There are modern English translations of Chinese poems by Michael R. Burch.
The Shijing or Shi Jing ("Book of Songs" or "Book of Odes") is the oldest Chinese poetry collection, with the poems included believed to date from around 1200 BC to 600 BC. According to tradition the poems were selected and edited by Confucius himself. Since most ancient poetry did not rhyme, these may be the world’s oldest extant rhyming poems. While the identities and sexes of the poets are not known, the title of this ancient poem may mean "Aunt" and thus suggest that it was possibly written by an aunt for a relative.
Shijing Ode #4: “JIU MU”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem (c. 1200-600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
thick with vines that make them shady,
we find a lovely princely lady:
May she repose in happiness!
In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose clinging vines make hot days shady,
we wish warm embraces for a lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!
In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose vines entwining make them shady,
we wish true love for a lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!
***
Shijing Ode #6: “TAO YAO”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The peach tree is elegant and tender;
its flowers are fragrant, and bright.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will manage it well, day and night.
The peach tree is elegant and tender;
its fruits are abundant, and sweet.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will make it welcome to everyone she greets.
The peach tree is elegant and tender;
it shelters with bough, leaf and flower.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will make it her family’s bower.
***
This one sounds like a young man complaining about the airs of rich girls ...
Shijing Ode #9: “HAN GUANG”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In the South leafless trees
offer men no shelter.
By the Han the girls loiter,
but it’s vain to entice them.
For the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.
When firewood is needed,
I would cut down tall thorns to bring more.
Those girls on their way to their palaces?
I would feed their horses.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.
When firewood is needed,
I would cut down tall trees to bring more.
Those girls on their way to their palaces?
I would feed their colts.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.
***
The nest is the magpie's
but the dove occupies it.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages will attend her.
The nest is the magpie's
but the dove takes it over.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages will escort her.
The nest is the magpie's
but the dove possesses it.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages complete her procession.
***
By raised banks of the Ru,
I cut down branches in the brake.
Not seeing my lord
caused me heartache.
By raised banks of the Ru,
I cut down branches by the tide.
When I saw my lord at last,
he did not cast me aside.
The bream flashes its red tail;
the royal court’s a blazing fire.
Though it be set aflame,
still his loved ones are near ...
It was apparently believed that the bream’s tail turned red when it was in danger. Here the term “lord” does not necessarily mean the man in question was a royal himself. Chinese women of that era often called their husbands “lord.” Take, for instance, Ezra Pound’s famous loose translation “The River Merchant’s Wife.” Speaking of Pound, I borrowed the word “brake” from his translation of this poem, although I worked primarily from more accurate translations. In the final line, it may be that the wife or lover is suggesting that no matter what happens, the man in question will have a place to go, or perhaps she is urging him to return regardless. The original poem had “mother and father” rather than “family” or “loved ones,” but in those days young married couples often lived with the husband’s parents. So a suggestion to return to his parents could be a suggestion to return to his wife as well.
***
"Lu Zhai" ("Deer Park")
by Wang Wei (699-759)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Uninhabited hills ...
except that now and again the silence is broken
by something like the sound of distant voices
as the sun's sinking rays illuminate lichens ...
***
Seeking a Mooring
by Wang Wei
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A leaf drifts through infinite space,
a cold wind rends distant clouds.
The river flows seaward,
the tide repulses.
Beyond the moonlit reeds,
in unseen villages, I hear
fullers’ mallets
pounding wet clothing,
preparing for winter.
Crickets cry ceaselessly,
mourning the autumn frost.
A traveler’s thoughts
wander ten thousand miles
in such a night of strange dreams.
The tinkling sounds of bells
cannot disperse sorrows to come.
What will I remember
of this journey’s darkest hour?
Only ghostly veils of desolate mist
and a single fishing boat.
***
Ho Shuang-Ch’ing aka Shuangqing has been called “China's peasant woman poet.” She wrote in the 18th century.
To the tune “A Watered Silk Dress”
by Ho Shuang-Ch’ing
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Deepest feelings are hardest to divulge.
How to reveal a hidden love?
Swallowed tears well up again, return.
My hands twist, wilted flowers.
