Wang, Changling
(690 ca.-756 ca.) : Dichter
Subjects
Index of Names : China
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Literature : China
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Periods : China : Tang (618-906)
Chronology Entries (3)
| # | Year | Text | Linked Data |
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| 1 | 1915 |
Klabund. Dumpfe Trommeln und berauschtes Gong : Nachdichtungen chinesischer Kriegslyrik [ID D11994]. Quellen : Hervey de Saint-Denys, Léon. Poésies de l'époque des Thang [ID D2216]. Gautier, Judith. Le livre de jade [ID D12659]. Harlez, Charles Joseph de. La poésie chinoise [ID D12693]. Pfizmaier, August. Das Li-sao und die neun Gesänge [ID D4776]. Strauss, Victor von. Schi-king [ID D4648]. Forke, Alfred. Blüthen chinesischer Dichtung [ID D664]. Grube, Wilhelm. Geschichte der chinesischen Literatur [ID D798]. Heilmann, Hans. Chinesische Lyrik [ID D11976]. Hauser, Otto. Li-tai-po [ID D4640] und Die chinesische Dichtung [ID D12694]. Folgende Dichter sind darin enthalten : Li Bo (12) und Du Fu (9), Shi jing (3), Qu Yuan (1), Konfuzius (1), Wang Changling (1) sowie drei Gedichte aus angeblich unbekannter Herkunft. Er schreibt an den Insel-Verlag : Es handelt sich bei den Nachdichtungen um Nachdichtungen in Reimen – eine Behandlunsweise, die für das Verständnis des Chinesischen in den Gedichten wesentlich erscheint : die chinesische Lyrik als Lyrik reimt sich immer. Im Nachwort beschreibt Klabund die Wesensmerkmale der chinesischen Sprache und Lyrik. Er schreibt : Die vorliegenden chinesischen Gedichte sind durchaus keine Übersetzungen. Sondern Nachdichtungen. Aus dem Geist heraus. Intuition. Wiederaufbau. (Manche Säulen des kleinen Tempels mussten versetzt oder umgestellt werden)… Die chinesische Kriegslyrik überrascht durch die Kraft ihrer Anschauung und die Unerbittlichkeit ihrer Resignation, die sie von der meist hymnisch oder episch gearteten Kriegsdichtung aller übrigen Völker scharf unterscheidet… In seinem Sohn allein erscheint der Mensch verewigt. In der Familie ist er unsterblich. Darum heisst Krieg für den Chinesen : fern von der Heimat sterben… unbestattet im Mondlicht verwesen… die Knochen nicht von frommer Kinder Hand gesammelt… kein Ahne sein… sterben… Dscheng, Fang-hsiung : Klabund geht einher mit seiner geänderten Einstellung zum Kriege : Klabund, zutiefst überzeugt von der chinesischen Abneigung gegen Krieg und Gewalt, distanziert sich von … seiner anfänglichen Kriegsbegeisterung und wandelt sich – noch zur Zeit der deutschen Kriegserfolge – zum Pazifisten. Seine chinesische Kriegslyrik beschäftigt sich daher… vor allem mit der Verurteilung der Gewalt oder der Klage einer Geliebten um den im Kriege weilenden Gatten. Kuei-fen Pan-hsu : Der exotische Kriegsschauplatz dient dazu, den Blick des Autors von Europa un der Gegenwart abzuwenden. Er führt ihn nicht zu einem endgültigen Gesinnungswandel. Dieser Gedichtband kann später nur als ein schwacher Vorwand dienen. Klabund verteidigt sich, dass er anfangs an den vorgetäuschten Idealismus der deutschen Regierung geblaubt, bald aber den Irrtum erkannt habe, als er im Frühling 1915 die chinesische Kriegslyrik, die Sprache der Menschlichkeit gedichtet hat. |
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| 2 | 1966 |
The Cassia tree : a collection of translations & adaptations from the Chinese. David Rafael Wang ; in collaboration with William Carlos Williams [ID D29171]. Note : These poems are not translations in the sense that Arthur Waley's versions are translations. They are rather re-creations in the American idiom – a principle to which William Carlos Williams dedicated his poetic career. (D.R.W.) Popular T'ang and Sung poems I Meng Hao-chuan (689-740) [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] In spring you sleep and never know when the morn comes, Everywhere you hear the songs of the birds, But at night the sound of the wind mingles with the rain's, And you wonder how many flowers have fallen. II Li Po (701-762) [Li Bo] Spotting the moonlight at my bedside, I wonder if it is frost on the ground. After raising my head to look at the bright moon, I lower it to think of my old country. III Liu, Chung-yuan, 773-819 [Liu Zhongyuan] The birds have flown away from the mountains, The sign of men has gone from the paths, But under a lone