Du Fu (712770) is one of the undisputed geniuses of Chinese poetrystill universally admired and read thirteen centuries after his death. Now David Young, author ofBlack Lab,and well known as a translator of Chinese poets, gives us a sparkling new translation of Du Fu's verse, arranged to give us a tour of the life, each "chapter" of poems preceded by an introductory paragraph that situates us in place, time, and circumstance. What emerges is a portrait of a modest yet great artist, an ordinary man moving and adjusting as he must in troubled times, while creating a startling, timeless body of work. Du Fu wrote poems that engaged his contemporaries and widened the path of the lyric poet. As his societyone of the world's great civilizationsslipped from a golden age into chaos, he wrote of the uncertain course of empire, the misfortunes and pleasures of his own family, the hard lives of ordinary people, the changing seasons, and the lives of creatures who shared his environment. As the poet chases chickens around the yard, observes tear streaks on his wife's cheek, or receives a gift of some shallots from a neighbor, Young's rendering brings Du Fu's voice naturally and elegantly to life. I sing what comes to me in ways both old and modern my only audience right now nearby bushes and trees elegant houses stand in an elegant row, too many if my heart turns to ashes then that's all right with me . . . from"Meandering River"

17. REMEMBERING LI BAI ON A SPRING DAY

I know no poetry to equal his
his mind must be unique

freshness of Yu Xin
Bao Zhao’s delicacy

as I watch the trees leaf out
here, north of the Wei

he’s probably gazing at sunset
there, east of the Yangzi

when can we share
a pot of wine again

talk on and on about poetry
until it’s nearly daybreak?



21. FRIENDSHIP

A flick of the hand
and it’s rain or storm

wherever I look
change and fickleness

the old ideal of friendship
as loyalty and permanence

has turned into dirt
under our feet.



23–24. A SUMMER OUTING

I

How nice to board the barge
as the sun meets the horizon

the breeze picks up
the water ripples

we sail past groves
of thick bamboo

and anchor in the cool
of water lilies

the young men mix
some icy drinks

the girls are slicing
lotus roots

but the clouds right overhead
grow black

rain makes me rush
my poem.

II

The shower wets the benches
we were sitting on

the wind blows hard
and rocks the boat

the southern girls’
red skirts drenched

the northern beauties
seem to have ruined their makeup

the mooring line
saws and cuts the willow

the barge’s curtains are soaked
from breaking waves

our going home
will be wet and chilly

as if we were having autumn
right in the heart of summer.

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Excerpted from Du Fu: A Life in Poetry by Fu Du
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