I lean speechless against my screen.
I’m frightened by my figure in the mirror,
a too-thin, wasted woman.
Not a springtime face,
nor an autumn face:
can this be Shuang-ch'ing?
***
To the tune “Washing Silk in the Stream”
by Ho Shuang-Ch’ing
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The warm rain falls unfelt
like delicate silk threads.
The farmer cocks a flower behind his ear,
trundles the grain from his field
to the threshing-room floor.
I rose early to water his field,
but he snapped I was too early.
I cooked millet for him
with smoke-reddened eyes
but he snapped I was too late.
My tender bottom was sore the entire day.
***
Bitter Rain
by Wu Tsao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bitter rain drenches my courtyard
as autumn wilts into winter.
I have only vague feelings
I’m unable to assemble into poems
because words diffuse with the drifting clouds and leaves.
After the golden sunset the cold moon rises out of a dismal mist.
But I will not draw down the blinds from their silver hooks.
Rather, my dreams will fly with the wind,
suffering the bitter cold,
to the jasper pagoda of your divine flesh.
***
Lines from Laolao Ting Pavilion
by Li Bai (701-762)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The spring breeze knows partings are bitter;
The willow twig knows it will never be green again.
***
A Toast to Uncle Yun
by Li Bai (701-762)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Water reforms, although we slice it with our swords;
Sorrow returns, although we drown it with our wine.
***
Quiet Night Thoughts
by Li Bai aka Li Po
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Moonlight illuminates my bed
as frost brightens the ground.
Lifting my eyes, the moon allures.
Lowering my eyes, I long for home.
***
Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now the birds have deserted the sky
and the last cloud slips down the drains.
We sit together, the mountain and I,
until only the mountain remains.
***
Farewell to a Friend
by Li Bai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rolling hills rim the northern border;
white waves lap the eastern riverbank...
Here you set out like a windblown wisp of grass,
floating across fields, growing smaller and smaller.
You’ve longed to travel like the rootless clouds,
yet our friendship declines to wane with the sun.
Thus let it remain, our insoluble bond,
even as we wave goodbye till you vanish.
My horse neighs, as if unconvinced.
Li Bai (701-762) was a romantic figure called the Lord Byron of Chinese poetry. He and his friend Du Fu (712-770) were the leading poets of the Tang Dynasty era, the Golden Age of Chinese poetry. Li Bai is also known as Li Po, Li Pai, Li T’ai-po, and Li T’ai-pai.
Keywords/Tags: China, Chinese, bird, birds, clouds, mountains, spring, partings, farewell, goodbye, green, twig, bitter, water, sorrow, wine, moon, love, bed, frost, eyes, introspection
***
Li Bai (701-762) was a romantic figure who has been called the Lord Byron of Chinese poetry. He and his friend Du Fu (712-770) were the leading poets of the Tang Dynasty era, which has been called the "Golden Age of Chinese poetry." Li Bai is also known as Li Po, Li Bo, Li Pai, Li T’ai-po, and Li T’ai-pai.
***
Moonlit Night (I)
by Du Fu (712-770)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Alone in your bedchamber
you gaze out at the Fu-Chou moon.
Here, so distant, I think of our children,
too young to understand what keeps me away
or to remember Ch'ang-an ...
A perfumed mist, your hair's damp ringlets!
In the moonlight, your arms' exquisite jade!
Oh, when can we meet again within your bed's drawn curtains,
and let the heat dry our tears?
***
Moonlit Night (II)
by Du Fu (712-770)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tonight the Fu-Chou moon
watches your lonely bedroom.
Here, so distant, I think of our children,
too young to understand what keeps me away
or to remember Ch'ang-an ...
By now your hair will be damp from your bath
and fall in perfumed ringlets;
your jade-white arms so exquisite in the moonlight!
Oh, when can we meet again within those drawn curtains,
and let the heat dry our tears?
***
Lone Wild Goose
by Du Fu (712-770)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The abandoned goose refuses food and drink;
he cries querulously for his companions.
Who feels kinship for that strange wraith
as he vanishes eerily into the heavens?
You watch it as it disappears;
its plaintive calls cut through you.
The indignant crows ignore you both:
the bickering, bantering multitudes.
