|
Poetry talks about time and space as its medium
of expression, great poetry crosses this border. In old Chinese
poetry, poets talk about their own pain, struggle for surviving.
Even though the situations are changed, these poems still
approach us with emotions. We are glad to present 3 poets from
the 8th century, whose poetry appeals to us even to day.
Three great Chinese poets
1. Li Po (8th century)
* The Summit Temple
Here it is night; I stay at the Summit Temple.
Here I can touch the stars with my hand.
I dare not speak aloud in the silence
For fear of disturbing the dwellers of Heaven.
* Winter
Tomorrow the courier leaves for the frontier
All night she spends mending his coat.
Bravely her fingers ply the cold needle,
But the scissors are even colder.
Then at last it is over, and the coat is given away:
How many days will it take to reach Lin-tao?
* Autumn
The moon rises over Ch’ang-an,
From ten thousand doors comes the sound of pounding cloth.
The autumn wind blows sadly.
My thoughts mingle with yours at the Jade Pass.
When will the Tartars be put to flight?
When will my beloved be able to return from the battlefield?
2. Tu Fu (8th century)
* Spring
Mountains and rivers lie in the opening sun.
Spring wind freshens the flowers and herbs.
Swallows are flying to fill their nests with mud.
Doves spread themselves drowsily in hot sand.
The blue river reflects the white birds.
On the green mountains red flowers are burning.
Silently I watch the procession of Spring.
Then I will return to my beloved home.
*The Rain at Night
The good rain knows when to fall,
Coming in this spring to help the seeds,
Choosing to fall by night with a friendly wind,
Silently moistening the whole earth.
Over this silent wilderness the clouds are dark.
The only light shines from the river-boat.
Tomorrow everything will be red and wet,
And all Chengtu will be covered with blossoming flowers.
* Parting from my old wife
The country is still at war; no safety yet.
Old as I am, I cannot retire and rest.
My sons and grandsons all died at the front.
What good is it to me to remain on earth alone?
I throw away my stick and go out of doors,
My heart aches, my spirit is dumbfounded.
Fortunately my teeth are all sound—
But I am afraid my bones cannot stand it.
Do not worry—I am wearing my uniform,
I bow to the officer, I bid him farewell.
My old wife lies on the roadside weeping,
Her summer clothes pierced through by the winter wind.
Do I really know that we shall not meet again?
And yet I am afraid that she will catch cold.
I go on my way, I know I shall never return,
Yet she tells me: “Keep well, my love, keep well.”
They say the citadel at Ti-men is formidable,
The ferry at Han-hsien is difficult to cross;
We lost the battle of Nu, but not the next one.
There are still months to live, though I shall die.
Death is there, before every mortal being,
And has very little to do with health or age.
I remember the happy days of my youth and middle age:
I sigh and meditate deeply for a while.
The whole world is in confusion of war;
The bale fire flares over the whole earth.
Corpses are piling on the grass, and the smell is terrible.
Blood runs like water, reddening the river and the plain.
There is no place safe on the earth.
How can I wander and not hesitate?
I must make up my mind without any pangs
To leave my pleasant home for ever.
3. Po Chu-I (8th-9th
century
* Sitting at Night
Against the lamp I sit by the south window,
Listening to the sleet and the wind in the dark:
Desolation deepens the night among the villages.
Through the snow I hear the lost wild goose calling.
* The Mirror
The brightness of a bronze mirror,
The whiteness of silken thread.
How can I prevent people knowing my age?
Surely you do not believe I have grown old?
By Courtesy---from The White Pony edited by the late Robert
Payne
Czeslaw Milosz,
(winner of the Nobel Prize )
A polish poet, essayist and novelist, was
born in Lithuania in 1911. he was one of the leader of avant
–grade poetry movement in Poland in the 1930s, was in the
Resistance during world war II, and edited an anti-Nazi
anthology, Invincible song.
Czeslaw Milosz was awarded the 1978 Neustadt International Prize
for literature.
A Frivolous Conversation
-My past is stupid butterfly’s overseas voyage.
My future is a garden where a cook cuts the throat of a rooster.
What do I have, with all my pain and rebellion?
-Take a moment, just one, and when its fine shell,
Two joined palms, slowly opens
What do you see?
-A pearl, a second
- Inside a second, a pearl, in that star saved from time
What do you see when the wind of mutability ceases?
- the earth, the sky and the sea, richly cargoed ships,
Spring morning full of dew and faraway princedoms.
At marvels displayed in tranquil glory
I look and do not desire for I am content.
1944
Proof
And yet you experienced the flames of Hell.
You can even say what they are like; real,
Ending in sharp hooks so that they tear up flesh
Piece by piece, to bone. You walked in the street
And it was going on: the lashing and bleeding
You remember, therefore you have no doubt: there is a Hell for
certain.
Window
I looked out the window at dawn and saw a young apple tree
translucent
in brightness.
And when I looked out at dawn again, an apple tree laden with
fruit stood there
Many years had probably gone by but I remember nothing of what
happened in my sleep.
The fall
The death of a man is like the fall of a mighty nation
That had valiant armies, captains and prophet,
And wealthy ports and ships over all the seas,
But now it will not relieve any besieged city,
It will not enter in to any alliance,
Because its cities are empty, its population dispersed
Its land once bringing harvest is overgrown with thistles,
Its mission forgotten, its language lost,
The dialect of a village high upon inaccessible mountains.
SO LITTLE
I said so little
Days were short
Short days
Short nights
Short years
I said so little
I couldn't keep up.
My heart grew weary
From joy,
Despair,
Ardor,
Hope.
The jaws of Leviathan
Were closing upon me.
Naked, I lay on the shores
Of desert islands.
The white whale of the world
Hauled me down to it's pit.
And now I don't know
What in all that was real.
|
