Poetry

If I follow in her tracks she stirs up trouble, and if I rest from the search she rises up in anger. And if on the road for a moment, out of loyalty, I fall on her tracks like dust, like the wind she flees. And if I seek half a kiss, a hundred taunts,…

The moon shines down over the public ferry, Alone, I'm overwhelmed by thoughts of home. Birds roost in the trees round Lake P'eng-li, The moon mounts high up above the boat on the      Chien-ch'ang. Dead drunk, old fishermen disperse from the market, In secluded buildings travelling merchants sleep. Where is that flute playing across the…

trans. Bulgarian Jascha Kessler and Alexander Shurbanov It was in the Fall of '56 that I stood where I stand still: they're drilling 20-year old marines in diving. Dolphins leap with the sheer joy of it, keeping time in the sea with them. As for me, I stumble on in grief at the mere thought…

Don't ask how many complaints I have about her black            curls. I am so undone because of her that it's beyond telling. Let no one abandon heart and faith in hope of fidelity. I did. Do not ask me how sorry I am. With one gulp of wine which troubles no one I drew…

On the river at Mu-chou,      west of the water gate, They raised the oars, hoisted the sail,      and we released our embrace. Today, at the sky's shore,      I sit deep into the night, Heart-broken and haunted by the memory      of leaving Ah Yin.

                       Standing            between good and evil,      between the two frozen poles,                        at last            between man and man,                  and, looking hard,      I simply cannot understand how in the world life can make both ends meet.

     There are two things you have      to worry about about her:      she opens up for you      and she closes up on you,      but you shouldn't worry      too much about it because      this is the way she is      and this is the way you are: You just shouldn't mention her name. She loves you in her…

All withers in the autumn air: wine quickly wears off: Bleak and dismal, it's always      like feelings felt at parting. At dusk, I lean on a pillar:      I don't go home; My heart breaks at the patter of wind and rain      on the green lotus.