sail stoops an old fisherman, Angling in the down-pouring snow. IV Ho Chi-chong = Ho Chih-chang), 659-744 [He Zhizhang = Jizhen] [(Xiaoshan, Zhejiang 659-)] Returning after I left my home in childhood, I have kept my native accent but not the color of my hair. Facing the smiling children who shyly approach me, I am asked from where I come. V Meng Hao-chuan = Meng Hao-jan (689-740) [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] Steering my little boat towards a misty islet, I watch the sun descend while my sorrows grow : In the vast night the sky hangs lower than the treetops, But in the blue lake the moon is coming close. VI Wang Wei (699-759) Alighting from my horse to drink with you, I asked, 'Where are you going ? ' You said, 'Retreating to lie in the southern mountains' Silent, I watch the white clouds endless in the distance. VII Li Yu (The last king of the Southern T'ang dynasty, 937-978) Silently I ascend the western pavilion. The moon hangs like a hairpin. In the deep autumn garden The wu-t'ung stands alone. Involute, Entagled, The feeling of departure Clings like a wet leaf to my heart. The maid (Ancient folk poem) Drives sheep through ravine, With the white goat in front. The ole gal unmarried, Her sigh reaches heaven. Aihe ! Aihe ! Endless dream of the shepherd. 'Hold man's left arm, Turn and toss with him'. 'Stroke man's whiskers, watch changin' expression'. The shepherd unmindful Can she force him ? Cho Wen-chun (Han poetess, 2nd century B.C.) [Zhuo Wenjun, ca. 179-ca. 117 B.C.] Lament of a graying woman White as the snow on mountaintop, Bright as the moon piercing the clouds, Knowing that you have a divided heart, I come to you before you are gone. We have lived long together in this town. What need is there for a feast of wine ? But a feast we must have today, For tomorrow we'll be by the stream And I'll lag behind you at the fork, Watching the waters flow east or west. Tears and still more tears. Why should we lament ? If only there is a constant man Till white-hair shall we never part ! SOCIETY OF POETS I To Li Po Tu Fu 712-770 [Du Fu] The floating cloud follows the sun. The traveler has not yet returned. For three nights I dreamt of you, my friend, So clearly that I almost touched you. You left me in a hurry. Your passage is fraught with trouble : The wind blows fiercely over lakes and rivers. Be watchful lest you fall from your boat ! You scratched your white head when leaving the door, And I knew the journey was against your wishes. Silk-hatted gentlemen have swamped the capital, While you, the poet, are lean and haggard. If the net of heaven is not narrow, Why should you be banished when you are old ? Ten thousand ages will remember your warmth ; When you are gone the world is silent and cold. II To Meng Hao-jan Li Po [Li Bo] I love Meng-fu-tsu. His name is known throughout China. While rosy-cheeked he gave up his office ; Now with white hair he lies in the pine clouds. Drunk with the moon he is a hermit-saint ; Lost in flowers he will not serve any kings. Can I reach him who is like a high mountain ? I am contented if I only breathe in his fragrance. III To Wang Wei Meng Hao-chuan [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] Quietly, quietly, why have I been waiting ? Emptily, emptily, I return every day alone. I have been in search of fragrant grass And miss the friend who can accompany me. Who will let me roam his private park ? Understanding ones in the world are rare. I shall walk back home all by myself And fasten the latch on the gate of my garden. Meng Hao-chuan [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] After the party The guest, still drunk, sprawls in my bed How am I going to get him awake ? The chicken congee is boiling on the stove And the new wine is heated to start our day. Meng Hao-chuan [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] Late spring In April the lake water is clear Everywhere the birds are singing The ground just swept, the petals fall again The grass, though stepped on, remains green My drinking companions gather to compare fortunes Open the keg to get over the bout of drinking With cups held high in our hands We hear the voices of sing-song girls ringing. Wang Wei (699-759) Ce-Lia the immortal beauty The beauty of a maiden is coveted by the world. So how could a girl