December 2020
Tom Montag
tmmontag@centurylink.net
tmmontag@centurylink.net
Author's Note: No, I don't read Chinese, but I have read as many translations of these
poems as I can find. I find that the poems are still struggling to get out. These are my attempts to
free the old masters in contemporary English.
After Lyou Chang-Ching's "Going to Look
for Master Chang of South Stream"
Everywhere
along the path
I see footprints
in the moss.
I see fog
on an island
and grasses
at the gate.
I see the pines
bright after rain.
Walking the mountain
I reach the source
of the stream.
The flowers there
are what Zen means.
Seeing them
you don't need words.
After Bai Juyi's "Sleeping on a
Night of Autumn Rain"
So cold, late
in autumn.
The old man
content to
settle in
bed, the lamp
already
burning out.
Sound of rain
while he sleeps,
stove still sweet
with embers,
the smell of
fire warming
him. Dawn comes.
And he sleeps.
Outside, frost
has taken
the last of
his flowers.
After Li Po's "Amusing Myself"
I was drinking my wine
and failed to notice
evening has come.
Blossoms have fallen
all around me.
I rise, wobbly,
and approach the moon
where it settles
on the water. Far off,
there are birds. Here
where I am, I am alone.
©2020 Tom Montag
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