375
Ten poems of mourning for the poor scholar official, Lu Yin

1
poets are a solitary stern outfit
starving to death they hug the mountain
to share the empty feeling

white clouds are masterless
it’s not unusual for them to float off

this man was sick for a long time
just a mat on the bed to cover his corpse

the funeral worker who’s come to attend
to young, too weak for the work
mice and rats gnaw the old books

you’ve gone to the home town of new ghosts
how sallow and poorly I look

I’m afraid that when I’m in the ground
no one will come after me

all the springs mourn for you
day and night – hear them murmur


2
insects colour the moon
with their concert

wind from Mang blows on Meng Jiao
I go to Snow Mountain to bury Lu Yin

all of these guests come condoling the dust

thorns grow north
bitter the tears

I pour my libation –
wine mingled with tears

I’m poorly, exhausted –
a fire won’t be fed

it’s the sound of water running
breaks the mourner’s heart


3
thorns and the winds howl
the wailing breaks up
but it returns

sorrow worries
weeping strings

I dream the world passing
through tears in my eyes


4
trees and grass
in Deng Feng deep
roads there are narrow

moss covers the world
where the sun won’t shine

the poor man died without a son
ants traverse the corpse

time long curled in a bed
there’s the sighing
tigers and leopards attend

no other visitors besides
his closest relatives were poems
they were his heart, they were his home

Han Yu wore off a part of the mountain
what he wrote there shines
ten thousand years


5
what is it a sage should bother about?

life is suffering
and death? whom to praise?

fame is a shelter
for the famous’ descendants

your name will moisten the mud

it’s a pity poems bloom and so soon

what’s withered is hard to give speech


Lu Yin mourning poems continued


6
a scholar in the dirty alley
a gentleman in the mountain

the fame that comes from starving to death
got famous that way or got famous after?
no one remembers now

weep for my worries
past, present confuse me

when you were alive we talked
now I run in my own circle


7
we had hair when we met
there was colour in us then
always competing with poems

under the bridges of the moon we trod
raised cups and never saw the shadows

we sobbed as well into such vessels
that was how our fame flowed

plum blossoms in a temple
fragrant flowers of the lake

green soup,
we skipped the greasy mutton

something pure was in words then
echoes of the past we lived up to

the desert came stealing after summer
and autumn and winter for that

now we stand on the shore
and scold the waves coming


8
sages of the past drank deep
in cups they could skip round their sorrow

wine won’t touch the sides of this grief
whitens the dark hair
tears out the grey
makes harsh the voice

vain the pronouncements of deep drinking sages
and vain the sad poetry mourning for them


9
which poets weep for you
as the wild beasts do?

humans can only feel where blood flows

the passion of the beasts
reaches high as heaven

rites are the knife
with which to cut bonds

at your funeral
just a few lonely grovellers

complained how hard it was
burying you


10
saints cry for sages
bones are transfigured
far into stars

the visible is also blank
the planets – shameless wanderers

for you I have written
the last of my soul
of which I am no judge

all that is written
lies ink upon ink
in the ill-lit night of heaven

376
the enthusiasms
or
two poets hitchhiking on the highway
(collaborative poem with Han Yu)

Meng:
my heart follows the sun and the moon – find it in your hall

Han:
at the end of its month the moon is dim – the heart at its peril forgets

Meng:
always I fear that friendship’s gold will sadly fade to yearning

Han:
roads go off in all directions, none of us lives to a hundred

Meng:
the four ways lead into the unknown – no one knows which will be best

Han:
a lousy horse will eat what’s offered – the bird leaves fields behind

Meng:
in dangerous times to hide in the mountain – to take the road when it’s calm

Han:
long life is lonely – passion comes of our communion – only measured in talk

