Winter Night, Sent to Wen Tingyun
Pains finding a poem to read you in the lamplight.
I haven't slept all night long — I have this cold quilt.
The courtyard is full of leaves blown off trees by a worried wind
and a sinking sad moon pierces the bed curtain and window scrim.
Dispersed, we have no time to carry out our wishes,
but in every rise and fall we see the mind in its original state.
Without a hidden perch in the paulownias,*
the sparrow circle the grove, vacantly chirping all night.
* Chinese parasol tree
Early Autumn
Tender chrysanthemums hold new colors, and
in the distant mountains dusk mist idles.
A cool wind startles the green trees —
clear rhymes to meld with red strings.
A longing woman, brocade in her loom,
someone trekking through the sky beyond the pass:
wild geese fly, fish are in the water,
and letters, too, get sent along.
The Scene in Late Spring
An impoverished home at the end of the lane. No companions, either,
except for a lover who stays in my dreams.
Waiting fragrances, fine silk? A banquet in some other house,
some other tower the wind is sending sings from.
I was woken this morning by the avenue's clamoring drums
and the chitchat of magpies in the courtyard interrupts my spring
sorrow.
How could I keep up with the human realm,
myself? I am an unmoored boat ten thousand miles away.
______________________
Yu Xuanji
Hiding In Caverns Formed
From Old Roots
TRANSLATED BY LUCAS KLEIN
Oxford 2024
