Time was, long before I met her,
but longer still, since we parted,
The east wind is powerless, for it has come
and a hundred flowers are gone,
And the silk-worms of spring will spin until they die
And every night candles will weep their wicks away.
In the morning mirror she sees her temple hair
changing the color of clouds
Chanting poems in the chill of moonlight.
Oh, it is not so very far to Penglai
O blue-birds listen, bring me what she says.
On his way to leave the world, a man
Comes to rest
Beneath the trees
But he finds no shade
For every Autumn leaf has fallen.
We present this work in honor of the Ching Ming Festival.
The River holds Wuchang in the crook of its arm.
At Parrot Island—look!—the doors of ten thousand homes.
Spring sleep in a pleasure barge isn’t done by morning.
I dream that I’m a butterfly seeking flowers too.
Misty flowers drift now into Cormorant Harbour,
though the painted barge still skirts Parrot Island.
Drunk we sleep, awake we sing, quite aware of nothing,
till morning surprises us at the Han River’s mouth.
We present this work in honor of Chinese New Year.
Chinese
772 – 846
For fifteen long years,
Times without number
I have come
To see the red almond-blossoms
Open in the spring.
Now I am growing old—
I am all of seventy-three,
And it is hard for my old legs
To come thus far.
I fear that this time
Is the last,
And I have come
To bid the red blossoms of the almond
A long farewell.
We present this work in honor of the Chung Yeung Festival.
Chinese
c. 9th Century
Where’s the trail to Cold Mountain?
Cold Mountain? There’s no clear way.
Ice, in summer, is still frozen.
Bright sun shines through thick fog.
You won’t get there following me.
Your heart and mine are not the same.
If your heart was like mine,
You’d have made it, and be there!
Japanese
c. 825 – c. 900
The colour of this flower
Has already faded away,
While in idle thoughts
My life goes by,
As I watch the long rains fall.
We present this work in honor of Chinese New Year.
Chinese
844 – 869
Facing the wind, she raises a sigh as the petals fall and fall;
fragrant thoughts all sink and vanish with yet another spring.
No one asks about them, because their price is high,
though even butterflies can’t come close to a fragrance that’s so strong.
Red petals that should only have grown in a palace,
jade-green leaves tainted by the dust of the road
if only they were moved into the imperial gardens,
young nobles would regret having no means to buy!
In honor of Showa Day, we present this work by one of Japan’s greatest classical poets.
Japanese
c. 825 – c. 900
Was I lost in thoughts of love
When I closed my eyes? He
Appeared, and
Had I known it for a dream
I would not have awakened.
Arab Andalusian
860 – 940
O, whom he misgives into singing bird is wrong
I didn’t think anyone carry this stingy feature for long
If all peoples’ ears would listen to its sound
Its sound will be not lessened or multiplied
If not I took care form thy meteor would burn me
I should eavesdrop to distant place probably
If Zaryab the musical was alive then he heard me
He would be dissolved at jealousy and died sadly
Don’t be grudger upon my hearing tiring to copy
It is a sound can play instead of soul in the body
Yet wine I don’t drink it now and formerly
I don’t come to thee unless I am satisfied totally
In honor of the Ching Ming Festival, we present this work by one of the great poets of ancient China.
Chinese
798 – ?
Risen high — the moon of fall
Glows north on a Liaoyang barricade
The border is far — the moon gleams farther
Ice-bows flash as winds invade
Soldiers gaze back — home beats at the heart
And war-steeds balk at the beat of a drum
The north wind grieves in the frontier grass
And barbarous sands hide hordes to come
Frost freezes the swordblade into the sheath
Wind wears their banner to bits on the plain
Oh someday— someday —to bow near the palace
And never hear camp-gongs clang again
Poets Corner 