Qian Qi

Why won't you stay on Southern River any more?

Why leave its water clear, sand bright and mossy shore?

You cannot bear the grief revealed in the moonlight

By the Princess' twenty-five strings, so you take flight.

A gallant man from northlands grim,

We meet where heroes’ lights burn dim.

Our hearts hold more than words can share—

The sun now dips. The road waits there.

野竹通溪冷，秋蝉入户鸣。

乱来人不到，寒草上阶生。

Birds vanish into Chu’s vast air—

You’ll chase the jade clouds home, alone there.

The broken mirror hastens your ride,

While dying sun greets mountains you’ve eyed.

Your poems float on running streams,

Your dreams dissolve in petals’ seams.

If you send word of missing days,

This sorrowed face will shine with rays.

Tonight, stirred by wine and verse, I linger at Xie Gong's tower,

Where moonlight floods the silent halls, in its fullest, clearest hour.

The shadows close the heavy gate; one tree bears autumn's chill.

A magpie startles, scattering leaves; fireflies drift past the hill.

Now at the edge of distant skies—this moonlight pure and deep,

How many hearts, beneath its glow, are lost in silent grief?

Since Boya’s art was lost to time,

His broken strings found none to climb.

Who knew after his highest song,

A strain more rare would come along?

Peaks layering peaks, streams crystal-clear—

Their rival motions crash and veer.

Yet your pure prose needs no outdoors,

All scenes alive behind closed doors.

Mists and snows fill your breast’s hold,

Orchids pile in your lap’s fold.

Moonlight on jade-green pools takes shape,

A Kunlun-jade without escape.

First, you sang ‘Spring Sunlight’ bright—

Dead wood flushed with young buds’ light.

Then ‘White Snow’ chills your tongue—

At once, clouds freeze where notes are flung.

Thus we learn Creation’s source

Contracts, expands at heart’s discourse.

Such writing’s rare; its cleansing power—

Could ink-stained sleeves ever devour?

Let me stitch these words in silk,

To wear close as eternal milk.

Fame renounced, I dwell at ease—

Why must one chase Canglang’s seas?

Herbs I plant in deep shade thrive,

Closed gates make noise forget to strive.

Woods’ slumber teems with dawn’s faint dreams,

Crows scatter, startled by sunbeams.

A flake of snow with dark clouds sails,

Whirlwinds steal fruit-scent from the vales.

Our next meet waits where blue skies end—

Yet wistful, I scent orchids bend.

Orioles sing midst iris-green,

Dawn welcomes trysts with loves unseen.

By woods and pools, words fade away—

Where mandarin ducks preen wings at play.

Spring-warmed springs nurse healing herbs,

Sunlit hours stretch blooms’ slow verbs.

This meeting begs unmeasured wine—

Such perfect hours won’t realign.

Who knew beyond white clouds’ veil,

Spring lingers where green vines prevail?

Moss-kissed paths trace the brook’s bend,

Blossoms shroud the cave-dweller’s end.

His free-spirited wife tends herbs with grace,

His young boy joins him by the fishing place.

Those Ying River hermits fleeing Yao’s reign—

Could they match this truth-nurturing plain?

Her zither pierces clouds with tones divine,

Where drowned princesses haunt the misty brine.

The River God dances with futile zeal,

While exiled Chu souls choke on grief too real.

Bitter strains out-cry metal and stone,

Pure notes rise where dark stars alone.

From Cangwu mounts drifts endless woe,

White blooms breathe scent through winds that blow.

Xiao's waves bear melodies away,

Dongting's gales weep through reed beds grey.

The song ends—no form in sight,

Just jade-green peaks in fading light.

Finches flash yellow through the Imperial Grove

Of the Forbidden City, pale with spring dawn;

Flowers muffle a bell in the Palace of Bliss

And rain has deepened the Dragon Lake willows;

But spring is no help to a man bewildered,

Who would be like a cloud upholding the Light of Heaven,

Yet whose poems, ten years refused, are shaming

These white hairs held by the petalled pin.

Poem translator: Kiang Kanghu

At a little grass-hut in the valley of the river,

Where a cloud seems born from a viney wall,

You will love the bamboos new with rain,

And mountains tender in the sunset.

Cranes drift early here to rest

And autumn flowers are slow to fade....

I have bidden my pupil to sweep the grassy path

For the coming of my friend.

Poem translator: Kiang Kanghu

You were foreordained to find the source.

Now, tracing your way as in a dream

There where the sea floats up the sky,

You wane from the world in your fragile boat....

The water and the moon are as calm as your faith,

Fishes and dragons follow your chanting,

And the eye still watches beyond the horizon

The holy light of your single lantern.

Poem translator: Kiang Kanghu