Deer Woods

Wang Wei (692-761)
 
 
Deserted woods — and no one here to see,
Yet still out there I hear the words of spite;
Returning deep within the woods, a scene:
A patch of green shade moss reflects the light.
 
 

Chinese   鹿柴 王維   空山不見人 但聞人語響 返景入深林 復照青苔上

Pronunciation   Lù Chái Wáng Wéi   Kōng shān bù jiàn rén

Watching the Plum Blossoms

Lu You (1125-1209)
 
 
The plum trees bloom above the gold grass hill —
Though old, a man cannot enjoy their fluff?
Light mist, the moon, the far-off cattle still —
There’s life and death; don’t fret the common stuff.
 
 

Chinese   看梅絕句 陸游   梅花樹下黃茆丘 古人尚能愛花不 月淡煙深聽牧笛

Wandering to a New Town

Li Shunxian (~ 910)
 
 
Life’s carriage takes me quick to heaven’s light,
But here I pause to part this world of dust;
Alone, afraid, pursuing dreams of flight,
Yet here I’m old with dread, and leave I must.
 
 

Chinese   隨駕遊青城 李舜弦   因隨八馬上仙山 頓隔塵埃物象閑 隻恐西追王母宴 卻憂難得到人間

Pronunciation

A tree top twig
   Beneath the empty sky
I look among
   The world’s connected strings
From a lofty view
   That's twenty stories high
It’s here I see
   The flutters filled with wings
 
This morning’s hush
   As Hudson’s sparkle comes
Around it flows
   With autumn’s remnant leaves
The pigeon sky
   Above the man with crumbs
As they flock around
   And eat his cake like thieves
 
His hands still move
   But nothing now is heard

Leaf and flower
   Have fallen in the wind
A petal gone
   The ocean never ends
The sea mist comes
   An unexpected guest
As even now
   The gray moon lingers west
What little air
   Has blown with pure scent
My father gone
   The door from which he went
As dust is dry
   It finds its life frontier
But loses track
   A line of song unclear
I stop to stare
   The dead moon’s life reflection
But quiet now
   I walk without direction

For Boris and Miona
 
They find a garden lush with plum-air scents
As spring sun filters through the dew-dust leaves
And subtle sighs arise while fruit ferments,
For Eden enters Earth when minds conceive.
 
Within the garden deep an oak tree grows,
Preserving plum and fruit from sudden squalls
With roots that sink in soil where winds oppose,
To keep the flowers fresh as flurries fall.
 
Emerging from primordial chaos fair,
This Earth now holds the veins where plum wine flows:
Though autumn atrophies and winter wears

Meng Haoran
 
This anchored boat’s astir in fog and breeze,
As sunset rends my fears up once again,
But as the sky descends beneath the trees,
The river, moon, and quiet become my friends.

 
 

The moon has shadowed me, like stillborn air
Along a country road, adrift in threads,
Behind a worn out wheel, the pedals bare,
As time leaves nothing here but cast off dead.
 
I share these words with clouds in wind-washed treads,
Where rock-strewn shores in riddled dreams belie
And time has spun in tight a spider’s web
Of figures etched in deep the dusk-drawn sky.
 
With this in mind I set aside my clothes,
Now freshly pressed for travels lost, to where
The door is shut and all my business goes—
Who knows? —To sit in someone else's care.