Like the Bard of Avon, Du Fu's writing is layered and shows immense
range. The elusive poet wrote in a wide variety of styles and registers.
Inside the green-bound volumes are acclaimed verses such as “Moonlit
Night” and “View in Spring,” but Owen argues that Du Fu “is a lot more
fun when you get out of the well-known ones.”
“He's a quirky poet. When he moves to Chengdu with his family, he has to
set up house and writes a poem to people asking for fruit trees and
crockery. No one had ever done this kind of poem. He has a poem praising
his bondservant Xinxing for repairing a water-piping system in his
house. It's a wonderful poem about the joy and discoveries of living in
the real world instead of living in the rarefied poetic world,” Owen
Gazing on the Peak
And what then is Daizong like?
over Qi and Lu, green unending.
Creation compacted spirit splendors here,
Dark and Light, riving dusk and dawn.
Exhilirating the breast, it produces layers of cloud;
splitting eye-pupils, it has homing birds entering.
Someday may I climb up to its highest summit,
with one sweeping view see how small all other mountains are.
View in Spring
The state broken, its mountains and rivers remain,
the city turns spring, deep with plants and trees.
Stirred by the time, flowers, sprinkling tears,
hating parting, birds, alarm the heart.
Beacon fires stretch through three months,
a letter from family worth ten thousand in silver.
I’ve scratched my white hair even shorter,
pretty much to the point where it won’t hold a hatpin.
The Army Wagons: A Ballad
men walking, each with bow and arrows at the waist.
Moms and dads, wives and children rush along seeing them off,
the dust is such you cannot see the Xianyang Bridge.
Pulling at clothes, stamping feet they block the road weeping,
weeping voices rise straight up against the clouds and high wisps.
Someone passing by the road asks a man on the march,
the man on the march says only: “They're calling up troops often now.
Some from the age of fifteen are north guarding the River,
then as soon as they reach forty they work military settlements in the
When they leave, the village headman gives them turbans;
coming home, their hair is white, and then back to garrison the
The blood that has flowed on the frontiers could make up an ocean's
and our Warrior Emperor's plans to extend the frontier are not yet
Haven't you heard
how in two hundred prefectures East of the Mountains of the House
a thousand villages and ten thousand hamlets grow over with thorns
Even though there are sturdy wives to hold the hoe and plow,
the grain grows on the field boundary slopes and one can't tell east
Even worse for troops from Qin who endure the bitterest battles,
they are driven on, no different from dogs and chickens.
Though you sir may pose the question,
does a conscript dare declare his resentment?
And now in winter this year
they haven't stopped taking soldiers from West of the Passes;
County officials urgently demand taxes,
but where are the taxes to come from?
I know well to have a boy is bad,
it's better to have a daughter instead.
If you have a daughter you can still marry her to your neighbor;
if you have a boy he will be buried along with all the plants.
Haven't you seen
white bones from ancient times that have never been recovered?
The new ghosts are tormented by their wrongs, the former ghosts just
the skies cloudy, the rain soaks them, their voices moaning. 来源：中国日报网