Floral Elegance

The plum blossoms at the corner of the wall

Blossom all alone in the chilly snowfall;

You can’t mistake them for snow mass from afar,

For a subtle fragrance keeps coming forth.

Between broken rocks striking my root deep,

I bite the mountain green and won't let go.

From whichever direction the winds leap,

I remain strong, though dealt many a blow.

Tides of the spring river washes into the levelled ocean,

And with the tide, a luminous moon is born above sea surface.

Shimmering with the waves for thousands of li,

Where is there no moonlight gracing this spring river!?

–

The river snakes around the lush green fields,

Moon shining upon the flower filled forest, making all appear like sleet.

Flowing frost from the sky appears not to be drifting,

The white sand of river banks cannot be seen.

–

River and sky becomes one, with not the finest of dust,

Shining brightly in the sky is that lone wheel of a moon.

By this riverside, what person was first to see the moon?

This river’s moon, what year did it first shine upon the people?

–

Generations after generations of human life, not at all does it depletes,

The river’s moon is still the same year after year.

It is unknown for who this river’s moon awaits for,

Only seeing this long river sending off its flowing water.

–

A spread of white clouds vaguely fades far into the distance,

Such unbearable sorrows of parting by Qing Feng Riverside.

Which family’s little boat is drifting along the rivers tonight? (Referring to a man out journeying)

Where is the yearning love in the moonlit tower? (Referring to his wife’s longing for him at home)

–

Pitiful it is, the lingering moonlight illuminating the tower,

It should be reflecting the one who left in the dresser table mirror.

Unable to roll it away from the jade-like chamber with the closing of blinds,

Brushed away on the clothes pounding stone it is, but still comes back.

(The moon shines in as though it understands the pain of longing, but should the moon really understand her sorrows then it should let the lady see her lover in the mirror to ease her longing, instead its lingering presence only adds to her yearnings)

–

In this moment, both gazes at the moon, but unable they are to hear each other,

Only wishing the brilliance of the moon is shining upon the dear husband.

Swans and geese flies long distances but cannot fly beyond the light,

Fishes and [marine] reptiles dives and jumps but only forms ripples in the water.

(Swans and geese and fly far but cannot fly to him, fishes and marine reptiles can swim deep into the water but cannot swim to him)

–

Dreaming of flowers descending upon the tranquil pool last night,

Pitiful it is, half of spring has past yet there is still no return.

The running river water flowing by, along with spring,

Into the river pool, the descending moon goes, tilting west again.

–

The setting moon hiding deeply into the ocean mist,

Jie Shi and Xiao Xiang, the distance between is infinite. (One place south, one place north, rendering a reunion hopeless)

It is unknown how many people managed to return home riding the moonlight,

Only knowing the descending moon stirs immense emotions amongst the trees by the riverbank.

Waiting for autumn to come, eighth of the ninth month,

Once my flowers bloom, hundred flowers perishes.

Bursts of fragrance soars the skies as it penetrates Chang’an,

The entire city coated in golden armoury.

The uncommon West Lake in the midst of sixth moon

Displays a scenery to other months unknown.

Green lotus leaves outspread as far as boundless sky;

Pink lotus blossoms take from sunshine a new dye.

Beside the broken bridge and outside the post-hall,

A flower is blooming forlorn.

Saddened by her solitude at night-fall,

By wind and rain she's further torn.

Let other flowers their envy pour.

To Spring she lays no claim.

Fallen in mud and ground to dust,she seems no more,

But her fragrance is still the same.

Far away on the cold mountain, a stone path slants upwards,

In the white clouds is a village, where people have their homes.

I stop the carriage, loving the maple wood in the evening,

The frosted leaves are redder than the second month's flowers.

South of the river is good,

Long ago, I knew the landscape well.

At sunrise, the river's flowers are red like fire,

In spring, the river's water's green as lilies.

How could I not remember south of the river?

Preparing me chicken and rice, old friend,

You entertain me at your farm.

We watch the green trees that circle your village

And the pale blue of outlying mountains.

We open your window over garden and field,

To talk mulberry and hemp with our cups in our hands.

...Wait till the Mountain Holiday --

I am coming again in chrysanthemum time.

-- Poem translator: Kiang Kanghu