Meng Haoran — Autumn, climbing Orchid Mountain and staying with Zhang

Autumn, climbing Orchid Mountain and staying with Zhang

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

The northern mountain is blanked in cloud;
for one who hides away, it’s pleasing — perfect.

So that we could visit each other, I’ve tried to climb high;
my heart follows along, like a wild goose, to exhaustion.

I worry because of the thin dusk that comes up,
but the clear autumn prevails and you can feel it.

It’s the hour to see village people returning;
they walk on the sand, rest at the ferry landing.

At the edge of the sky, the trees look like grass;
Near the river bank is an islet shaped like the moon.

How welcome if you met me with some wine!
We’d share, intoxicated together through the autumn festival.

Meng Haoran — In the Qin country, feeling autumn come while staying with the priest Yuan

In the Qin country, feeling autumn come while staying with the priest Yuan

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

I once wished a single hill to lie upon,
but three ways I made myself miserable, lacking money.

Being in the north was not what I wanted;
I think of my teacher in the eastern forest.

There’s yellow gold in the embers of burning cassia wood;
my firm intentions have run weak, one-by-one, with the years.

The sunlight turns to dusk and a cool wind comes;
I hear the cicada, but it only increases my grief.

Meng Haoran — Memories, when winter cold first comes to the river

Memories, when winter cold first comes to the river

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

Trees lose their leaves, and wild geese pass toward the south;
the north wind brings cold to the river.

My home is at the bend of the Xiang River;
it’s far — on the other side of the clouds of Chu.

I gave, exhausted, tears for my village, in travel across China;
now I watch a lone sail at the edge of the sky.

Having missed the ferry, I wish there was a way to ask;
on the flat sea, dusk spreads endlessly.

Meng Haoran — On a summer day at the South Pavilion thinking of Xin

On a summer day at the South Pavilion thinking of Xin

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

The light from the west falls, all at once, behind the mountain;
the moon reflects on the pond to the east.

My hair loosened, I enjoy the coolness of evening;
In the open pavilion, I can lie at leisure, unenclosed.

In the breeze is a delicious scent of lotus;
the dew in the bamboo drips with a clear sound.

I should fetch my qín, pluck it, and sing;
but it distresses me there’s no one to hear its beauty.

I feel these things — and remember my friend;
during the night I’ll be troubled by dreams, I think.

Meng Haoran — Waiting all evening at the teacher’s mountain lodge for my friend Ding who hasn’t arrived

Waiting all evening at the teacher’s mountain lodge for my friend Ding who hasn’t arrived

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

At dusk, the sun sets over the mountain to the west;
it swiftly fills each valley and then there’s darkness.

The moon through the pines makes the night cold.
I listen as the wind blows across the clear spring.

The wood gatherers have returned, finished,
and in mist the birds have settled on their perches.

As for me, I hope my friend will come;
alone with my qín, I wait among the ivy on the path.

Meng Haoran — Spending the night at the farm of an old friend

Spending the night at the farm of an old friend

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

An old friend prepared chicken with millet
and has invited me to his farm house.

It’s under green trees at the edge of the village,
where blue-green hills slant up beyond the walls.

On his porch, open to a garden courtyard,
we hold wine cups and talk of mulberry trees and hemp.

We stay up until it’s bright daylight again,
then I go home, strolling past chrysanthemum blossoms.

Meng Haoran — Spring, at Dawn

Spring, at Dawn

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

It’s spring. I slept and didn’t wake at dawn;
Everywhere, I hear the calls of birds.

At night, there was sound of wind and rain;
flowers fell. Do you know how many?

Meng Haoran — Mooring for the night on the Jiande River

Mooring for the night on the Jiande River

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

I move the boat to moor in mist at an island.
As the sun sets, my unhappiness returns.

Across open wilderness, sky reaches down to trees;
and above the clear river the moon comes close to me.

Meng Haoran — A memento to keep our friendship as I part from Wang Wei

A memento to keep our friendship as I part from Wang Wei

Meng Haoran

691-740 CE
(translated by William P. Coleman)

Lonely, lonely, I’ve stayed. Why wait —
day after day, returning emptied out.

I long to search, to go where grass is fragrant.
I care tenderly: we’re separating, old friend.

As I walk down the road, who can I share with?
You know that, in a lifetime, friends are scarce.

Respectfully, I should maintain my quiet solitude:
go home again and close my garden gate.