Du Fu (712-770) is also known as Tu Fu. The first poem is addressed to the poet's wife, who had fled war with their children. Ch'ang-an is an ironic pun because it means "Long-peace."
***
The Red Cockatoo
by Po Chu-I (772-846)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A marvelous gift from Annam –
a red cockatoo,
bright as peach blossom,
fluent in men's language.
So they did what they always do
to the erudite and eloquent:
they created a thick-barred cage
and shut it up.
Po Chu-I (772-846) is best known today for his ballads and satirical poems. Po Chu-I believed poetry should be accessible to commoners and is noted for his simple diction and natural style. His name has been rendered various ways in English: Po Chu-I, Po Chü-i, Bo Juyi and Bai Juyi.
***
The Migrant Songbird
Li Qingzhao (c. 1084-1155)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The migrant songbird on the nearby yew
brings tears to my eyes with her melodious trills—
this fresh downpour renewing the stains of older spills;
another spring gone, and still no word from you ...
***
The Plum Blossoms
Li Qingzhao (c. 1084-1155)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This year with the end of autumn
I find my reflection graying at the edges.
Now evening gales hammer these ledges ...
what shall become of the plum blossoms?
Li Qingzhao was a poet and essayist during the Song dynasty. She is generally considered to be one of the greatest Chinese poets. In English she is known as Li Qingzhao, Li Ching-chao and The Householder of Yi’an.
***
Star Gauge
Sui Hui (c. 351-394 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So much lost so far away
on that distant rutted road.
That distant rutted road
wounds me to the heart.
Grief coupled with longing,
so much lost so far away.
Grief coupled with longing
wounds me to the heart.
This house without its master;
the bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils.
The bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils,
and you are not here.
Such loneliness! My adorned face
lacks the mirror's clarity.
I see by the mirror's clarity
my Lord is not here. Such loneliness!
Sui Hui (c. 351-394 BC), also known as Su Hui and Lady Su, appears to be the first female Chinese poet of note. And her "Star Gauge" or "Sphere Map" may be the most impressive poem written in any language to this day, in terms of complexity. "Star Gauge" has been described as a palindrome or "reversible" poem, but it goes far beyond that. According to contemporary sources, the original poem was shuttle-woven on brocade, in a circle, so that it could be read in multiple directions. Due to its shape the poem is also called Xuanji Tu ("Picture of the Turning Sphere"). The poem is now generally placed in a grid or matrix so that the Chinese characters can be read horizontally, vertically and diagonally. The story behind the poem is that Sui Hui's husband, Dou Tao, the governor of Qinzhou, was exiled to the desert. When leaving his wife, Dou swore to remain faithful. However, after arriving at his new post, he took a concubine. Lady Su then composed a circular poem, wove it into a piece of silk embroidery, and sent it to him. Upon receiving the masterwork, he repented. It has been claimed that there are up to 7,940 ways to read the poem. My translation above is just one of many possible readings of a portion of the poem.
***
Reflection
Xu Hui (c. 627-650 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Confronting the morning she faces her mirror;
Her makeup done at last, she paces back and forth awhile.
It would take mountains of gold to earn one contemptuous smile,
So why would she answer a man's summons?
Due to the similarities in names, it seems possible that Sui Hui and Xu Hui were the same poet, with some of her poems being discovered later, or with poems written later by other poets being attributed to her.
***
Waves
Zhai Yongming (1955-)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The waves manhandle me like a midwife pounding my back relentlessly,
and so the world abuses my body —
accosting me, bewildering me, according me a certain ecstasy ...
***
Monologue
Zhai Yongming (1955-)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I am a wild thought, born of the abyss
and — only incidentally — of you. The earth and sky
combine in me — their concubine — they consolidate in my body.
I am an ordinary embryo, encased in pale, watery flesh,
and yet in the sunlight I dazzle and amaze you.
I am the gentlest, the most understanding of women.
Yet I long for winter, the interminable black night, drawn out to my heart's bleakest limit.
When you leave, my pain makes me want to vomit my heart up through my mouth —
to destroy you through love — where's the taboo in that?