Meng:
let us speak of men’s ambitions – this will make us men

Han:
when to curl up and when to come out – the superior man knows this

Meng:
the bright judge never far from light – the orchids never fall

Han:
if not for your ear my voice stops at home – words have nowhere to go





377
the soul’s morning after

after life and death
one comes to know kindness

teeth gnash
for what won’t be repaid





378
mourning poem

poets like climbing steep mountains alone
that’s where most have starved to death

some with smiles
and some climb sadly
but all in the imagination

where you’ve gone is really elsewhere
whether it’s real or not
none can prove

your poems are an ocean east
I gather them through choking grief
know birds will sing
in savage hearts

poets like climbing stiff mountains alone
death is the chasm
shows life brief

I stand on the shore
of the river
to mourn you

my tears and the river
like clichés compete
to end the poem
so





379
thoughts
(collaborative poem with Han Yu)

Meng:
pining in my heart is coiled
worse when the sun sets

till evening I sit
tears sorrow my face

Han:
the old light dims
in the mirror on the table

new grass
grows in the garden

stone on the mountain
still waits for the husband

the river dragon
turns into a sword






380
for the swordsman
(collaborative poem with Han Yu)

Meng:
there is magic in this world
it’s you who has the power

Han:
we built a fire beyond the world
gather to it still aflame

Meng:
a light on the sea
shines to find monsters –
eerie the ways of men

Han:
lightning flies from the grindstone
water spun from there makes a dragon

Meng:
a god will see this sword as a treasure
other gods will write about this

Han:
the sword will frighten
such gods as deserving
…its ways are not merely for men

Meng:
sometimes hear the sword breathe in its box
sound of the dragon slipping
through its river home

Han:
the swords of the dead
who will judge?

Meng:
if I gave the emperor this sword
what should I expect by way of reward?

Han:
stars are wise to expect
just the comfort of clouds






381
sigh for the battlefield

people approach the road
when they see it

comb and cosmetics –
a table adorned

tears on her cheeks
smiles which show dimples

the way as long as men
will make it

loss forever
in the heart






382
Guan Yin cave

in the dark
the ground is all uneven

gentle breeze
sweet rain

just a few joss sticks
mountains are lonely

figs climb about
the lotus seat

375
Ten poems of mourning for the poor scholar official, Lu Yin

1
poets are a solitary stern outfit
starving to death they hug the mountain
to share the empty feeling

white clouds are masterless
it’s not unusual for them to float off

this man was sick for a long time
just a mat on the bed to cover his corpse

the funeral worker who’s come to attend
to young, too weak for the work
mice and rats gnaw the old books

you’ve gone to the home town of new ghosts
how sallow and poorly I look

I’m afraid that when I’m in the ground
no one will come after me

all the springs mourn for you
day and night – hear them murmur


2
insects colour the moon
with their concert

wind from Mang blows on Meng Jiao
I go to Snow Mountain to bury Lu Yin

all of these guests come condoling the dust

thorns grow north
bitter the tears

I pour my libation –
wine mingled with tears

I’m poorly, exhausted –
a fire won’t be fed

it’s the sound of water running
breaks the mourner’s heart


3
thorns and the winds howl
the wailing breaks up
but it returns

sorrow worries
weeping strings

I dream the world passing
through tears in my eyes


4
trees and grass
in Deng Feng deep
roads there are narrow

moss covers the world
where the sun won’t shine

the poor man died without a son
ants traverse the corpse

time long curled in a bed
there’s the sighing
tigers and leopards attend

no other visitors besides
his closest relatives were poems
they were his heart, they were his home

Han Yu wore off a part of the mountain
what he wrote there shines
ten thousand years


5
what is it a sage should bother about?

life is suffering
and death? whom to praise?

fame is a shelter
for the famous’ descendants

your name will moisten the mud

it’s a pity poems bloom and so soon

what’s withered is hard to give speech


Lu Yin mourning poems continued


6
a scholar in the dirty alley
a gentleman in the mountain

the fame that comes from starving to death
got famous that way or got famous after?
no one remembers now

weep for my worries
past, present confuse me

when you were alive we talked
now I run in my own circle


7
we had hair when we met
there was colour in us then
always competing with poems

under the bridges of the moon we trod
raised cups and never saw the shadows

we sobbed as well into such vessels
that was how our fame flowed

plum blossoms in a temple
fragrant flowers of the lake

green soup,
we skipped the greasy mutton

something pure was in words then
echoes of the past we lived up to

the desert came stealing after summer
and autumn and winter for that

now we stand on the shore
and scold the waves coming


8
sages of the past drank deep
in cups they could skip round their sorrow

wine won’t touch the sides of this grief
whitens the dark hair
tears out the grey
makes harsh the voice

vain the pronouncements of deep drinking sages
and vain the sad poetry mourning for them


