Du Fu

(712 - 770 / Henan Province / China)

Comments about Du Fu

  • Bronze Star - 2,323 Points Melikhaya Zagagana (5/11/2014 4:30:00 AM)

    Mr Jeff Mcguire who do you consider as a skillful translater? do you have names or ways to advice translators without making much of noisy complains. Let us complain constructively.

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    3 person did not like.
  • Rookie Jeff Mcguire (4/12/2013 1:22:00 PM)

    Oh, and why is there a picture of Li Bai on Du Fu's page? Li Po is a great poet and I respect him, but he doesn't need to invade the identities of other poets! If nothing is done, all poet portraits on this site may be replaced by Li Bai in uncharacteristic greed!

  • Rookie Jeff Mcguire (4/12/2013 1:19:00 PM)

    Wong Moli, unfortunately poetry must be translated or it will become lost to a tiny subset of a subset of people who speak the author's Native Tongue. Poetry is always inaccurate in translation; the worst offence that a translator can commit is to translate too accurately. English is not Chinese, so any playful wordings and double meanings will be lost. In order for people like me to Know Tu Fu, I must be introduced to him through a skillful translator who knows the deep secrets of Poetics.

  • Rookie Wong Moli (5/22/2010 10:03:00 PM)

    Too terrible, the English translation is too terrible! Du Fu's poems can be only read in chinese.

  • Rookie Wong Moli (5/22/2010 10:02:00 PM)

    Too terrible, the English translation is too terrible! Du Fu's poems can be only read in chinese.

  • Rookie Wong Moli (5/22/2010 10:01:00 PM)

    Too terrible, the English translation is too terrible! Du Fu's poems can be only read in chinese.

Best Poem of Du Fu

Advent Of Spring

The city has fallen: only the hills and rivers remain.
In Spring the streets were green with grass and trees.
Sorrowing over the times, the flowers are weeping.
The birds startled my heart in fear of departing.
The beacon fires were burning for three months,
A letter from home was worth ten thousand pieces of gold.
I scratch the scant hairs on my white head,
And vainly attempt to secure them with a hairpin.

Read the full of Advent Of Spring

Full Moon

Above the tower -- a lone, twice-sized moon.
On the cold river passing night-filled homes,
It scatters restless gold across the waves.
On mats, it shines richer than silken gauze.

Empty peaks, silence: among sparse stars,
Not yet flawed, it drifts. Pine and cinnamon
Spreading in my old garden . . . All light,
All ten thousand miles at once in its light!

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