More Translations from the Chinese | Page 9

I have tasted the joy of being alone?I will never again come with a friend at my side.
[17] PLANTING BAMBOOS
[A.D. 806]
Unrewarded, my will to serve the State;?At my closed door autumn grasses grow.?What could I do to ease a rustic heart??I planted bamboos, more than a hundred shoots.?When I see their beauty, as they grow by the stream-side, I feel again as though I lived in the hills,?And many a time on public holidays?Round their railing I walk till night comes.?Do not say that their roots are still weak,?Do not say that their shade is still small;?Already I feel that both in garden and house?Day by day a fresher air moves.?But most I love, lying near the window-side,?To hear in their branches the sound of the autumn-wind.
[18] TO LI CHIEN
[Part of a Poem]
[A.D. 807]
Worldly matters again draw my steps;?Worldly things again seduce my heart.?Whenever for long I part from Li Chien?Gradually my thoughts grow narrow and covetous.?I remember how once I used to visit you;?I stopped my horse and tapped at the garden-gate.?Often when I came you were still lying in bed;?Your little children were sent to let me in.?And you, laughing, ran to the front-door?With coat-tails flying and cap all awry.?On the swept terrace, green patterns of moss;?On the dusted bench, clean shadows of leaves.?To gaze at the hills we sat in the eastern lodge;?To wait for the moon we walked to the southern moor.?At your quiet gate only birds spoke;?In your distant street few drums were heard.?Opposite each other all day we talked,?And never once spoke of profit or fame.?Since we parted hands, how long has passed??Thrice and again the full moon has shone.?For when we parted the last flowers were falling,?And to-day I hear new cicadas sing.?The scented year suddenly draws to its close,?Yet the sorrow of parting is still unsubdued.
[19] AT THE END OF SPRING
_To Yüan Chen1._[1] [A.D. 810]
The flower of the pear-tree gathers and turns to fruit; The swallows' eggs have hatched into young birds.?When the Seasons' changes thus confront the mind?What comfort can the Doctrine of Tao give??It will teach me to watch the days and months fly?Without grieving that Youth slips away;?If the Fleeting World is but a long dream,?It does not matter whether one is young or old.?But ever since the day that my friend left my side?And has lived an exile in the City of Chiang-ling,?There is one wish I cannot quite destroy:?That from time to time we may chance to meet again.
[1] Po Chü-i's great friend. See Nos. 63 and 64.
[20] THE POEM ON THE WALL
[A.D. 810]
[_Yüan Chen1 wrote that on his way to exile he had discovered a poem inscribed by Po Chü-i, on the wall of the Lo-k`ou Inn._]
My clumsy poem on the inn-wall none cared to see.?With bird-droppings and moss's growth the letters were blotched away. There came a guest with heart so full, that though a page to the
Throne,?He did not grudge with his broidered coat to wipe off the dust, and
read.
[21] CHU CH`EN1 VILLAGE
[A.D. 811]
In Hsü-chou, in the District of Ku-feng1?There lies a village whose name is Chu-ch`en1--?A hundred miles away from the county-town,?Amid fields of hemp and green of mulberry-trees.?Click, click goes the sound of the spinning-wheel;?Mules and oxen pack the village-streets.?The girls go drawing the water from the brook;?The men go gathering fire-wood on the hill.?So far from the town Government affairs are few;?So deep in the hills, man's ways are simple.?Though they have wealth, they do not traffic with it;?Though they reach the age, they do not enter the Army.?Each family keeps to its village trade;?Grey-headed, they have never left the gates.
Alive, they are the people of Ch`en1 Village;?Dead, they become the dust of Ch`en1 Village.?Out in the fields old men and young?Gaze gladly, each in the other's face.?In the whole village there are only two clans;?Age after age Chus have married Ch`ens1.?Near or distant, they have kinsmen in every house;?Young or old, they have friends wherever they go.?On white wine and roasted fowl they fare?At joyful meetings more than "once a week."?While they are alive, they have no distant partings;?To choose a wife they go to a neighbour's house.?When they are dead,--no distant burial;?Round the village graves lie thick.?They are not troubled either about life or death;?They have no anguish either of body or soul.?And so it happens that they live to a ripe age?And great-great-grandsons are often seen.
_I_ was born in the Realms of Etiquette;?In early years, unprotected and poor.?Alone, I learnt to distinguish between Evil and Good;?Untutored, I toiled at bitter tasks.?The World's Law honours Learning and Fame;?Scholars prize marriages and Caps.?With these fetters I gyved my own hands;?Truly I became a much-deceived man.?At ten years old I learnt to read books;?At fifteen, I knew how to write prose.?At twenty I was made a Bachelor of Arts;?At thirty I