Chinese poetry

Around the building throughout the day,
These joyful guests convene on beams
With songs that carry auspicious signs,
Arriving through the curtained screens.
 
Sunset guides them down to town for rest,
But dawn will draw them to the river streams,
Until they reach the swans assembled together,
Watching them soar, as in a phoenix dream.
 
 
Original Chinese poem by Li Jiao
 

As the sun dies down I lie in the lake pavilion,
Heart disturbed and drawn by various affairs;
Sleep ruined, I wake and drink, intoxicated,
Sitting and waiting in the cool night air.
 
Rain in the pines has sent my rattan hat afloat,
The river wind has pierced my hempen clothes:
Walking by willows, never tired of this path,
The sand is soft like cotton in falling snow.
 
 
Original Chinese poem by Bai Juyi

Hugging the path in early spring
We walk here hand in hand;
Though grass has yet to spring to life,
To me it’s fresh-laid land.
 
Nothing to do, pursuing the blooms,
The willows have taught my mind:
Again and again I come and go
To savor a cup of wine.
 
 
Original poem in Chinese by Shen Yue

The wind beats down this building cold,
Twisting amidst the morning mist
As I carry on with my bleak new post:
Though fog weighs down, a tree persists.
 
This tedious land, with nothing around,
I sit once more in silent reflection—
I go out for a while to wet my clothes
And look for you in a far-off direction.
 
 
Original Chinese poem by Wei Yingwu

Original Chinese Poem by Liu Changqing

The River Chu has split the hills in two
To send the jade-brushed water east and back,
Around the two opposing hills anew
As a lonely boat sits still in a sunlit crack.
 
 
Original Chinese poem by Li Bai

Look at the bird, he spreads his wings,
The image stays like a song I sing.
He flies in a tune above, below,
So rich and free from the toil I know.
 
For ages I gaze at the sun and moon,
The distant clouds, whose path still looms.
For hundreds of rich, who know not right,
They do no good, but use their might.
 
 
Original Chinese Poem
 

The entire journey was on foot to this place,
Of moss, more moss, and my footstep’s trace.
White clouds about the banks in a quiet state,
The growing grass has covered the fence’s gate.
 
Passing rain, the pine’s green color in course,
I follow the mountain, to the water’s source.
These river flowers, in a moment’s sensation,
Have brought us to meet in silent meditation.
 
 
Original Chinese Poem
 

Fate is a sword that swings by chance—
I wonder where my brothers have gone.
Wiping these tears that wet my sleeves,
I comb my hair like a silken lawn.
The earth is vulgar, vast, and wild,
But Heaven is far, like the distant dawn.
For who is spared from sickness in time?
I cannot see you though life slips on.
 
 
Original Chinese Poem