Sorrow SorrowChoked sobs follow when death parts us—
life's partings are ever sorrow on sorrow.
Jiangnan is a place filled with malaria
and no news arrived after your exile.
Then, old friend, you entered into my dreams,
as vividly as I remembered you.
The emperor's net holds you far away,
so how did you fly over here?
You, a soul trying to avoid blame all your life,
are now on a long road without any measure:
a soul arriving at a green maple forest,
a soul returning to a black mountain pass.
The moon dips and lights the roof beam in the house,
but it cannot illuminate your face.
How the waterway thrashes and its waves roil,
having lost its water dragon's control.
“Dreaming of Li Bai 1,” Du Fu (712–770)
Water over fire
is the image of already-across.
A noble one thinks about suffering
and prepares to meet it.
Yijing, Image of hexagram 63: Already Across
82
We dismount to drink good wine,
and I ask where you will go.
You say, “I am discontented,
and will retire to Nanshan.
I'll go; no one will hear I've gone back:
a white cloud's time has no end.”
“Farewell,” Wang Wei (699–759)
83
Thunder over the mountain
is the image of a little excess.
A noble one always gives
a little more when acting,
never goes too far in grief,
and remains more than frugal.
Yijing, Image of hexagram 62: Small Crossing
85
This recluse returns to solitary rest,
slow thoughts cleansed by lonely purity.
I hold them, but I'd be glad if high-flying birds
would carry my emotions far away.
Day and night, I empty my heart of desire,
but don't those with feeling find the essence?
Whether to soar or drop, I stay in seclusion—
yet what comfort is there in my devotion?
“Lament 3,” Zhang Jiuling (673–740)
86
The nation is shattered, but mountains and rivers remain,
and the city walls will be sunken in grass by next spring.
Feeling the times, the flowers splash with tears.
Regretting our parting, birds cry with shock.
Warning beacons have blazed three months in a row.
A letter from home is worth ten thousand pieces of gold.
I scratch my white hair. It's too thin now—
so sparse that no hairpins will stay put.
“Spring View,” Du Fu (712–770)
The rites of mourning
are the utmost expression of sorrow and grief.
But sorrow must reach its limits
over the course of many events.
A noble person thinks of this from the start.
Book of Rites, “Tan Gong, II”
88
No water in the lake
is the image of distress.
A noble one stakes their life
on following their will.
Yijing, Image of hexagram 47: Distress
89
In Yan, the grass is like jade threads.
In Qin, green mulberry hangs low.
Should you ever yearn to come back,
I will be heartbroken by then.
The spring wind is no acquaintance;
why should it enter my gauze curtains?
“Spring Thoughts,” Li Bai (701–762)
Heaven and earth parting
is the image of blockage.
A noble one acts with modest virtue
in the face of harsh hatred—
and when no way is open
to glory or joy.
Yijing, Image of hexagram 12: Clogging
91
On my way back from battles abroad, I halt
my horse to say goodbye at your lonely grave.
Recent tears have left no dirt dry,
and broken clouds hang low in the sky.
You could have played chess with Tutor Xie.
Now I offer this sword, as if to Lord Xu.
As I leave, I see flowers dropping in the woods,
and hear weeping orioles sending me off.
“Leaving the Grave of Grand Marshall Fang,” Du Fu (712–770)
Combined mountains
are the image of stillness.
A noble one doesn't think
beyond their lot.
Yijing, Image of hexagram 52: Stillness
93
Sharp winds fill the towering sky. Apes howl sadly.
Birds circle the water to a white sand island.
Uncontained, the trees shed their leaves desolately down.
Endlessly, the Yangzi River froths, churns, and surges on.
Ten thousand miles of grief. Each autumn I'm always a
sojourner.
One hundred years of illness:
I must still take the stage alone.
Challenges, hardships, and regrets
frost my temples still more.
My new disappointment:
that I must quit the cloudy wine cup.
“Climbing High,” Du Fu (712–770)
Tonight in Fuzhou, she sees
the moon alone in her room.
Far away, I pity our children
who don't know why we're apart,
or who don't remember Chang'an.
Her hair is damp with fragrant mist,
the clear light chills her jade arms.
When might we both lean at that window,
a pair in the light with dried tears?
“Moonlit Night,” Du Fu (712–770)
95
At the gate, all the grass lies withered.
We're about to part and we're filled with grief.
The road abroad leads through cold and clouds—
no return until the season of snow and dusk.
Young and alone, you became a wanderer early.
You faced many hardships and advancement was slow.
Surprising tears, facing each other—empty.
Windblown travels ahead: will we meet again?
“Farewell to Li Duan,” Lu Lun (739–799)
The people of Tao who would advise a lord
won't try to conquer the world by great troops.
Such tactics rebound.
Briars and thorns spring up
wherever armies go.
Sorrow follows behind a great host.
Good generals halt once they reach their goals.
They don't dare risk more with their troops.
Win without pride.
Win without looting.
Win without swagger.
Win without brashness.
Win without cruelty.
When things grow big,
they become old.
That goes against Tao.
What is against Tao
dies young.
Daodejing 30