I left Baidi amid ochre clouds --
Crossed a thousand li by day's end.
Monkeys howled and chased along each bank;
My skiff slipped past ten thousand mountains.
The original in Simplified Chinese:
朝辞白帝彩云间
千里江陵一日还
两岸猿声啼不住
轻舟已过万重山
Note: this is poem #269 of the 300 Tang Poems [唐詩三百首.]
It's all the amusing matters
That sages admire without bounds.
Writers find their way through the void --
Knock on silence to find its sound.
Silk scroll messages from afar,
The bard's words surge forth from the heart.
Words and ash grow to overflow --
Thoughts transcend depths to become art.
Flowery fragrance pungently sprawls;
Plants shoot forth verdant greenery.
The brush winds swirl to whirlwinds
Clouds climb above the academy.
Note: I previously posted other translators’ (Barnstone and Chou) version of this poem as The Joy of Words @ https://berniegourley.com/2024/12/31/the-joy-of-words-by-lu-ji-w-audio/
Original poem in Simplified Chinese:
伊兹事之可乐，固圣贤之所钦。
课虚无以责有，叩寂寞而求音。
函绵邈于尺素，吐滂沛乎寸心。
言恢之而弥广，思按之而逾深。
播芳蕤之馥馥，发青条之森森。
粲风飞而猋竖，郁云起乎翰林。
I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May sit them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream his journey's end,
But I will rouse at midnight
The falling fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy --
But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.
Merry, Merry Sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy Blossom
Sees you swift as arrow
Seek your cradle narrow
Near my Bosom.
Pretty, Pretty Robin!
Under leaves so green
A happy Blossom
Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
Pretty, Pretty Robin,
Near my bosom.
Sitting alone -- secluded bamboo grove:
I whistle or pluck my zither;
People don't know my deep forest;
Moon and I shine on each other.
Original in Simplified Chinese:
独坐幽篁里
弹琴复长啸
深林人不知
明月来相照
When am I coming home? I don't know.
At Bashan, night rains swell Autumn ponds.
Recall, candles in your West Window?
Ah, through night rains, to talk and bond!
The original in Simplified Chinese:
君问归期未有期， 巴山夜雨涨秋池。
何当共剪西窗烛， 却话巴山夜雨时？
Note: This is poem #298 of the 300 Tang Poems [唐诗三百首.]
I like to see it lap the Miles --
And lick the Valleys up --
And stop to feed itself at Tanks --
And then - prodigious step
Around a Pile of Mountains --
And supercilious peer
In Shanties -- by the sides of Roads --
And then a Quarry pare
To fit its sides
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid -- hooting stanza --
Then chase itself down Hill --
And neigh like Boanerges --
Then - prompter than a Star
Stop - docile and omnipotent
At it's own stable door --
Once there came a man
Who said:
"Range me all men of the world in rows."
And instantly
There was a terrific clamor among the
people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who stayed in the bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
Whether on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the sun, that now
From antient melody have ceas'd;
Whether in Heav'n ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the earth,
Or the blue regions of the air,
Where the melodious winds have birth;
Whether on chrystal rocks ye rove,
Beneath the bosom of the sea
Wand'ring in many a coral grove,
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!
How have you left the antient love
That bards of old enjoy'd in you!
The languid strings do scarely move!
The sound is forc'd, the notes are few!
Throw the blue ball above the little twigs of the tree-tops,
And cast the yellow ball straight at the buzzing stars.
All our life is a flinging of colored balls
to impossible distances.
And in the end what have we?
A tired arm -- a tip-tilted nose.
Ah! Well! Give me the purple one.
Wouldn't it be a fine thing if I could make it stick
On top of the Methodist steeple?
