对雪 by du fu
Tumult, weeping, many new ghosts. Heartbroken, aging, alone, I sing To myself. Ragged mist settles In the spreading dusk. Snow skurries In the coiling wind. The wineglass Is spilled. The bottle is empty. The fire has gone out in the stove. Everywhere men speak in whispers. I brood on the uselessness of letters.
- “Snow Storm” (Kenneth Rexroth translation)
Enough new ghosts now to mourn any war, And a lone old grief-sung man. Clouds at Twilight’s ragged edge foundering, wind Buffets a dance of headlong snow. A ladle Lies beside this jar drained of emerald Wine. The stove’s flame-red mirage lingers. News comes from nowhere. I sit here, Spirit-wounded, tracing words onto air.
- “Facing Snow” (David Hinton translation)
战哭多新鬼 愁吟独老翁 乱云低薄暮 急雪舞回风 瓢弃尊无绿 炉存火似红 数州消息断 愁坐正书空