like Ce-Lia be slighted for long ? In the mourning she was just another lass in the village, But in the evening she has become the king's concubine. Was she different from the rest in her days of poverty ? Now that she is favored, all begin to realize her beauty is rare. She can command her maids to powder and perfume her face, And is no longer obliged to don her own clothing. The adoration of her Emperor has brought pride to her being, And the king's 'Yes' and 'No' vary in accordance with her caprice. The companions who washed at the brookside along with her Are not entitled any more to ride back home in the same carriage. Why should we bother to sympathize with these rustic girls, Since they'll never have Beauty to accompany them, Even if they should master the art of coquetry ? Wang Wei The peerless lady Look, there goes the young lady across the street She looks about fifteen, doesn't she ? Her husband is riding the piebald horse Her maids are scraping chopped fish from a gold plate. Her picture gallery and red pavilion stand face to face The willow and the peach trees shadow her eaves Look, she's coming thru the gauze curtains to get into her chaise : Her attendants have started winnowing the fans. Her husband got rich early in his life A more arrogant man you never find around ! She keeps busy by teaching her maids to dance She never regrets giving jewels away. There goes the light by her window screen The green smoke's rising like petals on wave The day is done and what does she do ? Her hair tied up, she watches the incense fade. None but the bigwigs visit her house Only the Chaos and the Lees get by her guards But do you realize this pretty girl Used to beat her clothes at the river's head ? There goes the light by her window screen The green smoke's rising like petals on wave The day is done and what does she do ? Her fair tied up, she watches the incense fade. None but the bigwigs visit her house Only the Chaos and the Lees get by her guards But do you realize this pretty girl Used to beat her clothes at the river's head ? Li Po [Li Bo] A letter My love, When you were here there was a hall of flowers. When you are gone there is an empty bed. Under the embroidered coverlet I toss and turn. After three years I smell you fragrance. Your fragrance never leaves, But you never return. I think of you, the yellow leaves are ended And the white dew dampens the green moss. Li Po [Li Bo] Spring song A young lass Plucks mulberry leaves by the river Her white hand Reaches among the green Her flushed cheeks Shine under the sun The hungry silkworms Are waiting Oh, young horseman Why do you tarry. Get going. Li Po [Li Bo] Summer song The Mirror Lake (Three hundred miles), Where lotus buds Burst into flowers. The slippery shore Is jammed with admirers, While the village beauty Picks the blossoms. Before the sails Breast the rising moon, She's shipped away To the king's harem. Li Po [Li Bo] In the wineshop of Chinling The wind scatters the fragrance of the willows over the shop The sing-song girls pour the rice wine heated for the guests My friends have gathered to say goodbye Drinking cup after cup, I wonder why I should start 'Say, can you tell me about the east-flowing river – Does it stretch as long as this feeling of departure ?' Li Po [Li Bo] Solo The pavilion pierces the green sky Below is the white jade chamber The bright moon is ready to set Casting its glance behind the screen window Solitary she stands Her thin silk skirt ruffled by autumn frost She fingers softly the séchin Composing the Mulberry Song. The sound reverberates And the wind circles the crossbeams Outside the pedestrians are turning away And the birds are gone to their nests. The weight of feeling Cannot be carried away by song and She longs for someone To soar with her like a mandarin drake. Li Po [Li Bo] The youth on horseback The youth from the capital rides by the east of the city. His white horse and silver saddle sail through the spring breeze. Having trampled all the flowers where else could he go ? Smiling, he enters the barroom of the white prostitute. Li Po [Li Bo] The Knight In March the dust of Tartary has swept over the capital. Inside the city wall the people sigh and complain. Under the bridge the water trickles with warm blood And bales of white bones lean against one another. I