear, quiet dawn enters the old temple.
Early sun brightens the forest heights.
Crooked path comes to a secluded space.
A monk's cottage deep in flowers and trees.
Light through the mountains plays over bird flight.
A deep pool mirrors both sky and heart.
Ten thousand sounds of nature are suffused
with the one tone of the temple bell.
     --Chang Jian

Alt:  Ten thousand sounds of nature are resolved
         in the one tone of the temple bell.




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 pines, their dried-up branches
hold up ropey hanging vines.
Must we depend on things like this?
Living and dead--can they know each other?
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.




LIN BU

In the Hills, a Plum Tree Flowers in a Small Garden

Blossoms all have shaken down, and alone

it casts a warm beauty over the garden,

whose slender shadows lie on shallow ponds.

A faint fragrance drifts under a dun moon.

Snowbirds, landing, look again, to see

what dusty butterflies would faint to know.

Lucky me, making friends with whispered verse—

who needs golden goblets or rhythm sticks?

CHANG FANGSHEN

    Sailing into South Lake

South Lake is the sum of three rivers.

Mount Lu is the master of all hills.

White sand cleans the river course.

Green pines color the crag heads.

When did the water begin to flow?

When did the mountain begin to be?

Human fate is ever changing.

These forms are alone enduring.

In all the near and far of the cosmos,

present becomes past; this order lasts.




ZHANG JI

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.




LI DUAN



PLAYING THE ZHENG FOR GENERAL ZHOU

While playing the zheng

with millet-gold posts,

her fair hands moving

over the jade frame,

hoping that Zhou Yu

will turn and look,

every so often

she plucks the wrong note.

--Li Duan