Sitting Idle at the North Window by Po Chü-i
The window empty: two thickets of bamboo. The house tranquil: a single fragrant stove. Beyond the gate, it’s red dust everywhere, and in the city, that white sun hurries on, but I don’t chase after…
The window empty: two thickets of bamboo. The house tranquil: a single fragrant stove. Beyond the gate, it’s red dust everywhere, and in the city, that white sun hurries on, but I don’t chase after…
You write out my poems, filling monastery walls, and I crowd these door-screens here with yours. Old friend, we never know where it is we’ll meet– we two duckweed leaves adrift on such vast seas….