Li Yu
(937-978)
Angler
Foamy tides, like snow-drifts, lingering;
A battalion of plum trees silently blooming;
A bottle of wine
And a fishing line;
Who in this world is my equal?
The oar rips apart the spring water
On which the leaf-like boat is floating.
A tiny hook dangles
At the end of a silk cord.
The islet is covered with blossoms
And my jug is full of wine.
Upon these thousand acres of waves there is freedom.
Garden
The garden, deep and serene;
The hall, vacant and small.
Now and then,
washerwomen's pounding
mingles with the wind.
In this eternal night,
only a sleepless man hears
the intermittent noises
Stealthily brought to curtains
by the moonlight.
New Year
Wind returns to this small court
as lichens turn green.
Her eyes and willow leaves
make a sequence in spring.
Leaning against the balustrade
she remains long in silence.
The new moon and the crackers
are tediously the same as the past.
The feast and the music have not yet ceased.
In the pond, ice is beginning to melt.
In the bright candlelight and the faint scent,
and deeply hidden in the painted room,
My temples, overladen with thoughts,
are white like frost.
Drinking
Last night, the wind and rain -
Those autumnal sounds
struck against the curtains and screens.
The candle wept,
the clepsydra dipped
and I leaned against the head-rest.
I rose, but found no peace.
All mundane affairs
should be thrown into the rier.
Life is just a nightmare.
The only safe path is down into the cellar.
Any other route is not worth the fare.
Love-sickness
Her hair: tied up with a ribbon
And fixed with a jade pin;
Her flowing robes,
soft and thin;
Between her adorned brows
a shallow furrow.
October: too much wind
Accompanied by rain
Beating on two or three
palm trees.
A helpless man
in an endless night.
In Prison
A rule of forty years;
A kingdom of a thousand miles;
The princely pavilions that rose to lofty heights;
And the jade trees and bushes
intertwined in a misty net -
All these had never known the clash of arms.
Now, captured and enslaved,
My limbs grow frail and my temples grey.
I shall never forget the hurried departure
from the ancestral altar
When the court musicians were playing a song of farewell
And my eyes, imbued with tears, gazed at my maids.
How Much Regret?
How much regret,
In a dream last night?
I wandered back to my hunting lodge,
as in the past:
The chariots ran on like a stream
And the horses galloped like flying dragons.
The blossoms, the moonlight and teh gentle wind
were the joy of spring.
How many tears
On my face and cheeks?
I should not tell the secret in my heart,
Nor should you play the phoenix flute
while our eyes are still wet.
For that would be too much to endure.
Reminiscence
The red of the spring orchard has faded.
Far too soon!
The blame is often laid
on chilling rain at dawn
and the wind at dusk.
The rouged tears
That intoxicate and hold in thrall -
When will they fall again?
As a river drifts towards the east
So painful life passes to its bitter end.
The Past
The beauty of the scenery cannot sweeten
my bitter memories.
In the courtyard, moss spreads over the steps
despite the autumn wind.
My bed curtains hang down for days,
Since no one comes.
The golden sword has long been buried
And my ambitions have withered like weeds.
In the cool and still sky
the moon opens like a flower.
The shadows of my old palaces
Must now be aimlessly falling across the moats.
Birthday
Spring flowers and autumn leaves,
will they never end?
How many things have happened?
In this little tower, last night,
the east wind blew once more.
Can I bear to look back at the old country
in the bright moon?
The carved hand-rails and marble steps
must still be there,
But not my youthful cheeks.
How much sadness can I bear?
As much as an eastward-flowing river filled with
spring water.
The sorrow in your heart
is betrayed by a few grey hairs.
Life is like empty mountain ranges
Where snow awaits your visits;
Yet you make your solitary retreat
by the past in the wilderness.
Outside the curtains the rain is pattering
As the season draws to its end.
My satin bed-cover cannot keep out
the chill at dawn.
In the dream, I forgot
that I was in exile,
And for a time there was joy.
Never lean against the balustrade in solitude.
O, my mountains and rivers -
It was so easy to part,
But the return proves to be so hard.
Spring, will you go with the falling petals
and drifting currents
To paradise? Let me remain a while.