The Selected Poems of Tu Fu Read online

  Make-up and jewelry a shambles of sobs and tears (indecent

  little place clothes cold, besieged at the foot of cliffs—

  if, as people say, these Wu Mountain women are such

  frightful things, how could Chao-chün’s village be so near?

  8-PART BATTLE FORMATION

  His distinction crowned the warring Three Kingdoms,

  Its monument this 8-Part Battle Formation:

  The river flowing through dead-still stones

  Indifferent to remorse at failing to swallow Wu.

  BALLAD OF THE ANCIENT CYPRESS

  An ancient cypress stands before Chu-ko Liang’s temple,

  branches like bronze, roots like stone. Forty feet

  around, bark frost-covered and flooded with rain,

  it blends darkness into sky for two thousand feet.

  Because king and minister met destiny together,

  people still cherish this tree. When clouds come,

  sending vapor the length of Wu Gorge, and the rising

  moon casts a white chill across the Snow Mountains,

  I think of a road winding east from my Brocade Pavilion

  to that secluded temple Chu-ko Liang and his king share:

  cragged trunk and branch also tower there, over ancient

  plains, over empty doors and windows, dim paintings….

  Though its gnarled roots have spread far and deep,

  to stand so distant and alone, so high in violent winds,

  divine powers must nurture it. Such undeviating strength—

  its source must be Creation. If a great, crumbling hall

  needed roof-beams, even ten-thousand oxen would gaze

  helplessly at such mountainous weight. Not yet revealed

  by any craftsman’s art, it already awes the world.

  It doesn’t resist being cut, but who could cart it away?

  Though its bitter heart hasn’t escaped gutting by ants,

  its fragrant leaves still harbor roosting phoenixes.

  No need for sullen laments—O aspirant and recluse

  alike, a great nature has always been hardest to employ.

  SKIES CLEAR AT DUSK

  Dusk’s failing flare breaks out. Clouds

  Thin and drift—none return. Distant,

  Bright, a rainbow drinks at the river.

  Rain in the gorge falls—remnants scatter.

  As ducks and cranes set out high overhead,

  Fattened brown bears rest content. Autumn

  Equinox. Still a wanderer, still here.

  Dew on bamboo. Twilight gone spare, spare.

  K’UEI-CHOU

  Above K’uei-chou’s wall, a cloud-form village. Below:

  Wind-tossed sheets of falling rain, a swollen river

  Thrashing in the gorge. Thunder and lightning battle.

  Kingfisher-gray trees and ashen ivy shroud sun and moon.

  War horses can’t compare to those back in quiet pastures.

  But of a thousand homes, a bare hundred remain. Ai—

  Ai—the widow beaten by life’s toll, grief-torn,

  Sobbing in what village where on the autumn plain?

  OVERNIGHT AT THE RIVERSIDE TOWER

  Evening colors linger on mountain paths.

  Out beyond this study perched over River Gate,

  At the cliff’s edge, frail clouds stay

  All night. Among waves, a lone, shuddering

  Moon. As cranes trail off in flight, silent,

  Wolves snarl over their kill. I brood on

  Our wars, sleepless here and, to right

  A relentless Heaven and Earth, powerless.

  NIGHT

  Clear autumn: dew settles under towering skies, and among

  Empty peaks, isolate nights startle my homeless spirit

  Away. A distant sail stays the night: one lantern lit.

  The new moon lingers. A fulling-stick cracks once, twice.

  Bedridden, I meet southern chrysanthemums again. And geese

  Heartless, letters from the north never come. Propped

  On this cane, I pace the veranda: Cowherd. Northern Dipper.

  Silver River spreading away—it must reach the phoenix city.

  BRIDAL CHAMBER

  Waist-jewels in the bridal chamber ice-cold,

  Autumn winds scour jade halls. A new moon

  Rises over Ch’ang-an, but the ancient

  Palace still founders in Dragon Lake,

  And boats moored there are distant tonight.

  The clepsydra’s lucid drop hasn’t changed:

  Ten-thousand miles north of yellow mountains,

  In a white lake of dew, stand imperial tombs.

  FULL MOON

  Above the tower—a lone, twice-sized moon.

  On the cold river passing night-filled homes,

  It scatters restless gold across waves.

  On mats, it shines richer than silken gauze.

  Empty peaks, silence: among sparse stars,

  Not yet flawed, it drifts. Pine and cinnamon

  Spreading in my old garden…. All light,

  All ten thousand miles at once in its light!

  MIDNIGHT

  A thousand feet up, along sheer silk

  Windows, I pace West Tower. Falling stars

  Flare on the river. A setting moon’s

  Clarity wavers on sand. Solitary

  Birds are known by the woods they choose,

  Great fish by their hermit deeps. Here,

  Heaven and earth full of those I love,

  Shield and sword make even a letter rare.

  REFLECTIONS IN AUTUMN

  1

  Jade-pure dew wilts and wounds maple forests, deep

  Wu Mountain forests rising wind-scoured from Wu Gorge.