departed east for the Kingdom of Wu. Clouds block the four fortresses and the roads are long. Only the crows announce the rise of the sun. Someone opens the city gate to sweep away the flowers. Wu-t'ungs and willows hover above the well. Drunk, I come to the knight-errant's home. The knights-errant of Fu Feng are rare in this world : With arms around their friends they'll heave mountains. The posture of the generals means little to them And, drinking, they ignore the orders of the cabinet. With fancy food on carved plates they entertain their guests. With songs and dance their sing-song girls unwind a fragrant wind. The fabulous dukes of the six kingdoms Were known for their entertainment : In the dining hall of each three thousand were fed. But who knew which one would remember to repay ? They stroke their long swords, arching their eyebrows ; By the clear water and white rock they decline to separate. Doffing my hat I turn to you smiling. Drinking your wine I recite only for you. I have not yet met my master of strategy – The bridgeside hermit may read my heart. Li Po [Li Bo] Drinking together We drink in the mountain while the flowers bloom, A pitcher, a pitcher, and one more pitcher. As my head spins you get up. So be back any time with your guitar. Li Po [Li Bo] The march The bay horse is fitted with a white jade saddle. The moon shivers over the battlefield. The sound of iron drums still shakes the city walls And in the case the gold sword oozes blood. Li Po [Li Bo] Long Banister Lane When my hair was first trimmed across my forehead, I played in front of my door, picking flowers. You came riding a bamboo stilt for a horse, Circling around my yard, playing with green plums. Living as neighbors at Long Banister Lane, We had an affection for each other that none were suspicious of. At fourteen I became your wife, With lingering shyness, I never laughed. Lowering my head towards a dark wall, I never turned, though called a thousand times. At fifteen I began to show my happiness, I desired to have my dust mingled with yours. With a devotion ever unchanging. Why should I look out when I had you ? At sixteen you left home For a faraway land of steep pathways and eddies, Which in May were impossible to traverse, And where the monkey whined sorrowfully towards the sky. The footprints you made when you left the door Have been covered by green moss, New moss too deep to be swept away. The autumn wind came early and the leaves started falling. The butterflies, yellow with age in August, Fluttered in pairs towards the western garden. Looking at the scene, I felt a pang in my heart, And I sat lamenting my fading youth. Every day and night I wait for your return, Expecting to receive your letter in advance, So that I will some traveling to greet you As far as Windy Sand. Adaptation of Li Po [Li Bo] The visitor See that horseman from the distant land, Greeneyed and wearing a tigerskin hat, Smiling, he lifts two arrows from his case, And ten thousand people shy away. He bends his bow like a circling moon And from the clouds white geese spin down in pairs. Shaking his whip high in the air, He starts out hunting with his pack. Once out of his dooryard what does he care ? What matters if he dies pro patria ? Prouder he is than five filtans And has the wolf's love for seeking out a herd. He drives the cattle further north And with a tiger's appetite tastes the freshly killed. But he camps at the Swallow Mountain, Far from the arctic snow. From his horse a woman smiles at him, Her face a vermilion vessel of jade. As his flying darts haunt birds and beasts, Flowers and the moon land drunk in his saddle. The light of the alien star flashes and spreads While war gathers head like the swarming of wasps. From the edge of his white sword blood drips and drips. It covers the floating sand. Are there any more reckless generals left ? – The soldiers are too tired to complain. Tu Fu [Du Fu] Profile of a lady A pretty, pretty girl Lives in the empty mountain Came from a celebrated family Now alone with her fagots. In the civil war All her brothers were killed. Why talk of pedigree, When she couldn'd collect their bones ? World feeling rises against the decline, Then follows the rotating candle. Husband has a new interest : A beauty subtle as jade. The acacia knows its hour The