Smoke slowly rises from sodden woods; Millet 's steamed to feed the fieldhands; Egrets fly over foggy paddies; Hidden birds sing from lush tree stand. Mountain hikers study hibiscus, Under dewy pines chew sunflower seeds, Give mat space to any old traveler. Gull and I: wary of each other's deeds.
Among ten thousand writing styles, There's no one standard or measure. The styles: many, muddled, and free -- Form, the unattainable treasure. Talent in word-wrangling shows skill. Idea conveyance shows craft. Writers strive 'twixt have and have not -- Unyielding in shallow or deep draught. An escape artist of fine lines -- Yet time and space consume in kind. Intricacy excites the eye, But frugality soothes the mind. One of few words is not confined. Verbose writers drift the Undefined.
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.
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.]
After choosing one's scope of thought, Turn the words and note their order. Embrace the hot ones, feel their burn; Knock on lines and hear their timbre. Use the branches to shake the leaves, And waves can be traced to their source. Make the hidden come visible; Make the difficult seem simple. A tiger's transformation startles -- Birds take flight on sight of dragons. Sometimes words nest into each other; Sometimes, jaggedly, they won't mesh. With a clear, contemplative mind Hordes filter through to easy speech. Heaven and Earth contained within: All things flow from the brush with ease. Starting timidly with dry mouth, Ending with a wandering brush. Meaning is borne by a stout trunk, Language hangs like leaf and fruit. Make words and intended meaning match As moods show clearly on a face. When happiness comes, laugh & smile, And with sorrow let loose a sigh. At times words flow spontaneously; At times one bites one's brush, musing.
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:
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!
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.