Upon The Military Recovery Of Henan And Hebei
News comes to Jianwai1 that Jibei has been recovered
and tears wet my garments when I hear the news.
I turn to look at my wife, all sorrows gone,
and roll up my writings carelessly in crazy joy.
I sing loudly in the sun and can't wait to indulge in wine,
With green Spring as companion it will be a pleasure to return home,
rafting through the Ba and Wu Gorges
then via Xiangyang coming to Luoyang at last!
Advent of Spring
The city has fallen: only the hills and rivers remain.
In Spring the streets were green with grass and trees.
Sorrowing over the times, the flowers are weeping.
The birds startled my heart in fear of departing.
The beacon fires were burning for three months,
A letter from home was worth ten thousand pieces of gold.
I scratch the scant hairs on my white head,
And vainly attempt to secure them with a hairpin.
Thoughts Of Li Po From The World's End
Here at the world's end the cold winds are beginning to blow. What messages
have you for me, my master? When will the poor wandering goose arrive? The
rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn's waters. Art detests a too successful
life; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws. You had better have
a word with the ghost of that other wronged poet. Drop some verses into the
Mi-lo as an offering to him!
View From A Height
Sharp wind, towering sky, apes howling mournfully;
untouched island, white sand, birds flying in circles.
Infinite forest, bleakly shedding leaf after leaf;
inexhaustible river, rolling on wave after wave.
Through a thousand miles of melancholy autumn, I travel;
carrying a hundred years of sickness, I climb to this terrace.
Hardship and bitter regret have frosted my temples--
and what torments me most? Giving up wine!
From Autumn Thoughts, Poem 1
Jade frost bites the maple trees
and Wu Mountain and Wu Gorge breathe out dark fear
as river waves rise up to the sky
and dark wind-clouds touch ground by a frontier fortress.
The chrysanthemums have twice bloomed tears of other days,
When I moor my lonely boat my heart longs for my old garden.
The need for winter clothes hurries scissors and bamboo rulers.
White Emperor City looms over the rushed sound of clothes beaten at dusk.
The Temple Of Zhuge Liang
Zhu-ge's great name
hangs over the whole world;
the revered statesman's portrait
awes with its sublimity.
The empire carved into thirds
hindered his designs,
yet he soars through the ages,
a lone feather in the sky.
He is brother to such greats
as Yi Yin and Lu Shang;*
if he had established control,
Xiao and Cao would be forgotten.
But the cycle had passed; Han fortunes
could not be restored.
His military strategy a failure,
his hopes dashed, his body perished.
On A Prospect Of T'ai-shan
How is one to describe this king of mountains? Throught the whole of Ch'i and
Lu one never loses sight of its greenness. In it the Creator has concentrated
all that is numinous and beautiful. Its northern and southern slopes divide the
dawn from the dark. The layered clouds begin at the climber's heaving chest,
and homing birds fly suddenly within range of his straining eyes. One day I
must stand on top of its highest peak and at a single glance see all the other
mountains grown tiny beneath me.
Thoughts On An Ancient Site:Birthplace Of Wang Qiang
Through flocks of mountains, myriad valleys,
I arrive in Jingmen,
where Ming-fei was born and bred--
the village is still there.
Once she left the crimson terraces,
there was nothing but endless desert;
only her evergreen grave is left
to face the twilight.
Portraits have recorded
her spring-fresh face;
the tinkle of girdle pendants heralds
her soul's vain return by moonlight.
For a thousand years the pipa
has wailed in its alien tongue,
as if its strings bemoan in song
her tragic tale of grief.
Passing The Night At Headquarters
Clear autumn at headquarters,
wu-tung trees cold beside the well;
I spend the night alone in the river city,
using up all of the candles.
Sad bugle notes sound through the long night
as I talk to myself;
glorious moon hanging in mid-sky
but who looks?
The endless dust-storm of troubles
cuts off news and letters;
the frontier passes are perilous,
travel nearly impossible.
I have already suffered ten years,
ten years of turmoil and hardship;
now I am forced to accept a perch
on this one peaceful branch.
Spring Night In The Imperial Chancellery
Evening falls on palace walls shaded by flowering trees, with cry of birds
flying past on their way to roost. The stars quiver as they look down on the
myriad doors of the palace, and the moon's light increases as she moves into
the ninefold sky. Unable to sleep, I seem to hear the sound of the bronze-clad
doors opening for the audience, or imagine the sound of bridle-bells bourne
upon the wind. Having a sealed memorial to submit at tomorrow's levee, I make
frequent inquiries about the progress of the night.