9
which poets weep for you
as the wild beasts do?

humans can only feel where blood flows

the passion of the beasts
reaches high as heaven

rites are the knife
with which to cut bonds

at your funeral
just a few lonely grovellers

complained how hard it was
burying you


10
saints cry for sages
bones are transfigured
far into stars

the visible is also blank
the planets – shameless wanderers

for you I have written
the last of my soul
of which I am no judge

all that is written
lies ink upon ink
in the ill-lit night of heaven

376
the enthusiasms
or
two poets hitchhiking on the highway
(collaborative poem with Han Yu)

Meng:
my heart follows the sun and the moon – find it in your hall

Han:
at the end of its month the moon is dim – the heart at its peril forgets

Meng:
always I fear that friendship’s gold will sadly fade to yearning

Han:
roads go off in all directions, none of us lives to a hundred

Meng:
the four ways lead into the unknown – no one knows which will be best

Han:
a lousy horse will eat what’s offered – the bird leaves fields behind

Meng:
in dangerous times to hide in the mountain – to take the road when it’s calm

Han:
long life is lonely – passion comes of our communion – only measured in talk

Meng:
let us speak of men’s ambitions – this will make us men

Han:
when to curl up and when to come out – the superior man knows this

Meng:
the bright judge never far from light – the orchids never fall

Han:
if not for your ear my voice stops at home – words have nowhere to go





377
the soul’s morning after

after life and death
one comes to know kindness

teeth gnash
for what won’t be repaid





378
mourning poem

poets like climbing steep mountains alone
that’s where most have starved to death

some with smiles
and some climb sadly
but all in the imagination

where you’ve gone is really elsewhere
whether it’s real or not
none can prove

your poems are an ocean east
I gather them through choking grief
know birds will sing
in savage hearts

poets like climbing stiff mountains alone
death is the chasm
shows life brief

I stand on the shore
of the river
to mourn you

my tears and the river
like clichés compete
to end the poem
so





379
thoughts
(collaborative poem with Han Yu)

Meng:
pining in my heart is coiled
worse when the sun sets

till evening I sit
tears sorrow my face

Han:
the old light dims
in the mirror on the table

new grass
grows in the garden

stone on the mountain
still waits for the husband

the river dragon
turns into a sword






380
for the swordsman
(collaborative poem with Han Yu)

Meng:
there is magic in this world
it’s you who has the power

Han:
we built a fire beyond the world
gather to it still aflame

Meng:
a light on the sea
shines to find monsters –
eerie the ways of men

Han:
lightning flies from the grindstone
water spun from there makes a dragon

Meng:
a god will see this sword as a treasure
other gods will write about this

Han:
the sword will frighten
such gods as deserving
…its ways are not merely for men

Meng:
sometimes hear the sword breathe in its box
sound of the dragon slipping
through its river home

Han:
the swords of the dead
who will judge?

Meng:
if I gave the emperor this sword
what should I expect by way of reward?

Han:
stars are wise to expect
just the comfort of clouds






381
sigh for the battlefield

people approach the road
when they see it

comb and cosmetics –
a table adorned

tears on her cheeks
smiles which show dimples

the way as long as men
will make it

loss forever
in the heart


382
Guan Yin cave

in the dark
the ground is all uneven

gentle breeze
sweet rain

just a few joss sticks
mountains are lonely

figs climb about
the lotus seat

374
mourning at Xia Mountain

1
mountain too steep
for the cranes to climb

tigers in the morning
cuckoos day and night

in the past so much laughter
with whom to cry now?

