Chinese Poetry

Lingering Out Farewell with Wang Wei

Those isolate depths of quiet: why do I wait
morning after morning, unable to return?

I'm happy to go search out fragrant herbs,
but I'll long for you, I should know by now

it's enough nurturing isolate depths of quiet
back home again, my old garden gate closed.

Adrift at Wu-ling

Wu-ling's river thinned out, my long-ago
boat glides on into peach-blossom forests

where headwaters harboured such quiet
mystery: immortal families so deep away.

Water meanders, blurs into blue cliffs,
darkens green beneath a crossing cloud.

I sit listening. Idle gibbons cry out, mind
sudden clarity far beyond a world of dust.

All by Meng Hao Jan

Deer Park

No one seen. Among empty mountains,
hints of drifting voice, faint, no more.

Embracing these deep woods, late sunlight
flares on green moss again, and rises.

By Wang Wei. 

82

in the nearby mountains, a green mountain haze
on the distant sea, white sea clouds
the chatter of birds is soundless
the roar of gibbons-absolutely silent

166

autumn mountains: brocades of light
the clouds: endless beauty
I lean on my staff, contemplate crimson leaves
silent: as the birds streaming above me

By Shih-Shu

7/7 in a Strange Village and After Shih-Te

7/7 in a Strange Village

7/7 in a strange village, at a transit inn,
the grief of distant wandering sharpens.

No girls busy threading festive needles,
thoughts of my homeworld towers empty,

tangled winds thin summer heat away.
A new moon rises. It climbs into autumn.

Who can bear those Star River distances?
I gaze deep, deep and far, Dipper and Ox.

By Meng Hao-jan

After Shih-Te

my ragged cloak is streaked with mountain shadows
my torn-out sandals scrape bare prints through the moss
home again, I wash my legs, bury my head in my hands...
am I warm? am I cold? I no longer know

By Shih-Shu