#a.c. graham

[godzilla-reads]

100 Days of Poetry: Day 41

The Northern Cold by Li Ho (tr. A.C. Graham)

The sky glows one side black, three sides purple.

The Yellow River's ice closes, fish and dragons die.

Bark three inches thick cracks across the grain,

Carts a hundred piculs heavy mount the river's water.

Flowers of frost on the grass are as big as coins,

Brandished swords will not pierce the foggy sky,

Crashing ice flies in the swirling seas,

And cascades hang noiseless in the mountains, rainbows of jade.

[frompoemsthativeread]

One inch of love is an inch of ashes.

- Li Shangyin, from Untitled (II) [tr. A.C. Graham].

[nyrbclassics]

When you peer at far-off China, nine puffs of smoke: And the single pool of the ocean has drained into a cup.

—Li Ho, from "A Dream of Heaven," translated by A.C. Graham and collected in Poems of the Late T'ang

Many thanks to the photographer for supplying the apposite caption.

As always: If you have a photo of an NYRB Classic posed with a cup of coffee or tea, send it to this address and we'll add it to the Classics and Coffee Club series. And let us know where you bought or borrowed the book from—we'd be glad to shout out places that stock NYRB Classics.

[cryptomnesis]

A Withered Tree

Not a twig or a leaf on the old tree, Wind and frost harm it no more. A man could pass through the hole in its belly, Ants crawl searching under its peeling bark. Its only lodger, the toadstool which dies in a morning, The birds no longer visit in the twilight. But its wood can still spark tinder. It does not care yet to be only the void at its heart.

Han Yü (trans. A.C. Graham)