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Thursday, September 13, 2012

CHINESE POEMS BY VARIOUS AUTHORS: My Transations to English


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, a circle 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










A River Village Moment

Done fishing.  Back home, 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






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.
     --Bai Juyi








A QUESTION FOR LIU SHIJIU


Green bubbles in the new wine.
Red embers in a small stove.
Evening, and it looks like snow.
Could you drink a cup, perhaps?
     --Bai Juyi



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?
--Liu Bu



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's 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.
     --Li Shangyin



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.
    --Chang Fangsheng



    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,
more distant than 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.
--Li Shangyin




To the Festival Plateau

Feeling oppressed toward evening,
I drive up to this ancient site.
The sun blazes a moment more
before the yellow dusk follows.
     --Li Shangyin


1 朱雀橋邊野草花
2 烏衣巷口夕陽斜
3 舊時王謝堂前燕
4 飛入尋常百姓家






    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.
--Anon., 300-600 C.E.



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



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



    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
    --Anon.



    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



She, who was in her rooms without sorrow,
turned out for spring, ascends the jade tower,
and, struck by a willow green in the field,
sighs for sending him off to seek titles.
--Wang Chiangling





Grasses grow rank around Red Bird Bridge.
Sun sets in the street of mansions.
Swallows from peeling painted eaves
swoop across the doorways of common folk.
--Liu Yuxi


1 朱雀橋邊野草花
2 烏衣巷口夕陽斜
3 舊時王謝堂前燕
4 飛入尋常百姓家




On the Qinhuai River

With moonlight on sand and mist on cold water,
I tie up by a tavern on the river.
I hear a girl sing, with nothing of his grief,
the captive king's "Blossom of the Inner Court."
--Du Mu














DRINKING ALONE


Wind blows snow straight across the window.
Curl around the stove, open the wine,
and, as a fishing boat in the rain,
Sail asleep down the autumn river. 
      --Du Mu












Number 14 of the 19 Music Bureau Poems

Gone and daily receding,
coming and daily more near.
Looking straight out the city gate:
mounds and hills, mounds and hills.
Ancient graves are plowed into fields.
Pine and cypress destroyed for kindling.
Winds of sorrow out of white poplars.
The swishing sound of the axe men.
Dwelling on returning home--
no track, no trace of a road.
No way there from this longing.




Life is without root or stem,
drifting like dust over sand,
then blown away by the wind.
This already wispy thing.
  --Tao Yuanming (Tao Qian)





Thursday, August 30, 2012

http://www.tampabay.com/blogs/the-buzz-florida-politics/content/mayor-asks-gov-rick-scott-ban-concea

Memo to Rick Scott:  The Constitution says "keep and bear arms," not "guns."  So why stop the city of Tampa from banning guns in the vicinity of the RNC convention, when you're letting them get away with cleansing the area of other types of arms, such as knives, clubs, Mace, a poleaxe or a dragoon's sword? 

THE LANGUAGE WAR RAGES ON


In the car, I often make myself listen to Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck.  Today, I  had to switch to my Cecilia Bartoli CD every few minutes for a mental cleanse, but anyway...A couple days ago, I was listening to Rush read directly from the opening paragraph from an LA Times article abt CNN.  One little thing didn't sound right, so I looked up the text:


With the Republican and Democratic national conventions approaching, the news network is in a quandary about the direction it needs to take to regain its declining viewership, which some say might involve dropping its refusal to 'take sides' in the political debate.


When he got to Democratic national conventions he "read" Democrat national conventions.   He always says Democrat Party himself--which I find to be both a linguistic and a political affront.  Now he can't even stop himself from making an innocent newspaper sound as insulting as he is.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Saturday, August 4, 2012

FOG


In the dim morning,
a gray lake beyond the trees.
Our road curves away

from afternoon,  where one boat
may sail on bright blue water.