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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required CHINESE TRANSLATIONS IV These are English translations of Chinese poems about nature, the seasons, autumn, winter, spring, night, time, tears, flowers and love. Seeking a Mooring by Wang Wei loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A leaf drifts through infinite space, a cold wind rends distant clouds. The river flows seaward, the tide repulses. Beyond the moonlit reeds, in unseen villages, I hear fullers’ mallets pounding wet clothing, preparing for winter. Crickets cry ceaselessly, mourning the autumn frost. A traveler’s thoughts wander ten thousand miles in such a night of strange dreams. The tinkling sounds of bells cannot disperse sorrows to come. What will I remember of this journey’s darkest hour? Only ghostly veils of desolate mist and a single fishing boat. Ho Shuang-Ch’ing aka Shuangqing has been called “China's peasant woman poet.” She wrote in the 18th century. To the tune “A Watered Silk Dress” by Ho Shuang-Ch’ing loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Deepest feelings are hardest to divulge. How to reveal a hidden love? Swallowed tears well up again, return. My hands twist, wilted flowers. I lean speechless against my screen. I’m frightened by my figure in the mirror, a too-thin, wasted woman. Not a spring-time face, nor an autumn face: can this be Shuang-ch'ing? To the tune “Washing Silk in the Stream” by Ho Shuang-Ch’ing loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The warm rain falls unfelt like delicate silk threads. The farmer cocks a flower behind his ear, trundles the grain from his field to the threshing-room floor. I rose early to water his field, but he snapped I was too early. I cooked millet for him with smoke-reddened eyes but he snapped I was too late. My tender bottom was sore the entire day. Bitter Rain by Wu Tsao loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Bitter rain drenches my courtyard as autumn wilts into winter. I have only vague feelings I’m unable to assemble into poems because words diffuse with the drifting clouds and leaves. After the golden sunset the cold moon rises out of a dismal mist. But I will not draw down the blinds from their silver hooks. Rather, my dreams will fly with the wind, suffering the bitter cold, to the jasper pagoda of your divine flesh. Keywords/Tags: nature, seasons, autumn, winter, spring, night, love, time, tears, flowers, rain, words, poems, dreams, wind
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