May 2022
Author's Note: It is not so much that I have been "translating" the poetry of the Chinese masters as I have been re-imagining it. I don't speak or read Chinese, but I do read as many English translations of Chinese poems as possible and I can often see poems still locked inside those translations trying to get out. What I have been doing is finding those poems and setting them free in a way that works as poetry for me.
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 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.
After Mei Yaochen's
"A Rural Home"
Roosters crow.
The sky is
brightening.
Farmers take
their morning
rice and tea
and go out
to plowing.
I open
my window
and stand to
watch the last
of the stars
disappearing.
Originally published in publication
©2022 Tom Montag
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