Here is a selection of poems of Li Bai made by Lata
Iyer
Awakening
from Sleep on a Spring Day
Life is an immense dream. Why toil?
All day long I drowse with wine.
And lie by the post at the front door.
Awakening, I gaze upon the garden trees,
And, hark, a bird is singing among the flowers.
Pray, what season may this be?
Ah, the songster's a mango-bird,
Singing to the passing wind of spring.
I muse and muse myself to sadness,
Once more I pour my wine, and singing aloud,
Await the bright moonrise.
My song is ended—
What troubled my soul?—I remember not.
I am a Peach
Tree
I am a peach tree blossoming in a deep pit.
Who is there I may turn to and smile?
You are the moon up in the far sky;
Passing, you looked down on me an hour; then went on
forever.
A sword with the keenest edge,
Could not cut the stream of water in twain
So that it would cease to flow.
My thought is like the stream; and flows and
follows you on forever.
The Lotus
In the deep sequestered stream the lotus grows,
Blooming fresh and fair in the morning sun.
Its glowing petals hide the clear autumn water,
And its thick leaves spread like blue smoke.
Alas! in vain its beauty excels the world.
Who knows? Who will speak of its rare perfume?
Lo, the frost will come, chilling the air,
And its crimson must wither, its fragrance fade.
Ill it has chosen the place to plant its root.
Would it could move to the margin of a flower pond!
The floor before my bed is bright:
Moonlight—like hoarfrost—in my room.
I lift my head and watch the moon.
I drop my head and think of home.
(Tr. Vikram Seth, 1992, from Three Chinese Poets)
Before my bed there is bright moonlight
So that it seems like frost on the ground:
Lifting my head I watch the bright moon,
Lowering my head I dream that I'm home.
(Tr. Arthur Cooper, 1973, from Penguin Classics, Poems Selected and
Translated)
The following few verses will show how differently
Chinese compositions could be translated.
Beside my bed a pool of light—
Is it hoarfrost on the ground?
I lift my eyes and see the moon,
I bend my head and think of home.
(Tr. Xianyi and Gladys Yang, 1984, from Poetry and Prose of the Tang and Song)
Moon's bright light descends
Like a blanket of snow around
My bed; I raise my head to the bright moon,
Then bow it low and long for home.
(Tr. Liu Yingkai and Steven Schroeder, 1999, Roosevelt
University Press)
Before my bed a pool of light—
Can it be hoar-frost on the ground?
Looking up, I find the moon bright;
Bowing, in homesickness I am drowned.
(Tr. Li Ziliang, Li Gouqing and Zhao Feifei, from Chinese Literature, Cultural
(Also, Tr. Xu Yuanchong, 1988 and 2001, from 300 Gems of Classical Chinese Poetry)
Farewell to A
Friend
Here we must make separation
And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass.
Mind like a floating wide cloud,
Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances
Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance.
Our horses neigh to each others
as we are departing.
Bringing in
the Wine
Entering the ocean, never
to return.
See how lovely locks in
bright mirrors in high chambers,
Though silken-black at
morning, have changed by night to snow.
... Oh, let a man of
spirit venture where he pleases
And never tip his golden
cup empty toward the moon!
Since heaven gave the
talent, let it be employed!
Spin a thousand of pieces
of silver, all of them come back!
Cook a sheep, kill a cow,
whet the appetite,
And make me, of three
hundred bowls, one long drink!
... To the old master,
Tsen,
And the young scholar,
Tan-chiu,
Bring in the wine!
Let your cups never rest!
Let me sing you a song!
Let your ears attend!
What are bell and drum,
rare dishes and treasure?
Let me be forever drunk
and never come to reason!
Sober men of olden days
and sages are forgotten,
And only the great
drinkers are famous for all time.
... Prince Chen paid at a
banquet in the
Ten thousand coins for a
cask of wine, with many a laugh and quip.
Why say, my host, that
your money is gone?
Go and buy wine and we'll
drink it together!
My flower-dappled horse,
My furs worth a thousand,
Hand them to the boy to
exchange for good wine,
And we'll drown away the
woes of ten thousand generation!
Alone Looking
at the Mountain
All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other—
Only the mountain and I.