Illustration in the Shanghai Daily. (c) Yu Yige.
Also know as Your fu, this poet is one of the great classics of Chinese literature. In fact, it is considered "Sacred poet". Today I rescue his figure (or I discover her) by taking a look at her figure and work, from which I have selected these 5 poems.
Du fu
Born in the year 712, soon showed ease of learning and talent. He also liked painting, music and horse riding. In his youth, intending to wear a Bohemian life, he was traveling throughout China in the most prosperous time of the Tang dynasty.
When he finally got a job like official, since in a first attempt he failed to pass the imperial exams, a revolt that would bloodshed China for many years. The emperor appointed him censor and Du Fu had a ruined empire.
All that reflected it in several poems, as well as his friendships with other great poets such as LiPo, affection for his family or compassion for the poverty of the town. Passed the last years of his life in very precarious conditions and financially supported by friends. And although he did not manage to be recognized in life, his prestige and fame increased after his death.
Very prolific, he left a legacy of more than 1.400 poems. Some titles of his works are The oblique flight of swallows o Compendium and commentary of the poems of Tu Fu.
5 poems
Ascension
Among the violent wind,
under the high sky,
the monkeys howl their sadness.
Above the white sands of the islet,
a bird flies, circling.
Endless leaves, blown by the wind,
they fall whistling from the trees,
and the immense Yangtze runs tumultuously.
Far from my home
I cry the sad autumn
and the trips seem endless to me.
Old man, alone overwhelmed with disease,
I go up to this terrace.
The hardships, difficulties and anguish,
they have made my gray hair abundant.
And I can't help but put my glass aside.
***
Spring waters
The third month, and the peach blossoms
they float on the waves of the river.
The stream recovers its old footprints,
and at dawn it floods the limits of the beach.
The emerald green shimmers before the gate of branches,
while I repair my rigging
And I drop a scented bait
I tie the bamboo tubes to water the garden.
The birds that come flying are already legion
and in noisy hubbub they dispute the bathroom.
***
Winter dawn
Men and beasts of the zodiac
Once again against us.
Green wine bottles, red lobster shells,
All empty, they are stacked on the table.
"How to forget an old acquaintance?"
And each one, sitting down, listens to their own thoughts.
Outside, chariot wheels screeched.
In the eaves the birds wake up.
In another winter dawn soon
I have to face my forty years.
They push me hard, stubborn moments,
Bent into the long shadow of twilight.
Life turns and passes, drunken wisp.
***
The Painted Goshawk
On the white silk
wind and frost rise:
admirable painting of this goshawk.
Ready to hunt a cunning hare, it raises its wings,
and, in profile, his eyes look like those of a distressed monkey.
If the silk twine came loose
that ties him to the shiny stick
at the top of the window,
waiting for the whistle to take flight;
if they left him already
attack common birds,
feathers and blood would spread across the vast meadow.
***
Looking at the water from the railing I let my heart fly
Far from the walls, on a wide railing,
without a village to hinder it,
the look reaches far, far away.
The clear waters of the river almost overflow the channel.
Spring ends,
and the serene trees are full of flowers.
Between a fine rain,
the minnows appear,
and the oblique flight of the swallows
to the pairo of the gentle breeze.
In the city, a hundred thousand homes,
here two or three families.