The sun rises for the rest of the world, but only for you do I focus the hostile tenderness of my body.
I have my ways.
A chorus of cries rises. The sea screams in my blood but who remembers me?
What is life?
Zhai Yongming is a contemporary Chinese poet, born in Chengdu in 1955. She was one of the instigators and prime movers of the “Black Tornado” of women’s poetry that swept China in 1986-1989. Since then Zhai has been regarded as one of China’s most prominent poets.
***
Pyre
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You and I share so much desire:
this love — like a fire —
that ends in a pyre's
charred coffin.
***
"Married Love" or "You and I" or "The Song of You and Me"
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You and I shared a love that burned like fire:
two lumps of clay in the shape of Desire
molded into twin figures. We two.
Me and you.
In life we slept beneath a single quilt,
so in death, why any guilt?
Let the skeptics continue scoffing:
it's best to share a single coffin.
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319) is also known as Kuan Tao-Sheng, Guan Zhongji and Lady Zhongji. A famous poet of the early Yuan dynasty, she has also been called "the most famous female painter and calligrapher in the Chinese history ... remembered not only as a talented woman, but also as a prominent figure in the history of bamboo painting." She is best known today for her images of nature and her tendency to inscribe short poems on her paintings.
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I heard my love was going to Yang-chou
So I accompanied him as far as Ch'u-shan.
For just a moment as he held me in his arms
I thought the swirling river ceased flowing and time stood still.
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Will I ever hike up my dress for you again?
Will my pillow ever caress your arresting face?
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Night descends ...
I let my silken hair spill down my shoulders as I part my thighs over my lover.
Tell me, is there any part of me not worthy of being loved?
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I will wear my robe loose, not bothering with a belt;
I will stand with my unpainted face at the reckless window;
If my petticoat insists on fluttering about, shamelessly,
I'll blame it on the unruly wind!
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When he returns to my embrace,
I’ll make him feel what no one has ever felt before:
Me absorbing him like water
Poured into a wet clay jar.
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bare branches tremble in a sudden breeze.
Night deepens.
My lover loves me,
And I am pleased that my body's beauty pleases him.
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Do you not see
that we
have become like branches of a single tree?
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I could not sleep with the full moon haunting my bed!
I thought I heard — here, there, everywhere —
disembodied voices calling my name!
Helplessly I cried "Yes!" to the phantom air!
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I have brought my pillow to the windowsill
so come play with me, tease me, as in the past ...
Or, with so much resentment and so few kisses,
how much longer can love last?
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When she approached you on the bustling street, how could you say no?
But your disdain for me is nothing new.
Squeaking hinges grow silent on an unused door
where no one enters anymore.
***
Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I remain constant as the Northern Star
while you rush about like the fickle sun:
rising in the East, drooping in the West.
Tzu Yeh was a courtesan of the Jin dynasty era (c. 400 BC) also known as Lady Night or Lady Midnight. Her poems were pinyin ("midnight songs"). Tzu Yeh was apparently a "sing-song" girl, perhaps similar to a geisha trained to entertain men with music and poetry. She has also been called a "wine shop girl" and even a professional concubine! Whoever she was, it seems likely that Rihaku (Li-Po) was influenced by the lovely, touching (and often very sexy) poems of the "sing-song" girl. Centuries later, Arthur Waley was one of her translators and admirers. Waley and Ezra Pound knew each other, and it seems likely that they got together to compare notes at Pound's soirees, since Pound was also an admirer and translator of Chinese poetry. Pound's most famous translation is his take on Li-Po's "The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter." If the ancient "sing-song" girl influenced Li-Po and Pound, she was thus an influence — perhaps an important influence — on English Modernism. The first Tzu Yeh poem makes me think that she was, indeed, a direct influence on Li-Po and Ezra Pound. — Michael R. Burch
***
The Day after the Rain
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the day after the rain
and the meadow's green expanses!
My heart endlessly rises with wind,
gusts with wind ...
away the new-mown grasses and the fallen leaves ...
away the clouds like smoke ...
vanishing like smoke ...
***
Music Heard Late at Night
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
for Xu Zhimo
I blushed,
hearing the lovely nocturnal tune.
