Grisly Slave Boy Xin Qi-ji
I’d no idea what sorrow was as a teen,
Except to climb a lofty tower, I was keen.
To climb a tower, I was keen,
For my new poem, I claimed how melancholy I ‘d been.
Now I finally reckon what sorrow tastes like,
But find no word is right.
No word is right,
Except to tell, the autumn sky is a jolly good sight.
誰見幽人獨往來 ? 缥緲孤鴻影。
Song of Reading the Future Su Shi
A crescent moon hanging on a depleted parasol bough,
Between the drippings of the water-clock, it’s all quiet now.
Who’s there to see me loitering alone,
A mere shadow of a wild goose high-flown.
Looking back time and again in its flight,
But nobody understands its plight.
On the winter branches it cares not to perch,
Rather stays on a sandbank, a cold deserted lurch.