HEIAN POET ONO NO KOMACHI: MY TRANSLATIONS TO ENGLISH

Falling, the long rain,

the color from the flower,

the eye through the world.

I'm as happy with this translation of Komachi as a poem in English as I am with any of mine.  I wrote it after reading two or three other translations.  One of them--Rexroth's?--had something about the watching eye falling through the world.  As I read more translations and commentaries, there was nothing else much like it.  So thought perhaps my version drew on a rather dubious source.  However, I've just found that the Japanese word nagame, here translated as "long rain," can also mean "to watch."  So--dubious no more, and I'm happy again. 

Should the stream whisper come,

like a severed reed,

I would float away,

adrift as my heart.

Moonlight pouring through the trees

fills me up with autumn.

TANG POET LI BAI: MY TRANSLATIONS TO ENGLISH

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.

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.

送友人

青山橫北郭， 白水遶東城。

此地一為別， 孤蓬萬里征。

浮雲游子意， 落日故人情。

揮手自茲去， 蕭蕭班馬鳴。

As flowers bloom and leaves unfold,

my friend sets out, west for Guanling.

His solitary sail recedes,

vanishing where river meets sky.

                        

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.

High Summer

Lazing in the mountain wood,

waving a white feather fan,

I get up, open my clothes,

hang my headband on a rock.

Green pine wind plays through my hair.

Wine with the Mountain Hermit

We drink amid the mountain flowers.

A cup, one more, and then another.

I'm in a stupor, you stagger off.

Come back with your lute, when you can.

Alone in My Cups

Drinking wine, unaware

of nightfall. Fallen flowers

fill the folds of my clothes.

Getting up and walking

to the moonlit river,

where no birds and few men

remain.

SPRING NIGHT:  A FLUTE IN LOYANG

From which house, fleeting, invisible notes

mingling with the wind and fillng 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.

CLASSICAL CHINESE POEMS: MY VERSIONS IN ENGLISH

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

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?

--Lin 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 Shanglin

Alt:  The spring silkworm spins till it dies.
        The wax candle weeps till it's ash.

    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.

    --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.

--Li Shangyin

    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

	疑 誤 有 新 知	天 涯 占 夢 數	南 陵 寓 使 遲	北 斗 兼 春 遠	倚 立 自 移 時	永 懷 當 此 節	蟬 休 露 滿 枝	客 去 波 平 檻	涼 思

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

    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 Chiang-ling

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

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

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

終南望餘雪

祖詠

終(Zhong/End)南(Nan/South)陰(Shade/Lunar)嶺(Peak)秀(fine/beautiful)，

積(Store up/Accumulate)雪(Snow)浮(float)雲(Cloud)端(end/top)。

林(Forest)表(show/reveal)明(Bright)霽(sky blue/clearing)色(Color)，

城(City)中(Inside)增(increase)暮(Sunset)寒(Cold)。

陰嶺: Combination of character means North of a Hill

林表 Combination of character means tips of tree

      --word-for-word tr. Laijan Liu

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 

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.

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.