The music touched my heart;
I embraced its sadness, but how to respond?
The pattern of life was established eons ago:
so pale are the people's imaginations! —
Perhaps one day You and I
can play the chords of hope together.
It must be your fingers — gently playing
late at night, matching my sorrow.
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955), also known as Phyllis Lin and Lin Whei-yin, was a Chinese architect, historian, novelist and poet. Xu Zhimo died in a plane crash in 1931, allegedly flying to meet Lin Huiyin.
***
Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again
Xu Zhimo (1897-1931)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
quietly I wave good-bye
to the sky's dying flame.
The riverside's willows
like lithe, sunlit brides
reflected in the waves
move my heart's tides.
Weeds moored in dark sludge
sway here, free of need,
in the Cam's gentle wake ...
O, to be a waterweed!
Beneath shady elms
a nebulous rainbow
crumples and reforms
in the soft ebb and flow.
Seek a dream? Pole upstream
to where grass is greener;
rig the boat with starlight;
sing aloud of love's splendor!
But how can I sing
when my song is farewell?
Even the crickets are silent.
And who should I tell?
So quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
gently I flick my sleeves ...
not a wisp will remain.
(6 November 1928)
Xu Zhimo's most famous poem is this one about leaving Cambridge. English titles for the poem include "On Leaving Cambridge," "Second Farewell to Cambridge," "Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again," and "Taking Leave of Cambridge Again."
***
SORROWS OF THE WILD GEESE by HUANG E
These are my modern English translations of poems by the Chinese poet Huang E (1498–1569), also known as Huang Xiumei. She has been called the most outstanding female poet of the Ming Dynasty, and her husband its most outstanding male poet. Were they poetry’s first power couple? Her father Huang Ke was a high-ranking official of the Ming court and she married Yang Shen, the prominent son of Grand Secretary Yang Tinghe. Unfortunately for the young power couple, Yang Shen was exiled by the emperor early in their marriage and they lived largely apart for 30 years. During their long separations they would send each other poems which may belong to a genre of Chinese poetry I have dubbed "sorrows of the wild geese" …
Sent to My Husband
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The wild geese never fly beyond Hengyang ...
how then can my brocaded words reach Yongchang?
Like wilted willow flowers I am ill-fated indeed;
in that far-off foreign land you feel similar despair.
“Oh, to go home, to go home!” you implore the calendar.
“Oh, if only it would rain, if only it would rain!” I complain to the heavens.
One hears hopeful rumors that you might soon be freed ...
but when will the Golden Cock rise in Yelang?
A star called the Golden Cock was a symbol of amnesty to the ancient Chinese. Yongchang was a hot, humid region of Yunnan to the south of Hengyang, and was presumably too hot and too far to the south for geese to fly there.
***
Luo Jiang's Second Complaint
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The green hills vanished,
pedestrians passed by
disappearing beyond curves.
The geese grew silent, the horseshoes timid.
Winter is the most annoying season!
A lone goose vanished into the heavens,
the trees whispered conspiracies in Pingwu,
and people huddling behind buildings shivered.
***
Bitter Rain, an Aria of the Yellow Oriole
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
These ceaseless rains make the spring shiver:
even the flowers and trees look cold!
The roads turn to mud;
the river's eyes are tired and weep into in a few bays;
the mountain clouds accumulate like dirty dishes,
and the end of the world seems imminent, if jejune.
I find it impossible to send books:
the geese are ruthless and refuse to fly south to Yunnan!
***
Broken-Hearted Poem
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My tears cascade into the inkwell;
my broken heart remains at a loss for words;
ever since we held hands and said farewell,
I have been too listless to paint my eyebrows;
no medicine can cure my night-sweats,
no wealth repurchase our lost youth;
and how can I persuade that damned bird singing in the far hills
to tell a traveler south of the Yangtze to return home?
***
The Song of Magpies
Lady Ho (circa 300 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The magpies nest on the Southern hill.
You set your nets on the Northern hill.
The magpies escape, soar free.
What good are your nets?
When magpies fly free, in pairs,
why should they envy phoenixes?
Although I’m a lowly woman,
why should I envy the Duke of Sung?
