Wednesday, January 17, 2024



Notes of Late Spring

Living in a dark alley behind shambled gates,

I have few companions or friends —

my perfect lover boy only stays on in my dreams.

So whose banquet with fine silks

floats out this fragrant incense,

and what pavilion releases such singing to the wind?

Living just beside the street, the noise of martial drums

shocked me out of my morning sleep.

The screech of magpies in my unused yard

churns up the youthful restlessness I feel.

How can I keep chasing such worldly things

when I know this body

is the same as an untied boat?


Yu Xuanji

Yin Mountain

The immortal poetry of three Daoist women

translated by Peter Levitt & Rebecca Nie

Shambhala, 2022