Water-Hourglass
The
willow shoots long, the spring rain lightning
beyond
the flowers, the water-hourglass
drips,
distantly,
flushing
the wild geese at the frontier
and
the birds on the city wall,
but
not the golden partridge painted on the screen.
The
thin mist of the incense comes
through
the embroidered curtain.
Overlooking
the pond, her room is wrapped in solitude.
Against
a red candle,
behind
the brocade valence hung low,
her
dream is long, unknown to him.
Wen
Tingyun (812-870)
Broken
Lotus Root
Young,
we threw away the pastoral years.
Now
like a broken lotus root it is
impossible
to join the present and the past. Then,
we
waited for each other,
standing
by the vermilion-railed bridge.
Today,
I search for the traces, in vain,
along
the deserted path buried under yellow leaves.
Through
the mist all the peaks
seem
to be highlighting the blue.
Setting
on the back of a wild goose,
the
sun turns into a dark red.
You left, like a cloud drifting away,
across
the river. The memory of
our
passion is like a willow catkin
stuck
to the ground, after the rain.
Zhou
Bangyan (1057-1121)
Husband-Watching
Rock
Where
she stood looking out for her husband,
the
water of the river flowed on
to
the horizon. Now
she's
turned into a rock, which
continues
to look out
without
ever turning back, day in,
day
out, against the wind and rain
on
the hill . . .
When
he comes back,
the
rock should speak out.
Wang
Jian (766-830?)
From Treasury of Chinese Love Poems, trans. & ed. Qiu Xiaolong.
