Full Moon
Above the tower -- a lone, twice-sized moon.
On the cold river passing night-filled homes,
It scatters restless gold across the waves.
On mats, it shines richer than silken gauze.
Empty peaks, silence: among sparse stars,
Not yet flawed, it drifts. Pine and cinnamon
Spreading in my old garden . . . All light,
All ten thousand miles at once in its light!
Thinking Of My Brothers On A Moonlit Night
Drums on the watch-tower have emptied the roads -
At the frontier it's autumn; a wild-goose cries.
This is a night in which dew becomes frost;
The moon is bright like it used to be at home.
I have brothers, but they're scattered;
My home's broken up; are they dead or alive?
If letters are sent, they never arrive;
This war that separates us seems unending.
A Second Farewell To Governor Yen Wu At The FengJi Post Station
We have come far together, but here we must part;
the green hills vainly echo my feelings.
When will we again take wine cups in hand
to stroll as we did beneath last night's moon?
Every district sings sad songs at your leaving;
three reigns now you have served with distinction.
Now I must go back to my river village alone,
and alone live out the rest of my days.
A Short Poem Written At The Moment When A Rising River Looked Like A Rolling Ocean
I was stubborn by nature and addicted to perfect lines,
fought to the death to find words that startle.
Now in old age my poems flow out freely, the way
flowers and birds forget deep sorrow in spring.
A new water pavilion has been built for fishing with a rod.
I choose to use a bamboo raft instead of a boat.
If only my thoughts were guided by poets Tao and Xie,1
we'd travel and together write poems.
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.