A good translation of Chinese poetry, beyond satisfying or not satisfying the mandate of fidelity, is one that manages to retain a sense of scrupulous fluidity. "Keep the flavor of the original," a Tao practitioner friend used to say. To do this, the translator must also be a poet, sharpen his ear and temper his heart, so that we continue to believe that the poem in China is a gift of emptiness and not a conquest of genius.

When I read this anthology organized and translated by Edgar Trevizo, especially the best-known poems of Su Tung P'o, Wang Wei or Li Po, which are the ones that can be most easily compared with other translations, I recognized the free pulse, the continuous and almost involuntary calligraphy of a generous and sensitive hand, but I also sensed an arduous and dedicated goldsmithing, a know-how that has been kept secret.

CHRISTIAN KENT