  The river’s billows and waves breach sky churning, as

  Clouds drifting over passes touch darkness to earth.

  Thick chrysanthemums have opened tears here twice—my

  Lost lives, my lone boat moored to a homesick heart….

  Everywhere, urgently, winter clothes are cut to pattern.

  Above K’uei-chou, fulling-stone rhythms tighten at twilight.

  2

  Each night, slant light of dusk leaving K’uei-chou, lone city,

  I find the Northern Dipper and face our bright capital.

  It is true of a gibbon’s voice: after three cries, tears.

  Appointed to a stray journey on another September raft,

  I lie sick, far from incense and ministerial portraits.

  Among mountain towers and white-washed battlements, a flute

  Mourns. There! Look there: the moon on ivy-covered cliffs—

  Already, along the island, in blossoms atop reeds it flares!

  3

  Over a mountain city’s thousand homes, I pass peaceful

  Bright morning after morning in a river tower facing peaks blue

  Haze thins. After two nights out, fishermen drifting home

  Drift. In clear autumn, swallows persist in reckless flight.

  Admonitions offered by K’uang Heng earn scant honors

  Now; expounding classics is far from Liu Hsiang’s heart….

  Wealth eluded few of my classmates—clothes and horses

  All to themselves, out light and sleek at Five Tombs.

  4

  People call Ch’ang-an a chessboard now. And grief

  Remains, after a century of consequential clamor,

  Unconquered. Fresh lords move into the palaces, new

  Scholars and soldiers in caps and robes replace old,

  And still, gongs and drums bang in frontier passes

  Due north. Armies trundle west. Feathered messages fly.

  Dragons and fish withdrawn, the autumn river cold,

  A peaceful, long-ago country keeps at my thoughts.

  5

  Palace gates at P’eng-lai face South Mountain. Gold

  Stalks stand gathering dew in the Celest
ial River.

  Hsi Wang Mu descends over Jasper Lake in the west, purple

  Mist from the east filling Han-ku Pass. Palace screens

  Open, pheasant-tail plumage clearing clouds away from

  Sun-wreathed dragon scales: His Majesty appears and….

  One sleep, startled by year’s end on this vast river. How many

  Dawns was I at court, the blue gates all sculpted sunlight?

  6

  From Ch’ü-t’ang Gorge to Meandering River, ten thousand

  Miles of smoke-scored wind piece this bleached autumn

  Together. Through Calyx Tower arcade, frontier grief

  Haunting Hibiscus Park, the imperial presence passes.

  Ornate pillars and pearl screens collect yellow cranes,

  And gulls scatter at brocade rigging and ivory masts.

  Turn toward it, land of song and dance, pity ancient

  Ch’in serving kings and princes from the beginning.

  7

  K’un-ming, masterwork of the Han: the lake waters,

  Emperor Wu’s banners and flags, all within sight. And facing

  Weaving Maid, moonlit emptiness woven in her loom:

  The stone whale of autumn wind, its plate scales chafing.

  Zizania seeds wave-tossed in pitch-dark clouds drown,

  Frost sends rouge sifting off lotus seed-pods…. Frontier

  Passes birds alone cross verge into sky. Adrift, swollen

  Rivers and lakes truing up horizons—one old fisherman.

  8

  Where K’un-wu Road meanders with Yü-su Stream,

  Tzu-ko Peak casts shadows deep into Mei-p’i Lake.

  Fragrant field-rice parrot grains remains pecked-at;

  Jade-green wu trees perch branches phoenix aging. Soon,

  Exquisite women gathering kingfisher gifts for spring,

  Immortals set out again in their boats. It is late.

  My florid brush once defied the shape of things. I watch

  Now, nothing more—hair white, a grief-sung gaze sinking.

  DAWN AT WEST TOWER, FOR YÜAN

  In the city, night’s five brief watches

  End. The tower high, rain and snow thin,

  Bare hints through silk curtains promise

  Clear skies. Far-off, Jade String sets.

  Sunrise startles magpies from the gate,

  And crows perched among rigging scatter.

  But the cold river flows, an immaculate

  Patience against those who will return.

  NIGHT AT THE TOWER

  Yin and yang cut brief autumn days short. Frost and snow

  Clear, leaving a cold night open at the edge of heaven.

  Marking the fifth watch, grieving drums and horns erupt as

  A river of stars, shadows trembling, drifts in Three Gorges.

  Pastoral weeping—war heard in how many homes? And tribal

  Songs drifting from the last woodcutters and fishermen….

  Chu-ko Liang, Pai-ti: all brown earth in the end. And it

  Opens, the story of our lives opens away… vacant, silent.

  RIVER PLUMS

  Buds breaking before winter’s La Festival

  Lavish the new year with countless plum

  Blossoms. Though I know spring means well,

  How will I manage this wanderer’s grief?

  Snow and trees share one original color,

  And river wind is whitewater’s child. Old

  Garden… I cannot see my old garden:

  Wu Mountain peaks crowd an erratic skyline.

