Spring Landscape
Line one: empire broken: by the violent An Lushan rebellion, 755-762. It devastated the Tang dynasty (618-907) for eight years. The Tang never fully recovered.

The empire, broken. Mountains and rivers remain.
Spring in the city: grass trees swell unchecked.
Sensing the times, flowers shed tears
hating departures, birds grow anxious;
war beacons burn for three months straight
letters from home, worth thousands in gold.
I scratch white hair; it grows still thinner
the days it held a pin have gone.

On Hearing that the Imperial Armies have Retaken the Provinces of Henan and Hebei
this poem celebrates the suppression of the An Lushan rebellion of 755, which nearly ended the Tang dynasty (618-906).
Line one: Jiannan: in Sichuan, a remote western province, frequent refuge in restless times.
Lines seven, eight: Ba and Wu gorges: on the Yangtze River. Xiangyang: a north-central city on the Han River. Luoyang: the capital.

We hear, in Jiannan, Jibei is retaken:
instant tears shower my clothes.
I look at my wife: her sadness gone,
we scramble up scrolls, joy near madness
chant at noon to endless wine.
Return will be good in the green of spring.
We leave at once, through Ba and Wu gorges
down to Xiangyang, on to Luoyang.

At Night in the Tower
Line four: River of Stars: the Milky Way.
Line six: sing foreign songs: under the influence of Tibetan invaders.
Line seven: Zhuge Liang (181-234) was chancellor of the Shu kingdom (223-263), ie, Sichuan. Nicknamed “Crouching Dragon,” he was a brilliant military strategist. In the same region centuries earlier, Gongsun Shu (?-36) created and ruled the state of Shu (25-36) amid the confusion of the Wang Meng insurrection (9-25). In 33, he revolted against the Han dynasty (206 BCE-220 CE) until suppressed by Han forces in 36.

At year’s end, the moving season hurries shrinking light.
At heaven’s edge, snow subsides in cold night.
At fifth watch, drums and horns sound sad and brave.
The River of Stars vaults Yangzi gorges. Shadows quiver and shake.
Alone in the wilderness, a thousand homes weep at war’s approach:
already, woodcutters and fishermen sing alien songs.
Long have Zhuge Liang and Gongsun Shu slept in the yellow dust;
now letters, books, the affairs of men, also lie in lonely silence.

Autumn Thoughts: I
Line eight: high and remote above the Yangzi at Wu Gorge, Baidizheng (White Emperor City) is located where the Yangzi begins to drop through dangerous mountain gorges as it falls from the heights of Sichuan in the west to the central plains and the sea. Founded as the impregnable fortress of a first-century warlord, Baidizheng was known as Kuizhou in the artist’s time. Mountain-bound, virtually roadless, surrounded by minority tribes, it was usually accessed by boat (line six). Washblocks: for laundering clothes.

Wounding jade dew withers maple woods.
a sad miasmic air surrounds Wu gorge and mountain.
Out on the river, leaping waves vault toward heaven
on barrier mountains, windblown clouds clutch dark earth.
Twice have chrysanthemums renewed the tears of former years.
My heart’s lone path to childhood gardens — this single boat.
Everywhere now, winter clothes rush rule and scissors.
In this high city, speeding washblocks quicken toward dusk.

Moon Night
Lines one, four: in 757, the artist was trapped in the capital Changan by the rebels of the An Lushan uprising; his family were refugees in Fuzhou to the north.

The moon is over Fuzhou tonight —
from her lonely bed, my wife watches.
From far off, I pity my children —
they cannot know why Changan keeps me.
Mist wets her clouds of fragrant hair
moonbeams chill her jade-white arms.
When shall we lean through the curtains once more
white tear tracks dry in the moon’s bright glow?

Night Feast at Zuo Mansion
Line two: qin: a zither.
Line seven: Wu: old name for southern Jiangsu province, a favorite locale of the artist.
Line eight: “never forget the small-boat idea”: a favorite image of the artist — both an escape from adversity and avenue to new possibilities. And an allusion to General Fan Li (Spring and Autumn period, 770-476 BCE), valued advisor to the state of Yue, especially in its disputes with the state of Wu, and later engaged in business. In legend, he retired to spend his last years sailing the lakes and rivers of Jiangnan with Xi Shi, famous for her beauty.

The thin moon falls. Wind in the trees.
On dew-dappled mats, the qin is ready.
Dark water curves by flowering paths
spring stars arc the thatched-roof hall.
By shrinking candles, we study old books
inspect fine swords, drink deep from our cups
sing new poems in the tones of Wu.
But I never forget my small boat, waiting.

Thinking of Li Bo on a Spring Day
Li Bo (701-762) and the author have been frequently described as two of the three greatest poets of China.
Lines three, four: these are the family names and official titles of two poets admired by the artist, Yu Xin (513-581) and Bao Zhao (?-466, above).
Lines five, six: a couplet whose ambiguity allows it to describe both the contrast between Yu and Bao’s poetry in couplet two and the physical separation of the artist and Li Bo in couplet four.

Li Bo’s poetry has no match:
his thoughts fly over the commonplace:
clear and fresh, like Yu Kaifu’s
flowing and vigorous, like Bao Canjun’s.
North of the Wei: spring trees;
east of the Yangzi: evening clouds.
When shall we meet over wine once more,
discern subtle thoughts among ancient words?

Poetic Thoughts on the Traces of Antiquity: I
Background: this poem reflects broad similarities between the life of the artist (first quatrain) and that of Yu Xin (513-581, second quatrain). Yu Xin was a poet in the court of the Liang dynasty (502-557) when a non-Chinese (“foreign”) general in its army, Hou Jing, seized the capital in 549 (line five), deposing the emperor. As one result, Yu Xin was sent as envoy to the Western Wei (535-557), a non-Chinese dynasty ruling part of north China. Until his death, he was honorably but forcibly employed in their court (and that of their successor dynasty, the Northern Zhou, 557-581) out of admiration for his poetic talent (lines six, seven).
Line three: pavilion and terrace: historic sites at Three Gorges on the upper Yangzi river. In line eight, “river and pass” also reference the Three Gorges.
Line four: Five Streams: each a different color, are mythical features of the legend-shrouded Kunlun mountains bordering northern Tibet.

Disheveled by wind and dust I traveled northeast
floating mid heaven and earth I drifted southwest.
Pavilion and terrace transfixed me for months at Three Gorges
as I shared with mountain and cloud the robes of Five Streams.
Since in the end a foreigner ill-served his ruler,
regretting his times, a poet was kept from his home:
through most of his life, Yu Xin was lonesome and sad
and yet, near the end, his poems shook river and pass.

Bound Chickens Poem

My servant boy binds chickens for sale.
Hastily tied, they twist and cry.
With contempt for hens eating worms and ants
we tend to forget: chickens sold are chickens cooked.
Chicken or bug, thin or fat — why should humans care?
I shout to my boy: let them loose.
Still, bugs and chickens will win and lose till the end of time.
In my mountain pavilion, I stare at the cold river’s flow.