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People ask about Cold Mountain Way
no poetry thread is complete without Chinese poetry:
By Han Shan (Cold Mountain) Here we languish, a bunch of poor scholars, battered by extremes of hunger and cold. Out of work, our only joy is poetry: Scribble, scribble, we wear out our brains. Who will read the works of such men? On that point you can save your sighs. We could inscribe our poems on biscuits And the homeless dogs wouldn't deign to nibble Hermits hide from mankind Most go to the mountains to sleep Where green vines wind through woods And jade gorges echo unbroken Higher and higher enraptured On and on simply free Free of what stains the world Minds pure like the white lotus If you are looking for a place to rest, Cold Mountain is a good place to stay. The breeze flowing through the dark pines Sounds better the closer you come. And under the trees a white-haired man Mumbles over his Taoist texts. Ten years now he hasn't gone home; He has even forgotten the road he came by. High on the mountain’s peak Infinity in all directions! The solitary moon looks down From its midnight loft Admires its reflection in the icy pond. Shivering, I serenade the moon. I climb the road to Cold Mountain, The road to Cold Mountain that never ends. The valleys are long and strewn with stones; The streams broad and filled with thick grass. Moss is slippery though no rain has fallen; Pines sigh but it isn't the wind. Who can break from the snares of the world And sit with me among the white clouds? Have I a body or have I none? Am I who I am or am I not? Pondering these questions, I sit leaning against the cliff as the years go by, Till the green grass grows between my feet And the red dust settles on my head, And the men of the world, thinking me dead, Come with offerings of wine and fruit to lay by my corpse. The place where I spend my days Is farther away than I can tell. Without a word the wild vines stir, No fog, yet the bamboos are always dark. Who do the valleys sob for? Why do the mists huddle together? At noon, sitting in my hut I realize for the first time that the sun has risen. Today I sat before the cliffs Sat until the mist blew off A rambling clear stream shore A towering green ridge crest Cloud's dawn shadows still Moon's night light adrift Body free of dust Mind without a care. People ask about Cold Mountain Way; There's no Cold Mountain Road that goes straight through: By summer, lingering cold is not dispersed, By fog, the risen sun is screened from view; So how did one like me get onto it? In our hearts, I'm not the same as you -- If in your heart you should become like me, Then you can reach the center of it too. Among a thousand clouds and ten thousand streams, Here lives an idle man, In the daytime wandering over green mountains At night coming home to sleep by the cliff. Swiftly the springs and autumns pass, But my mind is at peace, free from dust or delusion How pleasant to know I need nothing to lean on To be still as the waters of the autumn river! Thirty years ago I was born into the world. A thousand, ten thousand miles I've roamed. By rivers where the green grass grows thick, Beyond the border where the red sands fly. I brewed potions in a vain search for life everlasting, I read books, I sang songs of history, And today I've come home to Cold Mountain To pillow my head on the stream and wash my ears. You have seen the blossoms among the leaves; tell me, how long will they stay? Today they tremble before the hand that picks them; tomorrow they wait someone's garden broom. Wonderful is the bright heart of youth, but with the years it grows old. Is the world not like these flowers? Ruddy faces, how can they last? I spur my horse past the ruined city; the ruined city, that wakes the traveler's thoughts: ancient battlements, high and low; old grave mounds, great and small. Where the shadow of a single tumbleweed trembles and the voice of the great trees clings forever, I sigh over all these common bones -- No roll of the immortals bears their names. When I see a fellow abusing others, I think of a man with a basketful of water. As fast as he can, he runs with it home, but when he gets there, what's left in the basket? When I see a man being abused by others, I think of the leek growing in the garden. Day after day men pull off the leaves, but the heart it was born with remains the same. Cold Cliff's remoteness Is what I love No one travels this way Clouds lie around on the peaks A lone gibbon howls on the ridge What else do I cherish? It's good to grow old content Cold and heat change my Appearance;the pearl Of my mind stays safe Cold Mountain is a house Without beams or walls. The six doors left and right are open The hall is blue sky. The rooms all vacant and vague The east wall beats on the west wall At the center nothing. Borrowers don't bother me In the cold I build a little fire When I'm hungry I boil up some greens. I've got no use for the kulak With his big barn and pasture -- He just sets up a prison for himself. Once in he can't get out. Think it over -- You know it might happen to you. |
wow...i was going to put my poem in here. But honestly I'm afraid to ruin the greatness of this place with it....I think I'll just read. Yeah....just...read
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if your interested in chinese poetry check out this site: English translation of Chinese poetry old and new skool Chinese poetry translated in english. |
Free time
My love, You seem such a distant memory now That you’re away from me. The letters sent, Written by you, Awaken the memories of companionship, And true love. But in the time between them, Lay the loneliness Deep in my heart For my best friend and love. The pain I feel for you, Dearest, Is beyond any human tongue. Days here seem endless, But you have a promise of mine— I told you that I would be here Waiting for you to return home, Return to me. |
For you, Ana.
My knees knock together,
The cold- it’s biting. Its teeth are so sharp, its saliva- dripping. It growls and it snaps at my lukewarm flesh that just hangs and waits, Powerless to resist; unable to defend. My bones, they poke out through that pale, tattered cloth- So proud, and yet so weak; So noticeable, yet only wanting to hide from those cruel, disapproving eyes. They stand awkwardly, self conscious and shy; They are the fruits of my labour, my ivory trophies, they are the reason I live and the reason I die. Looking down, my eyes search through my thin strands of hair; greasy and limp, they dangle in self pity- loose and pathetic. They fall on my stomach, The Glutton, The Beast. How sickening it is, how wretched I have become. My fist clenches, nails sink into that rotting hand; thumb rubbing, soothing my fingers- Reaching, stretching, caressing my hunger. These loyal friends; obedient and strong. Helping me to become that person- the one I deserve to be. I pound on my stomach, Beat it like a drum, to a rhythm of hate. Self hate, self loathing; I loathe this body- this fat, wobbling mess. All pasty and dimpled- Enormous and repulsive. I stagger over to the mirror- my unforgiving foe. The pain grows to a climax, It’s unbearable and it’s fierce- Crippling; I double over in agony and fear. I grab at my fat but end up scratching my ribs; Like nails down a chalkboard, I leave desperate, gasping marks. It moves to my chest, Clawing its way up my emaciated frame- Piercing my skin and digging into my bone. My head feels dizzy; my eyes blur and they fade- I reach for the water lined up on my desk. My hand falters, frantically searching and failing. My body falls, it takes forever; my bones shake and split as they swallow up the impact. I feel like I’m barely hanging on, That I’m slipping away, into a far off place- a destination from which, I cannot return. My eyelashes flutter; my throat cracks and it dries. I take a gasp of air but its journey’s cut short- My lungs sit, and they wait… until they wait no more. |
For Kadaj
When love fades away, I have always wanted to Run to someone like you— My life-size teddy bear. Waiting for you, I’ll admit, Was no fun at all. But your tardiness is forgiven From now on. I’m ready to start something new With you love, Just hold your arms open for me to Run into at full speed, Both of us laughing. Embrace me when I need You most love; And maybe I’ll forgive you for Getting here so late. I love you. |
Dora i loved that poem your vary talented and i love everyones as well.>^_^< i just hope people have liked mine.:confused:
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