  TWO QUATRAINS

  1

  Lovely in late sun: mountains, a river,

  Blossoms and grasses scenting spring wind.

  Where mud is still soft, swallows fly.

  On warm sand, ducks doze, two together.

  2

  Birds are whiter on jade-blue water.

  Against green mountains, blossoms verge

  Toward flame. I watch. Spring keeps

  Passing. How long before I return home?

  LATE SPRING

  I lie ill here in these gorges, captive. Tung-t’ing Lake,

  All Hsiao and Hsiang—one mirage of empty light now.

  Relentless Ch’u skies rain all four seasons. And winds,

  These ten-thousand-mile Wu Gorge winds never end.

  Willows on its bank, a thatch home in their new shadows,

  The pond out beyond city walls hints at red lotus blossoms.

  Late spring. Ducks and egrets stand on the island’s bank.

  Chicks nestled in the flock flutter off, quick to return.

  MORNING RAIN

  A slight rain comes, bathed in dawn light.

  I hear it among treetop leaves before mist

  Arrives. Soon it sprinkles the soil and,

  Windblown, follows clouds away. Deepened

  Colors grace thatch homes for a moment.

  Flocks and herds of things wild glisten

  Faintly. Then the scent of musk opens across

  Half a mountain—and lingers on past noon.

  LATE SPRING: WRITTEN ON OUR NEW NANG-WEST HOUSE

  Still stranded, lamenting Three Gorges, I

  Meet late spring again, its hundred voices

  Soon to fall silent. And its countless

  Blossoms—how long can they last? Haze

  Thins in this empty valley. A majestic sun

  Drifts battered waves. Where would war’s

  End ever begin? Among all this, wounded

  Grief is nowhere to be found—nowhere.

  FAILING FLARE

  North of an ancient Ch’u emperor’s palace, yellows fade.

  Traces of rain drift west of K’uei-chou. Soon dusk’s failing

  Flare on the river plays across cliffs. Then returning

  Clouds muffle trees. Mountain villages vanish. I manage

  Life’s ebb propped high on pillows, lungs sick. Against

  Frontier wastes and a tormented age, I close my gate

  Early. I can’t stay long in these southlands, these

  Jackal and tiger calamities… I, a yet unsummoned soul.

  A SERVANT BOY COMES

  Fresh greens grace haw and pear. Tinged

  Apricot and plum have turned half yellow.

  The courtyard silent—a boy comes bringing

  Ripe, fragrant fruit in delicate baskets.

  Replete with mountain wind, iced with wild

  Dew, the flavors shine. Propped on pillows,

  A guest of rivers and lakes, I linger over

  Days and months themselves forever in each taste.

  WATCHING FIREFLIES

  In the autumnal, Wu Mountain night, fireflies meander

  Auspiciously through openwork blinds, light on my clothes.

  It startles me: books, koto, the whole room suddenly cold.

  Returning out beyond eaves, they tangle thin stars recklessly,

  Wind over railing, well-water adding to each another

  Light, happen past blossoms: colors here, there, flashing.

  Beside this desolate river, my hair white, I watch you

  Sadly. On this day next year, will I be home? Will I not?

  AFTER THREE OR FOUR YEARS WITHOUT NEWS

  FROM MY FIFTH YOUNGER BROTHER, FENG, WHO

  IS LIVING ALONE ON THE EAST COAST, I

  LOOK FOR SOMEONE TO CARRY THIS TO HIM

  I hear your home is a mountain monastery

  Now, in Yüeh-chou. Or maybe Hang-chou.

  Dust and wind—war drags our separation out.

  Clear autumn passes unnoticed. My shadow

  Rooted here, among trees shrieking gibbons

  Haunt, towering chimera buffet my soul away

  At sea. Next spring, I’ll search downriver

  All the way east—white clouds and beyond.

  THE LONE GOOSE

  Never eating or drinking, the lone goose

  Flies—thinking of its flock, calling out.

>   Who pities a flake of shadow lost beyond

  Ten-thousand clouds? It stares far-off,

  As if glimpses of them remained. Sorrows

  Mount—it almost hears them again….

  Wild crows, not a thread of thought anywhere,

  Squawk and shriek, fighting each other off.

  THE MUSK DEER

  Clear streams lost forever, you’ll end

  Served up in jade dainties. Little

  Talent for the life of hermit immortals,

  Unable even to resent fine kitchens—once

  Times fall apart, anything is a trifle,

  Paint voice at disaster’s heart, anything.

  Noblemen noble as thieves, gluttonous,

  You’ll get wolfed down in a royal trice.

  THATCH HOUSE

  Our thatch house perched where land ends,

  We leave the brushwood gate always open. After

  Dragons and fish settle into night waters,

  The moon and stars drift above autumn peaks.

  Dew gathers clarity, then thaws. High clouds

  Thin away—none return. Women man wind

  Tossed boats anchored here: young, ashamed,

  The river life battering their warm beauty.

  CLEAR AUTUMN

  Now high autumn has cleared my lungs, I can

  Comb this white hair myself. Forever needing