Chinese 323 Visiting a Friend (1)

Wang Wei (701-761)

"Written on Climbing Candidate Pei Di's Little Pavilion"

 

Living in peace you don't go out of doors;

You fill your eyes by gazing at cloudy mountains.

The setting sun, alongside the birds, sinks down;

The autumn plain, away from men, is at rest.

From afar I know at the distant forest's edge

One cannot see within these eaves.

A seasoned traveler often goes out by moonlight:

Gatekeeper, do not bolt the door.

(Pauline Yu, The Poetry of Wang Wei, p. 183)

 

Wang Wei (701-761)

"On a Spring Day Going with Pei Di to Xinchang Ward to Visit the Hermit Lu and Not Encountering Him"

 

The Peach Blossom Spring has always been cut off from wind and dust.

At the southern edge of Willow Market we visit a recluse friend.

Arrived at his gate we do not dare write "common bird."

Seeing bamboo why do we need to ask about our host? (note)

Outside the city azure mountains are almost inside the room;

From eastern homes flowing waters enter the western environs.

Behind closed doors he has written books for several years and months:

The pines he planted have aged with him and grown a scaly bark.

(Pauline Yu, The Poetry of Wang Wei, p. 188)

 

Li Bo/ Li Bai/Li Po (701-762)

"Visiting the Recluse on Mount Daitian and Not Finding Him In"

 

A dog barks amid the sound of waters,

Peach blossoms bear heavy dew.

Where trees are thickest I sometimes see a deer,

Noon in the ravine, but I hear no bell.

Bamboo of wilderness split through blue haze,

A cascade in flight, hung from an emerald peak.

No one knows where you've gone--

I linger, disappointed, among these few pines.

(Stephen Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, p. 110

 

Du Fu/Tu Fu (712-770)

"Presented to Wei Ba, Gentleman in Retirement"

 

Life is not made for meeting;

Like stars at opposite ends of the sky we move.

What night is it, then, tonight,

When we can share the light of this lamp?

Youth--how long did it last?

The two of us greyheaded now,

We ask about old friends--half are ghosts;

Cries of unbelief stab the heart.

Who would have thought?--twenty years

And once again I enter your house.

You weren't married when I left you;

Now suddenly a whole row of boys and girls!

Merrily greeting their father's friend,

Asking me what places I've been.

Before I finish answering,

You send the boys to set out wine and a meal,

Spring scallions cut in night rain,

New cooked rice mixed with yellow millet.

Meetings are rare enough, you say;

Pour the wine till we downed ten cups!

But ten cups do not make me drunk;

Your steadfast love is what moves me now.

Tomorrow hills and ranges will part us,

The wide world are coming between us again.