Reeds cover the tiny island.
Shallow streams cut through the cold sand.
I see the Southern Tower for
The first time in two decades.
How many days since I moored
Under this willow tree?
Mid-Autumn Festival is almost here.
On the rocks of Yellow Crane,
Do my friends still reside?
This old place has many new sorrows.
If I bought wine and we cast off together,
Could we be young again?
Mist touches cold water and moon embraces the sand.
I’m moored for the night near a tavern on the Qinhuai.
The singing girl doesn’t know the empire is in bitter ruin.
Across the river I hear her singing “Blossom of the Inner Court.”
Translation: Barnstone, Tony and Ping, Chou. 2005. The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry: From Ancient to Contemporary. New York: Anchor Books.
Spring
rainy days
make the monk Ryōkan
feel sad.
Summer
the moon in my window
is all the thief left behind.
Autumn
an autumn wind
chills the dangling persimmons,
and my testicles.
Winter
little birds have
gathered in the brushwood
on a snowy morn.
During thirty years since my birth
I've hiked thousands of miles,
seen green grass converging with a river
and red dust rising at the frontiers,
searched in vain for immortals and elixirs,
studying books and histories.
Today I've returned to Cold Mountain.
I lie back in a stream, washing out my ears.
Translation: Barnstone, Tony and Ping, Chou. 2005. The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry: From Ancient to Contemporary. New York: Anchor Books.
Les Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heave of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
NOTE: This poem is often entitled “Let My Country Awake,” particularly when it is anthologized independently of the larger Gitanjali poem.
I question a local boy under a pine.
He says, "Teacher is gathering herbs
right here on the mountain...
But who can say where?
The mountain is thick with clouds."
SPRING
Despite the storm,
Spring's herald makes it through:
Scent of plum blossom.
SUMMER
Abundant fireflies
This year, but this morning
None are to be seen.
AUTUMN
Autumn sea:
A boat moves, leaf-like,
In the floating world.
WINTER
Winter rains
Cross the mountains
On rising clouds.
"The ignorant speak, while the wise keep silent."
I read the words of Laozi.
But if Laozi knew the Way,
Why did he write those five thousand characters?
SPRING
on wet feet,
the sparrows hop
down the hall.
SUMMER
the owl naps,
and dreams of a
summer grove.
AUTUMN
sunny autumn day:
smoke from something burning
rises skyward.
WINTER
a snowy night;
the sound of bamboo
rustling.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 