mandarin duck never lies alone. Husband listens to the laughter of new girl Deaf to the tears of the old. Spring in the mountains is clear, Mud underfoot. She sends the maid to sell jewels Pick wisteria to mend the roof Wears no fresh flower Bears cypress boughs in her hands. Leans cold against the bamboo Her green sleeves flutter. Tu Fu [Du Fu] Visit The life we could seldom meet Separate as the stars. What a special occasion tonight That we gather und the candle-lamp ! How long can youth last ? Our hair is peppered with white. Half of our friends are ghosts It's so good to see you alive. How strange after twenty years To revisit your house ! When I left you were single Your children are grown up now. They treat me with great respect, Ask where I came from. Before I can answer You send your son for the wine. In the rain you cut scallions And start the oven to cook rice. 'It's hard to get together Let's finish up these ten goblets.' After ten goblets we are still sober The feeling of reunion is long. Tomorrow I have to cross the mountain Back to the mist of the world. Wang Ch'ang-ling (circa 727) [Wang Changling (698–756)] Chant of the frontiersman I The cicadas are singing in the mulberry forest : It is August at the fortress. We pass the frontiers to enter more frontiers. Everywhere the rushes are yellow. The sodbusters from the provinces Have disappeared with the dust they kicked up. Why should we bother to be knights-errant ? Let us discuss the merits of bayards. II I lead the horse to drink in the autumn river. The river is icy and the wind cuts like knives. In the desert the sun has not yet gone down ; In the shade I see my distant home. When the war first spread to the Great Wall, We were filled with patriotic fervor. The yellow sand has covered the past glories ; The bleached bones are scattered over the nettles. Wang Chen (circa 775) [Wang Zhen] The newlywed's cuisine The thir night after wedding I get near the stove. Rolling up my sleeves I make a fancy broth. Not knowing the taste Of my mother-in-law, I try it first upon her Youngest girl. Li Yu Bella donna Iu Spring flowers, autumn moon – when will you end ? How much of the past do you recall ? At the pavilion last night the cast wind sobbed. I can hardly turn my head homeward In this moonlight. The carved pillars and the jade steps are still here. But the color of your checks is gone. When asked : 'How much sorrow do you still have ?' 'Just like the flood of spring water Rushing eastward.' Li Ts'un-hsu (Emporor Chuang of the later T'ang Dynasty, 10th century. [Zhuang Zong] In dream's wake We dine in a glade concealed in peach petals. We dance like linnets and sing like phoenixes. Then we part. Like a dream, Like a dream, A mist envelops the pale moon and fallen blossoms. Kuo Mo-jo (1893-) [Guo Moruo] From Phoenix undying Ah ! Our floating and inconstant life Is like a delirious dream in a dark night. Before us is sleep, Behind us is sleep ; It comes like the fluttering wind, It comes like the trailing smoke ; Enters like wind, Departs like smoke. Behind us : sleep, Before us : sleep. In the midst of our sleep we appear Like the momentary wind and smoke. Mao Tse-tung (1893-) [Mao Zedong] Spring in the now-drenched garden The northern countryside of China Is bound by miles and miles of ice. Snow flies over the border, And outside of the Great Wall Waste land stretches as though endless. The great Hwang Ho rushes in torrents Up and down the skyline. The mountains thrash like silvery snakes, Their contours soar like waxen elephants Vying with the gods in height. On a fine day, The landscape unveils like a maiden Dressing up in her boudoir. Such enchanting mountains and rivers Have led countless heroes to rival in homage. Pity that the founders of Ch'in and Han Were unversed in the classics ; Pity that the great kings of T'ang and Sung Were deficient in poetry ; Pity that the magnificent, the pride of heaven, Genghis Khan Could only shoot with bows and arrows. All these were of the past ! For the greatest man yet – only My dynasty, my era will show. Ping Hsin (1902-) [Bing Xin] The old man and the child The old man to the child : 'Weep, Sigh, How dreary the world is !' The child, laughing : 'Excuse me, mister ! I can't imagine what I Haven't experiences.' The child to the old man : 'Smile, Jump, How