A Song of White Hair
by Chuo Wen-chun (2nd century BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My love is pure, as my hair is pure.
White, like the mountain snow.
White, like the moon among clouds.
But I lately discovered you are double-minded.
Thus, we must sever.
Today we pledged our love over a goblet of wine.
Tomorrow, I’ll walk alone
beside the dismal moat,
watching the frigid water
flow east, and west,
dismal myself in the bitter weather.
Should love bring only tears?
All I wanted was a man
with a single heart and mind,
for then we would have lived together
as our hair turned white.
Not someone who wriggled fish
with his big bamboo pole!
A loyal man
Is better than rubies.
Spring Song
by Meng Chu (3rd century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One sunny spring, either March or April,
when the water and grass were the same color,
I met a young man loitering in the road.
How I wish that I’d met him sooner!
Now each sunny spring, whether March or April,
when the water and grass are the same color,
I reach up to pluck flowers from the vines;
their perfume reminds me of my lover’s breath.
Four years, now five, I have awaited you,
as my vigil turned love into grief.
How I wish we could meet in that same lonely place
where I would have surrendered my body
completely to your embraces!
A Song of Hsi-Ling Lake
by Su Hsiao-hsiao (5th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I ride in red carriage.
You canter by on dappled blue stallion.
Where shall we tie our hearts
into a binding love knot?
Beside Hsi-ling Lake beneath the cypress trees.
A Greeting for Lu Hung-Chien
by Li Yeh (8th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The last time you left
the moon shone white over winter frosts.
Now you have returned through a dismal fog
to visit me, still lying here ill.
When I struggle to speak, the tears start.
You urge me to drink T’ao Chien’s wine
while I chant Hsieh Ling-yun’s words of welcome.
It’s good to get drunk now and then:
what else can an invalid do?
Creamy Breasts
by Chao Luan-Luan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Scented with talcum, moist with perspiration,
like pegs of jade inlaid in a harp,
aroused by desire, yet soft as cream,
fertile amid a warm mist
after my bath, as my lover perfumes them,
cups them and plays with them,
cool as melons and purple grapes.
Life in the Palace
by Lady Hua Jui
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
At the first of the month
money to buy flowers
for several thousand waiting women
was awarded to the palaces.
But when my name was called,
I was not there
because I was occupied
lasciviously posing
before the emperor’s bed.
The End of Spring
by Li Ch’ing-Chao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The wind ceases,
now nothing is left of Spring but fragrant pollen.
Although it’s late in the day,
I’ve been too exhausted to comb my hair.
The furniture remains the same
but he no longer exists
leaving me unable to move.
When I try to speak, tears choke me.
I hear that Spring is still beautiful
at Two Rivers
and I had hoped to take a boat there,
but now I’m afraid that my little boat
will never reach Two Rivers,
so laden with heavy sorrow.
Sung to the tune of “I Paint My Lips Red”
by an anonymous courtesan or Li Ch’ing-Chao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
After swinging and kicking lasciviously,
I get off to rouge my palms.
Like dew on a delicate flower,
perspiration soaks my thin dress.
A new guest enters
and my stockings flop,
my hairpins fall out.
Pretending embarrassment, I flee,
then lean flirtatiously against the door,
sucking a green plum.
Spring Night, to the tune of “Panning Gold”
by Chu Shu-Chen
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My jade body
remains as lovely as that long-ago evening
when, for the first time,
you turned me away from the lamplight
to unfasten the belt of my embroidered skirt.
Now our sheets and pillows have grown cold
and that evening’s incense has faded.
Beyond the shuttered courtyard
even Spring seems silent, forlorn.
Flowers wilt with the rain these long evenings.
Agony enters my dreams,
making me all the more helpless
and hopeless.
The Day Nears
by Huang O
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The day nears
when I will once again
share the sheets and pillows
I have stored away.
When once more I will shyly
allow you to undress me,
then gently
expose my sealed jewel.
How can I ever describe
the ten thousand beautiful,
sensual ways you always fill me?
Sung to the tune of “Soaring Clouds”
by Huang O
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You held my lotus blossom
between your lips
and nibbled the pistil.
One piece of magic rhinoceros horn
and we were up all night.