I weep for the mountain spirits
wind blows their moaning my way

a desperate wraith has hold of the moon
what emptiness – bone turns to ash

thunder over the waves here below
the river like arrows runs

no limit to caverns beneath the earth
in gorges wind, water, stone tussle

a monster roaming in these ridges
where is the rope to tether me here?

2
mist rises to heaven
and rain descends

just so
this boat appears
to have sunk
been resurrected
from the deep

stones and water
their clash like swords

the big waves are dragons
day and night wrestling

trees in blossom hide last year’s Spring
old autumns in the freezing wind

caves of the mountain
are full of dark speech

dark as the sky
or sorrows told

sound of the falls
rings round





3
Xia Mountain
with the sky

ten thousand ways
the Spring may flow

sun sets in fierce waves
where the river must go

a single drop flying
condenses to ether

now heaven’s possession
a thousand years

ah but high up
there’s no sun at noon

hungry beasts roam
their bones sticking out

gnarled roots grip the mountain
like coffins

in frosty trees the sad apes cry
their melodies are rare

but when you hear them
you know that you’re lost

this life as thin as silk
as rough as hemp

tears are all
that heaven holds

in spirits lost
the falling rain






4
wind pure as a chime
on Xia Mountain

stones in the water
fresh fish

waves down here
are heaven’s spent spittle

water as deep as a well
feeds the soul

but the guts are never full here
old rocks are angered

hear the water and stones
their quarrel unending






5
why is the hidden monster so sad?
only the mountain spirits can say

song of the mountain
not of human making

clash between water and stones
the breeze bears

hear rough breath
in the deep mountain pools







6
the slanderer’s heart
that of a small dragon –
fault drawn from thin air

they digest what would not
pass through straight intestines
how vile their sulphurous belches

teeth of stones
chew up the springs

wind blows – a thousand zithers
dim sorrow is never far off

where can I find the pure snow now?
the vigorous moon is climbing and climbs
caves in the mountain dark, deep







7
corners and edges of this mountain
slash at the sun and the moon

all things are slanted
the birds won’t fly straight

rocks in the pond snap like teeth
each to each

drowned spirits won’t be called back

fish scales flash
between the green rocks

sound of the water
just as of hunger

in Spring
the stink of the waterweed







8
mountain deep in dark mist

red lightning’s roots are hidden in water
green the rain falls

monsters in the village
dragons in the valley

flowers won’t blossom in Spring

till death alone
and then alone

fierce are the fish in poisonous ponds
what grows in slant fields about them?

sorrow – one more thing
which won’t be shared







9
the boat sails through thunderclaps
the mountain river runs
fierce as sword clashing

see lizards ashore
how carefully drink
they grip the rock not to fall

big wind, big rain
block the boat’s passage

many the rascals who’ve
come to the mountain
thinking to lay low here

fog grows from the water
fights off the light

loses the boat
in the fierce running river







10
owls make the human noises here
the smallest of dragons brings evil

in bright days then how heaven is flattered
spilt blood is hid in the gloom of the night

on Xia Mountain hungry apes pass on
birds won’t nest in slanted trees

so sharp the rocks around the springs
how helpless sorrows are!







Ten poems of mourning for the poor scholar official, Lu Yin

1
poets are a solitary stern outfit
starving to death they hug the mountain
to share the empty feeling

white clouds are masterless
it’s not unusual for them to float off

this man was sick for a long time
just a mat on the bed to cover his corpse

the funeral worker who’s come to attend
to young, too weak for the work
mice and rats gnaw the old books

you’ve gone to the home town of new ghosts
how sallow and poorly I look

I’m afraid that when I’m in the ground
no one will come after me

all the springs mourn for you
day and night – hear them murmur





2
insects colour the moon
with their concert

wind from Mang blows on Meng Jiao
I go to Snow Mountain to bury Lu Yin

all of these guests come condoling the dust

thorns grow north
bitter the tears

I pour my libation –
wine mingled with tears

I’m poorly, exhausted –
a fire won’t be fed

it’s the sound of water running
breaks the mourner’s heart





3
thorns and the winds howl
the wailing breaks up
but it returns

sorrow worries
weeping strings

I dream the world passing
through tears in my eyes





4
trees and grass
in Deng Feng deep
roads there are narrow

moss covers the world
where the sun won’t shine

the poor man died without a son
ants traverse the corpse

time long curled in a bed
there’s the sighing
tigers and leopards attend

no other visitors besides
his closest relatives were poems
they were his heart, they were his home

