Chinese Poems (Meng Hao-jan, Wang Wei and Chia Tao)

Meng Hao-jan's poems, translated by David Hinton

On Reaching Han River

This land, not yet home - it's incredible.
Mountains crowd bamboo greens close,

level fields rare out beyond city walls,
ridges snaking up into distant clouds.

Ten thousand canyons reaching the Han,
a thousand peaks etched into azure sky,

gibbons cry confusions of Ch'u gorges
and a familiar drawl slurs people's talk.

Thickets of pepper trees crown rocks
and beehives nag stitched into vines

amid lingering snow in frosty spring.
Dawn's thinned away mist across this

landscape that's worn my horse ragged,
and a sail loves open expanses. Soaring

away downstream, I delight. In two days
I'll gaze into mulberry groves of home.

Roaming up to Master Jung's Hermitage
at Lumen-Empty Monastery

On paths where dragons and stars wander,
halfway up to peaks, I cross a rocky pass,

blur into blue cliffs, perpetual confusion,
adore idleness everywhere in green vines.

Then it's ease in blossoming forests, lofty
talk facing bamboo islands. Far from dust,

silent, empty: this Hen's - Foot Mountain
opening that first adept to enlightenment.

Encountering Snow on the Road
to Ch'ang-an

Far into distances on this Ch'ang - an road,
year - end skies spread away all ashen haze.

drifting snow filling rivers and mountains
new moon to old, dark blur beyond blur.

Arriving geese can't tell rock from water.
Crows cry hunger across abandoned fields.

I'm empty here, a grief-stricken traveler
gazing: no sign of cook -  smoke anywhere.

Poem by Wang Wei, translated by David Hinton

Facing Snow in Late Winter, I Think of
Recluse Hu's House

Ending a cold watch, drums announce dawn.
A clear mirror gazes into my haggard face.

Wind startles bamboo outside the window,
and outside the gate, snow fills mountains,

its empty scatter in a deep lane all silence,
its white drifting my courtyard all idleness.

I'm wondering about the old sage master:
are you content there, gates buried in snow?

Poems by Chia Tao, translated by Mike O'Connor

Winter Moon, Rain in Ch'ang-an,
Watching the Chung-Nan Mountains
in Snow

The Autumn Festival's
already passed;
in light rain,
snowy peaks emerge.

West Summit
briefly brightens;
the rain, a mere drizzle,
still falls.

The invading cold air
freezes waterfalls,
ices the inside
of white- cloud caves.

This morning,
wild geese of the Pa and Ch'an Rivers -
when will they reach
Hsiao and Hsiang river moonlight?

I think of those hermits
in stone houses,
doors open,
facing the snow.

Winter Night

Again winter catches out
a traveler far from home -
the cook's pot's empty
and the ladle, too.

Tears streak
a cold pillow;
human tracks
end in old mountains.

Ice forms
on the duckweed stream;
snow flies
in a bare willow wind.

Chickens still haven't announced
the first light of day
when I hear the cries
of two or three wild swans.

Chinese Poem

Auspicious Arrival of Yung T'ao

This morning
laughing together-
just a few days
in a hundred.

After birds pass
over Sword Gate, it's calm;
invaders from the south
have withdrawn to the Lu River wilds.

We walk on frosted ground
praising chrysanthemums bordering fields;
sit on the east edge of the woods
waiting for the moon to rise.

Not having to be alone
is happiness;
we do not talk
of failure or success.

By Chia Tao, Translated by Mike O'Connor.

Chinese Poem and Richard Brautigan.

Seeking but not Finding the Recluse
Under pines
I ask the boy:

he says "My master's gone
to gather herbs.

I only know
he's on this mountain,

But the clouds are too deep
to know where."
By Chia Tao, translated by Mike O'Connor.

Excerpt from "In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan"
Moths fluttered above the light that came out of the river from the tombs below. There were five or six moths fluttering over each tomb.
              Suddenly a big trout jumped out of the water above a tomb and got one of the moths. The other moths scattered and then came back again, and the same trout jumped again and got another moth. He was a smart old trout.
              The trout did not jump any more and the moths fluttered peacefully above the light coming from the tombs.

From the chapter "Vegetables".

Chinese Poetry

Returning Home to Deer-Gate Mountain At Night
As Day Fades into dusk, the bell at a mountain temple sounds.
Fish-Bridge Island is loud with people clamoring at the ferry,

and others follow sandy shores toward their river village.
But returning home to Deer-Gate, I paddle my own little boat,

Deer-Gate's incandescent moonlight opening misty forests,
until suddenly I've entered old Master P'ang's isolate realm.

Cliff the gate, pines the path - it's forever still and silent,
just this one recluse, this mystery coming and going of itself.
Meng Hao-Jan (Ran): The Mountain Poems of Meng Hao-Jan, poem translated by David Hinton.

Mourning Yin Yao
Returning you to Stone-Tower Mountain, we bid farewell
among ash-green pine and cypress, then return home.

Of your bones now buried white cloud, this much remains
forever: streams cascading empty towards human realms.
Wang Wei: The Selected Poems of Wang Wei, poem translated by David Hinton.

Reading Ch'an Sutras
In all difference appearance reveals, there's no difference,
and even dwelling beyond any trace of residue is itself residue.

Forget words in the midst of words, and you will see through it all.
Root out dream in the midst of dream, and you double abscence.

But how can you harvest fruit from the blossoms of emptiness,
and how can you catch a meal of fish in some lakewater mirage?

To still relentless change is Ch'an, and Ch'an is change itself.
No Ch'an and no change - there lies what seems in what seems.
Po Chu-I: The Selected Poems of Po Chu-I, poem translated by David Hinton.

At the Hua – Shan hermitage of adept Ma Tai
Jade Woman,
"washing her hair in a basin,"
is solitary, high,
indescribable.

Waterfalls spill
from Lotus Peak's summit;
the Yellow River
sweeps past the base of Mount Hua.

Here, small birds break off;
the woods conceal tigers;
gibbons liver
where no people do.

After rain;
the autumn moon;
on rock;
old pines and a gate.
Chia Tao: When I Find You Again It Will Be In Mountains, poem translated by Mike O’Connor.

Written on the Wall at Master Wei Feng’s
The grassy path
Leads to deep cloister.
Arriving in Autumn
Eases my heart
Even more.

In town
No one I've known long.
Outside the gate, another mountain.
Exploring the silence gives poetic
Thought birth. Fasting
Confers a sick look.

On freezing nights
You arrange to meet me often:
Silent talk beyond
Human Space.
Pao Hsien: And the Clouds Should Know Me By Now, poem translated by Paul Hansen.