All night the cock’s magnificent crest
stood erect.
All night the bee fumbled
with the flower’s stamens.
O, my delicate perfumed jewel!
Only my lord may possess my
sacred lotus pond,
for only he can make my flower
blossom with fire.
Sung to the tune of “Red Embroidered Shoes”
by Huang O
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If you don’t know what you’re doing, why pretend?
Perhaps you can fool foolish girls,
but not Ecstasy itself!
I hoped you’d play with the lotus blossom beneath my green kimono,
like a eunuch with a courtesan,
but it turns out all you can do is fumble and mumble.
You made me slick wet,
but no matter how “hard” you try,
nothing results.
So give up,
find someone else to leave
unsatisfied.
The Letter
by Shao Fei-fei (17th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I trim the wick, then, weeping by lamplight,
write this letter, to be sealed, then sent ten thousand miles,
telling you how wretched I am,
and begging you to free my aching body.
Dear mother, what has become of my bride price?
LAO TZU
For Martin Mc Carthy, who put me up to all but the first translation.
Lao Tzu poems from the Dàodé Jing or Tao-Teh-Ching (“Scripture of the Way”):
An unbending tree
breaks easily.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nothing is weaker or gentler than water,
yet nothing can prevail against it.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
That the yielding overcomes the resistant is known by all men
yet utilized by none.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why does the Sea exceed all streams? Because it does not exalt itself but is the more lowly. Even so, the sage.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sage wears coarse clothes while concealing jade within his bosom.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sage does not hoard; having bestowed everything on others, he smiles, content.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When his last scrap has been spent on others, the sage is the richer still.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sage does not exalt himself; he prefers what is within to what is without.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Heaven’s net is vast but nothing slips through its mesh.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Daring boldness kills; boldness in not daring saves.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To recognize knowledge as ignorance is a noble insight.
To consider ignorance knowledge, a disease.
Because the sage recognizes flaws, he can be flawless.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ruling a large state is like broiling a bony fish.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ruling a large state is like poaching an octopus.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Way of Heaven is like stringing a bow:
it brings down the high as it elevates the low.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The wise don’t aggrandize their virtue.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The wise don’t vice their virtue.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Be Like Water
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The highest virtue resembles water
because water unselfishly benefits all life,
then settles, without contention or needless strife,
in lowly cisterns.
Weep for the Dead
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When seeing mounds of the dead
the virtuous weep for the loss of life.
When one is “victorious”
observe the mourning rites.
Avoid Boasting
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rather than overfilling,
it’s better to stop in time
and avoid overspilling.
Though you hone it to a point,
the edge will soon be blunt.
Though the salesman’s exploits are crowed,
in the end, what real good was his gold?
Reticence, when the day’s work is done,
Is the Way of Heaven.
The Wise
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The multitudes satisfy their eyes, tummies and ears, again and again,
while the wise consider them children.
Naming the Nameless
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tao can be discussed, but never the Eternal Tao.
Names can be named, but never the Eternal Name.
There are known paths yet the Way remains uncharted.
The origin of the universe must be forever nameless
unless we call her the Mother of All.
Always the Secret awaits insight.
Thus when seeking the Ever-Hidden, we must consider its inner essence;
when seeking the Always-Manifest, we must consider its outer aspects.
Both flow freely from the same source, despite their different appellations
and both are rightly called mysteries.
The Mystery of mysteries is the Gateway to all Secrets,
the Door to all beginnings.
The Fountainhead
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tao is all-pervasive,
an empty vessel yet fathomless,
the bottomless fountainhead from which everything springs!
It blunts the keen,
untangles the tied,
softens the glare,
harmonizes the light,
redistributes the dust motes more evenly,
resolves all complications.
A profoundly deep pool that is never exhausted,
the unknowable child who fathered the gods.
The Divine Feminine
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Spirit is limitless.
We call it the Divine Feminine,
from whom Heaven and Earth arose
and in whom they remain deeply rooted.
Delicate as gossamer, only dimly seen,
yet infinitely flexible, her strength inexhaustible.
The Valley Spirit
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The valley Spirit never runs dry,
the river to whom all waters run:
the Spirit of our Primal Mother.
