Yan grass shimmers like silken jade.
Qin mulberry trees' green leaves droop.
Your homecoming is now at hand
As heartbreak has me thin and stooped.
Spring Winds and I are strangers --
Why, past my curtains, the inward swoop?
Chinese Title: 春思; Original poem in Simplified Chinese:
燕草如碧丝， 秦桑低绿枝；
当君怀归日， 是妾断肠时。
春风不相识， 何事入罗帏？
Note: this is poem #7 in “300 Tang Poems” [唐诗三百首]
Slender grass waves in a light breeze;
Tall-masted boat rocks in the night.
Stars hang low, over the vast plain;
The river moon struggles for height.
I'll never gain fame by the brush --
Too old for civil service posts...
Wading, wading, what am I like?
A sandpiper on the mud coast!
The original in Chinese (Title: 旅夜書懷):
細草微風岸，
危檣獨夜舟。
星垂平野闊，
月湧大江流。
名豈文章著，
官應老病休。
飄飄何所似，
天地一沙鷗。
This is Poem 113 of “Three Hundred Tang Poems,” i.e. 唐诗三百首
Close your eyes and listen with care.
Turn all your attention inside.
Let your soul ride the Eight Borders
At a galloping stride.
Inner space brightens, becomes more
Compact, as one views the expanse.
Words pour forth to cleanse the soul,
As the Six Arts lend a fragrance.
Float, swim, and dive in the abyss,
Heedful for words as it all soaks in...
Sometimes the right word must be hooked,
And hauled up where it can be spoken.
But, other times, words are like birds,
That fly themselves out of the clouds,
To be downed by one swift arrow --
Quite willingly freed of their shrouds.
Mine for lines lost ages ago --
Rhymes unsung for ten centuries.
Thank tight buds for the sweet flowers
That they - soon enough - will be.
See past and present concurrently,
At once, touch mountain and sea.
The Original in Simplified Chinese:
其始也，皆收视反听，耽思傍讯，精骛八极，心游万仞。
其致也，情曈曨而弥鲜，物昭晣而互进。
倾群言之沥液，漱六艺之芳润。
浮天渊以安流，濯下泉而潜浸。
于是沈辞怫悦，若游鱼衔钩，而出重渊之深；
浮藻联翩，若翰鸟缨缴，而坠曾云之峻。
收百世之阙文，采千载之遗韵。
谢朝华于已披，启夕秀于未振。
观古今于须臾，抚四海于一瞬。
The poet stands in the Center
And stares into deep mysteries.
He's nourished by reading Classics
And tombs of the men in Histories.
He sighs as four seasons pass by
And thinks upon ten-thousand things.
He's saddened by Autumn's leaf drop
And gladdened by the tender Spring.
He feels Winter's frost on his heart,
Though his mind may be up in a cloud.
And when he sings of ancestors'
Heroic deeds, he belts the song aloud.
He combs through great literature
Just as he roams the forest wild,
But in search of a "natural" --
Shown in elegant phrase and style.
And it's just such thoughts and feelings
That set my brush and mind wheeling.
The Original Chinese:
佇中區以玄覽，頤情志於典墳。
遵四時以嘆逝，瞻萬物而思紛。
悲落葉於勁秋，喜柔條於芳春，
心懍懍以懷霜，志眇眇而臨雲。
詠世德之駿烈，誦先人之清芬。
游文章之林府，嘉麗藻之彬彬。
慨投篇而援筆，聊宣之乎斯文。
Asleep on a leaf beneath lotus blooms,
Their fragrance floats across the misty lake.
Sudden rain - taps upon the canopy;
Its sound snaps me from sleep to wide awake!
The lotus is beaded with rain droplets --
Like pearls, drops roll together and apart;
The clear blobs coalesce like mercury,
Dripping to the river... back to their start.
The moon sets; crows caw below frosty skies.
Boats, moored to maples -- lamps glow like cat eyes.
Cold Mountain Temple, outside Gusu's bounds:
The midnight bell cuts off soft water sounds.
The great road has no gate.
It leaps out from the heads of all of you.
The sky has no road.
It enters into my nostrils.
In this way we meet as Gautama's bandits,
or Linji's troublemakers. Ha!
Great houses tumble down and spring wind swirls.
Astonished, apricot blossoms fly and scatter -- red.
Translated by Mel Weitsman and Kazuaki Tanahashi; printed in: Essential Zen. 1994. HarperSanFrancisco, p. 136.
Note: While Rujing was Chinese he was teacher to the prominent Japanese Zen Teacher, Dōgen Zenji, the latter published this and other poems, hence the dual categorization of it as Chinese and Japanese Literature.
I remember viewing the West Lake
While leaning on a pagoda rail.
The boats all clustered in threes or twos.
The islets under deep Autumn blues.
Flute song arose from among the cattails.
And a line of white birds - overhead - sailed.
I planned to fix my old fishing pole,
but clouds on water had my mind & soul.
A screen of cloud veils the mountain,
And cold monkeys squawk from green pines.
Fungi abound, but seeds dormant,
Searching for sprouts -- alas, in vain.
Somewhere near there's a fairy cave
Where flutes and lutes are often played.
Its Way is overgrown with moss,
And the old stone gate yields no clue.
Where have all the fairy folk gone?
Looking back, there's an endless plain
Where flowers fall like streaming tears.
It's easy to grow old; Where is
the messenger to bring some news?
To tell who the Golden Phoenix charms?
Waking from a deep, restless dream
What remains are blooms on the stream.
The West winds tumble fallen leaves;
Autumn 's yellow, though blooms are shy;
I brush at dust upon my sleeves;
The horses' hoofprints dot the frost;
Moonlit cocks crow amid grain sheaves;
The road to town: no passersby.
Fame 's not gained by effort or skill,
And would fade away ten years hence.
Please don't dance, but drink your fill.
Six Dynasty tales flow away:
Diluted as waters spread and spill.
The world feels like dream and pretense.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 