Farmer

A poor man on a tiny plot
Imagines beyond the forest green;
No words of the wise can mend his lot,
He bears the burden as if a dream.
 
He plants his field and tends for autumn,
Singing a song of the land he sows,
And though he starves he’s never solemn,
Awaiting each morning the cry of crows.
 
One day he walks along the eastern bay
And spreads his oars beyond the shore;
Floating with the tide, he flits away
Until returning to land once more.
 
How sweet this densely hidden land

Western Clouds

The sun goes up and soars on to the end
For me to chase somewhere beyond, alone;
Today I’m here to rest and meet a friend,
By dawn I’m off to seek a shore unknown.
 
It’s been near fifteen years without a rest
And now it seems the noise and crowds increase;
I’ll leave it soon and go perhaps out west,
The burdens gently boxed and left back east.
 
A western wind is blowing, wild and free,
Across the mountains, streams, and golden plains;
I’ll walk a trail of clouds to where they flee,

Bamboo Retreat

Alone, I sit serene within a bamboo grove,
At ease, I strum the lute and hum a song.
Unknown into the forest deep I’ll rove
Until the shining moon has sung along.
 
 
 
Chinese
 
竹里館
 
獨坐幽篁裡,
彈琴復長嘯。
深林人不知,
明月來相照。
 
 
Pronunciation
 
Zhú Lǐ Guǎn
 
Dú zuò yōu huáng lǐ,
Dàn qín fù cháng xiào。
Shēn lín rén bù zhī,
Míng yuè lái xiāng zhào。
 
 
Literal Character Translation
 

Deer Woods

Inside the empty hills I see no men,
The human words I hear are merely echoes.
Returning deep within the woods again,
The light reflects atop, where green moss grows.
 
 
 
Chinese
 
鹿柴
 
空山不見人,
但聞人語響。
返景入深林,
復照青苔上。

 
Pronunciation
 
Lù Chái
 
Kōng shān bù jiàn rén,
Dàn wén rén yǔ xiǎng。
Fǎn jǐng rù shēn lín,
Fù zhào qīng tái shàng。
 
 
Literal Character Translation
 

A City Asleep

Each day in lights and city streets,
Construction sounds that crack the air;
Or horns that break in crazy beats
At roadblocks halting everywhere.
 
I seek somewhere a patch of grass
Beyond a thousand concrete bridges,
A place where I shall pass
A skyline filled with mountain ridges.
 
But now the air is lit with steam,
The smoky mist pours in and out—
My soul’s a silent, washed-out dream,
A city asleep and filled with doubt. 

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