Deeply rooting Heaven and Earth,
to most eyes a delicate veil dimly seen,
yet a never-failing Fountainhead.
Adhere to the Feminine
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Know the masculine
but adhere to the feminine
and be a valley to the sphere.
For if you’re a valley
constant virtue won’t desert you
and you’ll return to the innocence of infancy.
Know the bright
but stick to the shadows
and be an example for the realm.
For if you’re an example for the realm,
constant virtue will accompany you
and you’ll return to the Infinite.
Know the glorious
but adhere to the humble
and be a valley to the Sphere.
For if you’re a valley,
your constant virtue will be complete
and you’ll return to the uncarved block
the great Cutter does not cut away.
The World-Mother
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Something formed out of chaos,
born before heaven and earth,
inexpressible and void, is never renewed,
yet continues forever without failing:
the World-Mother.
I don’t know her name,
so I call her the Way.
Earth reflects the heavens;
the heavens reflect the Way;
the Way reflects all that is.
The Wisdom of Contraries
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It’s easy to control something at rest;
easy to handle the undeveloped;
easy to shatter the brittle;
easy to disperse the minute;
easy to deal with things before they get out of hand;
easy to manage affairs before they escalate.
A tree as wide as a man’s arms
sprang from a tiny seed.
A nine-story tower
rose from rock piles.
A journey of ten thousand leagues
begins with a single step.
Whoever meddles begets ruin.
Whoever grasps soon lets go.
The wise understand the advantages of non-action;
They lose nothing by not grasping and clinging,
while foolish people in their enterprises
often fail on the brink of success.
Be mindful from beginning to end
if you want to avoid failure.
The wise desire to be desireless;
they place no value on what is unavailable.
They learn how to live without learning,
yet correct the errors of scholars.
They advise conformity to nature
and avoid rash actions.
The Roots of Turbulence
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Heaviness lies at the root of lightness;
stillness begets turbulence.
Thus the nobleman heads his caravan
keeping a constant eye on his possession-laden wagons.
At night he sleeps secure behind high-walled towers,
undaunted and untroubled.
But how can the ruler of ten thousand chariots
discard the people so lightly from his thoughts?
The branch too high above the root is lost;
the aloof ruler is lost through turbulence.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rills to the Sea
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Way is nameless.
The uncarved block is small,
but who dares claim it?
The world’s relation to the Way
is like rills’
to the Rivers and Seas.
True Greatness is Selfless
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Like the broadest River
the Way cannot be rerouted or deterred.
And while myriad creatures depend on it for life,
it imposes no authority
but works tirelessly without acclamation,
feeding its dependants without seeking to rule them.
Free of desires, it may be deemed “small,”
but because myriad creatures depend on it,
it may also be considered “great.”
And because it never claims greatness,
it is capable of greatness.
When the Way Holds Sway
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When the Way holds sway,
farm horses plough fertile fields;
but when it fails to prevail,
war-horses breed on closed borders.
There’s no greater crime
than to pander to needless desires,
no sickness worse
than not knowing what’s enough,
no greater disaster
than covetousness.
But whoever knows what’s enough
will be content with his fate.
The Way
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Way creates and nurtures all creatures,
rears and nourishes them,
sustains and matures them,
feeds and shelters them,
grants them life without possession,
benefits them but asks no thanks,
guides but imposes no authority.
Such is the mysterious virtue.
The Greatest of These Is Compassion
by Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The world calls my Way vast,
says it resembles nothing else.
Precisely! And its vastness is why
my Way resembles nothing else.
For if it resembled anything else,
wouldn’t it then be small?
I have three treasures
that I cling to, and cherish.
First, compassion.
Second, moderation.
Third, not rashly advancing myself.
Being compassionate, I can show courage.
Being moderate, I can be generous.
Not rashly taking the lead, I can command.
Courage without compassion,
Generosity without moderation,
Leading from in front rather than from behind,
are certain to end in catastrophe.
With compassion you will win at war
and be invincible in peace,
for Heaven will protect you
when you act with compassion.
Keywords/Tags: China, Chinese, poem, poems, poetry, translation, Shijing, Shi Jing, Book of Songs, Book of Odes
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