Sunday, 6 April 2008

Ma Hsian-Ian


The floss of the reed flowers
Is like flying snow.
The Autumn river turns cold.
A jade inlaid horizontal flute
Sounds above the noise of men.
The wild geese return
On the first Autumn gales.
Here and there waterlilies are still blooming.

After the heavy dew, it is hard
For the beauty to get up.
Her perfumed rouge
Is reflected in the autumn water,
A slanting flowered branch in a mirror,
Beautiful as an evening cloud.

trans unknown


Dave King said...

A really beautiful poem, I thought. It all seemed to be pretty much par for the course until the last four lines. Their images transformed the whole into something exceptional. There is a lot of holding back on information not deemed essential, so a lot of ambiguity, which all adds to the beauty. Glad I came by.

Sorlil said...

lovely, the closest I've got to eastern poetry is ezra pound I'm ashamed to say