Han Yu wore off a part of the mountain
what he wrote there shines
ten thousand years





5
what is it a sage should bother about?

life is suffering
and death? whom to praise?

fame is a shelter
for the famous’ descendants

your name will moisten the mud

it’s a pity poems bloom and so soon

what’s withered is hard to give speech

373
nine poems for the early death of apricots

preface
the early death of apricots
like son’s still at a mother’s breast

petals fell like frost
I make these poems to remember

1
don’t touch the buds with a cold hand
pearls will be wrecked

sudden frost –
don’t harm the Spring
or the world will lose its shine

unheeding day is
and cruel night

buds not even opened scatter
not even a palm full of petals

2
I pick stars from the earth
now the branches are bare
the old man’s sons are gone

a wild duck without water
worse than crows stealing
other birds’ nests

a chick can sing with the wind
will fly when it knows
which way the wind blows

yes there are sighs
for wordless souls fled
but there’s no returning to life


3
tears fall
they go to the heartwood
then no flowers form at the shoot

as short Spring
as grief is deep

nothing will grow
from salt


4
the moon shone
once my sons had passed

now sons and moon
both belong to the sky

better dust on the ground
than this gnarled heart


5
does the soil suffer under my feet?
do the roots recoil?
how can the sky know I’m sincere?

thousands of buds
have fallen from twigs

Spring won’t enter the house of a stranger
haven’t you heard that said?


6

frost kills the newborn Spring
turns twigs to knives
the fallen buds
in frozen beauty
the eye led back to winter


7
tears for the still-born Spring
form frost

the world is frail – a bony hand
knocks on
the sky
won’t hear



8
flowers fail

a man’s broken yearning
all he has to clutch

what if the birds
left off singing

turned to dry brush
to fire


9

frost beats the bloom
fish play to the surface
the breeze an irregular groan

of the past
only this shadow left
day lost

I blame the shutters
and the dusk inside


10

it’s right for you to leave me
though I gave you clothes and food

I’ve heard your new master
whips you half to death

what if I am polite?
I grumble too much

my authority’s gone
better to be beaten

than listen
to my moans

374
mourning at Xia Mountain

1
mountain too steep
for the cranes to climb

tigers in the morning
cuckoos day and night

in the past so much laughter
with whom to cry now?

I weep for the mountain spirits
wind blows their moaning my way

a desperate wraith has hold of the moon
what emptiness – bone turns to ash

thunder over the waves here below
the river like arrows runs

no limit to caverns beneath the earth
in gorges wind, water, stone tussle

a monster roaming in these ridges
where is the rope to tether me here?


