A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems - LightNovelsOnl.com
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AFTER LUNCH
After lunch--one short nap: On waking up--two cups of tea.
Raising my head, I see the sun's light Once again slanting to the south-west.
Those who are happy regret the shortness of the day; Those who are sad tire of the year's sloth.
But those whose hearts are devoid of joy or sadness Just go on living, regardless of "short" or "long."
ALARM AT FIRST ENTERING THE YANG-TZE GORGES
Written in 818, when he was being towed up the rapids to Chung-chou.
Above, a mountain ten thousand feet high: Below, a river a thousand fathoms deep.
A strip of green, walled by cliffs of stone: Wide enough for the pa.s.sage of a single reed.[82]
At Chu-t'ang a straight cleft yawns: At Yen-yu islands block the stream.
Long before night the walls are black with dusk; Without wind white waves rise.
The big rocks are like a flat sword: The little rocks resemble ivory tusks.
[82] See Odes, v, 7.
We are stuck fast and cannot move a step.
How much the less, three hundred miles?[83]
Frail and slender, the twisted-bamboo rope: Weak, the dangerous hold of the towers' feet.
A single slip--the whole convoy lost: And _my_ life hangs on _this_ thread!
I have heard a saying "He that has an upright heart Shall walk scathless through the lands of Man and Mo."[84]
How can I believe that since the world began In every s.h.i.+pwreck none have drowned but rogues?
And how can I, born in evil days[85]
And fresh from failure,[86] ask a kindness of Fate?
Often I fear that these un-talented limbs Will be laid at last in an un-named grave!
[83] The distance to Chung-chou.
[84] Dangerous savages.
[85] Of civil war.
[86] Alluding to his renewed banishment.
ON BEING REMOVED FROM HSuN-YANG AND SENT TO CHUNG-CHOU
A remote place in the mountains of Pa (Ssech'uan)
Before this, when I was stationed at Hsun-yang, Already I regretted the fewness of friends and guests.
Suddenly, suddenly,--bearing a stricken heart I left the gates, with nothing to comfort me.
Henceforward,--relegated to deep seclusion In a bottomless gorge, flanked by precipitous mountains, Five months on end the pa.s.sage of boats is stopped By the piled billows that toss and leap like colts.
The inhabitants of Pa resemble wild apes; Fierce and l.u.s.ty, they fill the mountains and prairies.
Among such as these I cannot hope for friends And am pleased with anyone who is even remotely human!
PLANTING FLOWERS ON THE EASTERN EMBANKMENT
Written when Governor of Chung-Chou
I took money and bought flowering trees And planted them out on the bank to the east of the Keep.
I simply bought whatever had most blooms, Not caring whether peach, apricot, or plum.
A hundred fruits, all mixed up together; A thousand branches, flowering in due rotation.
Each has its season coming early or late; But to all alike the fertile soil is kind.
The red flowers hang like a heavy mist; The white flowers gleam like a fall of snow.
The wandering bees cannot bear to leave them; The sweet birds also come there to roost.
In front there flows an ever-running stream; Beneath there is built a little flat terrace.
Sometimes I sweep the flagstones of the terrace; Sometimes, in the wind, I raise my cup and drink.
The flower-branches screen my head from the sun; The flower-buds fall down into my lap.
Alone drinking, alone singing my songs I do not notice that the moon is level with the steps.
The people of Pa do not care for flowers; All the spring no one has come to look.
But their Governor General, alone with his cup of wine Sits till evening and will not move from the place!
CHILDREN
Written _circa_ 820
My niece, who is six years old, is called "Miss Tortoise"; My daughter of three,--little "Summer Dress."
One is beginning to learn to joke and talk; The other can already recite poems and songs.
At morning they play clinging about my feet; At night they sleep pillowed against my dress.
Why, children, did you reach the world so late, Coming to me just when my years are spent?
Young things draw our feelings to them; Old people easily give their hearts.
The sweetest vintage at last turns sour; The full moon in the end begins to wane.
And so with men the bonds of love and affection Soon may change to a load of sorrow and care.
But all the world is bound by love's ties; Why did I think that I alone should escape?
PRUNING TREES
Trees growing--right in front of my window; The trees are high and the leaves grow thick.
Sad alas! the distant mountain view Obscured by this, dimly shows between.
One morning I took knife and axe; With my own hand I lopped the branches off.
Ten thousand leaves fall about my head; A thousand hills came before my eyes.
Suddenly, as when clouds or mists break And straight through, the blue sky appears; Again, like the face of a friend one has loved Seen at last after an age of parting.
First there came a gentle wind blowing; One by one the birds flew back to the tree.
To ease my mind I gazed to the South East; As my eyes wandered, my thoughts went far away.
Of men there is none that has not some preference; Of things there is none but mixes good with ill.
It was not that I did not love the tender branches; But better still,--to see the green hills!
BEING VISITED BY A FRIEND DURING ILLNESS
