Tu Fu
Du Fu (Chinese: 杜甫; pinyin: Du Fu; Wade-Giles: Tu Fu, 712–770) was a prominent Chinese poet of the Tang Dynasty. Along with Li Bai (Li Po), he is frequently called the greatest of the Chinese poets. His own greatest ambition was to help his country by becoming a successful civil servant, but he proved unable to make the necessary accommodations. His life, like the whole country, was devastated by the An Lushan Rebellion of 755, and the last 15 years of his life were a time of almost constant unrest.
Initially little known, his works came to be hugely influential in both Chinese and Japanese culture. Of his poetic writing, nearly fifteen hundred poems written by Du Fu have been handed down over the ages. He has been called Poet-Historian and the Poet-Sage by Chinese critics, while the range of his work has allowed him to be introduced to Western readers as "the Chinese Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Shakespeare, Milton, Burns, Wordsworth, Béranger, Hugo or Baudelaire".
“Wind, light and time ever revolve; Let us then enjoy life as best we can." from "The Winding River”
“Shine: clear dew aching with light.”
“At the edge of heaven, tatters of autumnCloud. After ten thousand miles of clearLovely morning, the west wind arrives. Here,Long rains haven't slowed farmers. FrontierWillows air thin kingfisher colors, andRed fruit flecks mountain pears. As a flute's Mongol song drifts from a tower, oneGoose climbs clear through vacant skies.”
“Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure;And spring comes green again to trees and grassesWhere petals have been shed like tearsAnd lonely birds have sung their grief.... After the war-fires of three months,One message from home is worth a ton of gold.... I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thinTo hold the hairpins any more.”
“Separation by death must finally be choked down,but separation in life is a long anguish,Chiang-nan is a pestilential land;no word from you there in exile.You have been in my dreams, old friend,as if knowing how much I miss you.Caught in a net,how is it you still have wings?I fear you are no longer mortal;the distance to here is enormous.When your spirit came, the maples were green;when it went, the passes were black.The setting moon spills light on the rafters;for a moment I think it's your face.The waters are deep, the waves wide;don't let the river gods take you. ”
“Wagons rattling and banging,horses neighing and snorting,conscripts marching, each with bow and arrows at his hip,fathers and mothers, wives and children, running to see them off--so much dust kicked up you can't see Xian-yang Bridge!And the families pulling at their clothes, stamping feet in anger,blocking the way and weeping--ah, the sound of their wailing rises straight up to assault heaven.And a passerby asks, "What's going on?"The soldier says simply, "This happens all the time.From age fifteen some are sent to guard the north,and even at forty some work the army farms in the west.When they leave home, the village headman has to wrap their turbans for them;when they come back, white-haired, they're still guarding the frontier.The frontier posts run with blood enough to fill an ocean,and the war-loving Emperor's dreams of conquest have still not ended.”
“A falcon hovers at the edge of the sky.Two gulls drift slowly up the river.Vulnerable while they ride the wind,they coast and glide with ease.Dew is heavy on the grass below,the spider's web is ready.Heaven's ways include the human:among a thousand sorrows, I stand alone.”