interesting the world is !' The old man, sighing : 'Forgive me, Child ! I can't bear recalling what I have experienced.' Tsong Kuh-chia = Tsang Ko-chia (1910-) [Zang Kejia] Three generations The child Is bathing in the mud. The father Is seating in the mud. The grandfather Is buried in the mud. D.R.W. [David Rafael Wang] Cool cat For Gary Snyder The rain has soaked the cabin The wind has shaken the mast My mistress's red petticoat is wet And knitted are the eyebrows of my lovely wife I tie the boat to the nearest tree And observe the flowering billows The bamboo blinds are left sagging The broken teacups litter the deck On my way back I feel a sudden calmness : Autumn has invaded the summer I dry my sleeves in a Yoga posture And leave the girls to fret and chatter. |
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| 3 | 1993 |
Snyder, Gary. Sixteen T'ang poems : [translations]. [ID D29196]. Note dat. 14.1.93 In the early fifties I managed to get myself accepted into the Department of Oriental Languages at UC Berkeley as a graduate student. I took seminars in the reading of T'ang and Sung poems with Professor Ch'en Shih-hsiang, a remarkable scholar, calligrapher, poet, and critic who had a profound appreciation for good poetry and of any provenance. Ch'en Hsien-sheng introduced me to the Han-shan poems, and I published those translations back in the sixties. The poems translated here also got their start in those seminars, but I never considered them quite finished. From Berkeley I went to Japan and for the subsequent decade was working almost exclusively with Ch'an texts. Another twenty years went into developing a farmstead in the Sierra Nevada and working for the ecological movement. In the last few years I have had a chance to return to my readings in Chinese poetry and bring a few of the poems I started back then to completion. The little collection is dedicated to the memory of Ch'en Shih-hsiang. Two poems by Meng Hao-jan Meng, Hao-jan [Meng Haoran]. Spring dawn. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : The Peabody review ; winter (1989-1990). Spring sleep, not yet awake to dawn, I am full of birdsongs. Throughout the night the sounds of wind and rain Who knows what flowers fell. Meng, Hao-jan [Meng Haoran]. Mooring on Chien-te river. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : The Peabody review ; winter (1989-1990). The boat rocks at anchor by the misty island Sunset, my loneliness comes again. In these vast wilds the sky arches down to the trees. In the clear river water, the moon draws near. Five poems by Wang Wei Wang, Wei. Deer camp. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : Journal for the protection of all beings ; no 4 (Fall 1978). Empty mountains : no one to be seen. Yet – hear – human sounds and echoes. Returning sunlight enters the dark woods ; Again shining on green moss, above. Sekundärliteratur : Eliot Weinberger : Surely one of the best translations, partially because of Snyder's lifelong forest experience. Like Rexroth, he can see the scene. Every word of Wang has been translated, and nothing added, yet the translation exists as an American poem. Changing the passive is heard to the imperative hear is particularly beautiful, and not incorrect: it creates an exact moment, which is now. Giving us both meanings, sounds and echoes, for the last word of line 2 is, like most sensible ideas, revolutionary. Translators always assume that only one reading of a foreign word or phrase may be presented, despite the fact that perfect correspondence is rare. The poem ends strangely. Snyder takes the last word, which everyone else has read as on, and translates it with its alternative meaning, above, isolating it from the phrase with a comma. What's going on? Moss presumably is only above if one is a rock or bug. Or are we meant to look up, after seeing the moss, back toward the sun: the vertical metaphor of enlightenment? In answer to my query, Snyder wrote: "The reason for .. moss, above'... is that the sun is entering (in its sunset sloping, hence 'again'—a final shaft) the woods, and illuminating some moss up in the trees. (NOT ON ROCKS.) This is how my teacher Ch'en Shih-hsiang saw it, and my wife (Japanese) too, the first time she looked at the poem." The point is that translation is more than a leap from dictionary to dictionary; it is a reimagining of the poem. As such, every reading of every poem, regardless of language, is an act of translation: translation into the reader's intellectual and emotional life. As no individual reader remains the same, each reading becomes a different—not merely another—reading. The same poem cannot be read twice. Snyder's explanation is only one moment, the latest, when the poem suddenly transforms before our eyes. Wang's 20 characters remain the same, but the poem continues in a state of restless change. Wang, Wei. Bamboo Lane House. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Sitting alone, hid in bamboo Plucking the lute and gravely whistling. People wouldn't know that deep woods Can be this bright in the moon. Wang, Wei. Saying farewell. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Me in the mountains and now you've left. Sunset, I close the peelpole door. Next spring when grass is green, Will you return once more ? Wang, Wei. Thinking of us. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Read beans grow in the south In spring they put out shoots. Gather a lapful for me – And doing it, think of us. Wang, Wei. Poem. Transl. by Gary Snyder. You who come from my village Ought to know its affairs The day you passed the silk window Had the chill plum bloomed ? Three poems for women in the Service of the Palace Tu, Mu [Du, Mu]. Autumn evening. Transl. by Gary Snyder. A silver candle in the autumn gloom by a lone painted screen Her small light gauze fan shivers the fireflies On the stairs of heaven, night's color cool as water : She sits watching the Herd-boy, the weaving-girl, stars. Yuan, Chen [Yuan Zhen]. The Summer Palace. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Silence settles on the old Summer Palace Palace flowers still quiet red. White-haired concubines Idly sit and gossip of the days of Hsüan Tsung. Po, Chü-i [Bo Juyi]. Palace song. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Tears soak her thin shawl dreams won't come. In the dark night, from the front palace, girls rehearsing songs. Still fresh and young, already put down, She leans across the brazier to wait the coming dawn. Tu, Fu [Du Fu]. Spring view. Transl. by Gary Snyder. The nation is ruined, but mountains and rivers remain. This spring the city is deep in weeds and brush. Touched by the times even flowers weep tears, Fearing leaving the birds tangled hearts. Watch-tower fires have been burning for three months To get a note from home would cost ten thousand gold. Scratching my white hair thinner Seething hopes all in a trembling hairpin. (Events of the An Lushan rebellion) Liu, Ch'ang-ch'ing [Liu, Changqing]. Parting from Ling Ch'e. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Green, green bamboo-grove temple Dark, dark, the bell-sounding evening. His rainhat catches the slanting sunlight, Alone returning From the distant blue peaks. Wang Chih-huan [Wang Zhihuan]. Climbing Crane Tower. Transl. by Gary Snyder. The Whie sun has gone over the mountains The yellow river is flowing to the sea. If you wish to see a thousand li Climb one story higher in the tower. Liu, Tsung-yüan [Liu Zongyuan]. River snow. Transl. by Gary Snyder. These thousand peaks cut off the flight of birds On all the trails, human tracks are gone. A single boat—coat—hat—an old man! Alone fishing chill river snow. Wang, Ch'ang-ling [Wang Changling]. Parting with Hsin Chien at Hibiscus tavern. Transl. by Gary Snyder Cold rain on the river we enter Wu by night At dawn I leave for Ch'u-shan, alone. If friends in Lo-yang ask after me, I've "A heart like ice in a jade vase." Two poems written at Maple Bridge near Su-chou Chang, Chi [Zhang Ji ]. Maple bridge night mooring. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : Cloudline : no 1 (1985/86). Moon set, a crow caws, frost fills the sky River, maple, fishing-fires cross my troubled sleep. Beyond the walls of Su-chou from Cold Mountain temple The midnight bell sounds reach my boat. Snyder, Gary. At Maple Bridge (1984) Men are mixing gravel and cement At Maple bridge, Down an alley by a tea-stall From Cold Mountain temple ; Where Chang Chi heard the bell. The stone step moorage Empty, lapping water, And the bell sound has travelled Far across the sea. |
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