At Yuan Tan-Ch'iu's Mountain Home
By nature, my old friend on East Mountain
treasures the beauty of hills and valleys.
Spring now green, you lie in empty woods,
still sound alseep under a midday sun,
your robes growing lucid in pine winds,
rocky streams rinsing ear and heart clean.
No noise, no confusion---all I want is
this life pillowed high in emerald mist.* * *Something Said, Waking Drunk on a Spring Day
It's like boundless dream here in this
world, nothing anywhere to trouble us.
I have, therefore, been drunk all day,
a shambles of sleep on the front porch.
Coming to, I look into the courtyard.
There's a bird among blossoms calling,
and when I ask what season this is,
an oriole's voice drifts on spring winds.
Overcome, verging on sorrow and lament,
I pour another drink. Soon, awaiting
this bright moon, I'm chanting a song.
And now it's over, I've forgotten why.
- Tr. David Hinton