2
mist rises to heaven
and rain descends

just so
this boat appears
to have sunk
been resurrected
from the deep

stones and water
their clash like swords

the big waves are dragons
day and night wrestling

trees in blossom hide last year’s Spring
old autumns in the freezing wind

caves of the mountain
are full of dark speech

dark as the sky
or sorrows told

sound of the falls
rings round


3
Xia Mountain
with the sky

ten thousand ways
the Spring may flow

sun sets in fierce waves
where the river must go

a single drop flying
condenses to ether

now heaven’s possession
a thousand years

ah but high up
there’s no sun at noon

hungry beasts roam
their bones sticking out

gnarled roots grip the mountain
like coffins

in frosty trees the sad apes cry
their melodies are rare

but when you hear them
you know that you’re lost

this life as thin as silk
as rough as hemp

tears are all
that heaven holds

in spirits lost
the falling rain


4
wind pure as a chime
on Xia Mountain

stones in the water
fresh fish

waves down here
are heaven’s spent spittle

water as deep as a well
feeds the soul

but the guts are never full here
old rocks are angered

hear the water and stones
their quarrel unending

5
why is the hidden monster so sad?
only the mountain spirits can say

song of the mountain
not of human making

clash between water and stones
the breeze bears

hear rough breath
in the deep mountain pools

368
mourning poem

the oriole is full of tact
sings for those with something to wake for

with you gone
there’s not much of Spring for me

the sun out of season
mocks all inconstancy

when it’s high enough
for birds to retire

then I might come from my nest

369
where there’s wine there’s hope

a precious sword has snapped in two
ambition never reached old age

bitter songs
touch a cold sky

tears fall as morning frost
from my face

with sadness I’m crazed

a cup of warm wine
and yet
I’ll face ten thousand
things I’ve to do






370
in mountain poems

we met when I was disappointed
how full the heart can be

so many works
he bore in his basket

pure air of the old days
remained in those poems

ink soaring peaks
the moon standing by

deep below
vertiginous longings

the falls
and the river run

mirroring
sky






371
graveside

desolate site
lonely spirit

place where
tears are held

old conversations
ring in my ears

your death locks
roots of the pine

a thousand
and ten thousand years






372
reading posthumous works

tears won’t spoil ink
as long dried as this

I weep for your grave
a thousand li distant

the sky let me stay
but the white sun took you

the phoenix has fallen
the crane’s yet to fly

whenever a pure wind blows
that’s when I hear our old conversation

grasses wither
the heart weighs

yet the mind opens
flowers blossom again







373
nine poems for the early death of apricots

preface
the early death of apricots
like son’s still at a mother’s breast

petals fell like frost
I make these poems to remember

1
don’t touch the buds with a cold hand
pearls will be wrecked

sudden frost –
don’t harm the Spring
or the world will lose its shine

unheeding day is
and cruel night

buds not even opened scatter
not even a palm full of petals

2
I pick stars from the earth
now the branches are bare
the old man’s sons are gone

a wild duck without water
worse than crows stealing
other birds’ nests

a chick can sing with the wind
will fly when it knows
which way the wind blows

yes there are sighs
for wordless souls fled
but there’s no returning to life


3
tears fall
they go to the heartwood
then no flowers form at the shoot

as short Spring
as grief is deep

nothing will grow
from salt


4
the moon shone
once my sons had passed

now sons and moon
both belong to the sky

better dust on the ground
than this gnarled heart


5
does the soil suffer under my feet?
do the roots recoil?
how can the sky know I’m sincere?

thousands of buds
have fallen from twigs

Spring won’t enter the house of a stranger
haven’t you heard that said?

362
Yuan Lu Mountain series

wither the zither
just the wind knows
whether it’s telling
or bringing to blows


1
fiercest birds the best fed

how hungry the mountain

robbers are bloated

those seeking fame
may reach high office

toiling in fields
brings more toil

uncut jade is all the same
it’s men who make the difference

the mountain
not wishing to be cut
lacks rice


2
humans have it all worked out
for each there’s a right kind of righteousness

they rush around stirring up dust
strange pride leads to still stranger insults

whose reputation’s not impugned?
who goes unslighted?

moralism melts like mist
before me I see the winding track

the lonely mountain and I
make our ways


3
superior men
don’t look for trouble
trouble’s always
on the lookout
for them

it’s hard enough
to walk on the mountain
without a disputing mind

look up to the eloquent sky
look down – see the elegant earth
– heaven’s work

within?
like all else
of five elements
humans

the dao of the mountain
just where it is

there’s the eloquence of the empty gut
which tells
how
the changes of nature
need mending
with virtue


4
sages have a reputation
for vanishing

their dao is different
their reasoning right off our radar

no need to mention minor merits
when the stomach’s full

hunger you see
to the mountain is nothing

sages are of
vanishing reputation


5
step by step
is how you get high

try skipping
and you’ll only stumble

the sage’s clean entrails
clear sky on a cold day

sincerity
can be faked too

the smart man
outwits himself

chasing the mountain
till there’s no trace left

6
jackals and wolves
ought to be ashamed

imagine them becoming vegetarians
helping to till the mountain

no one locks doors at night anymore
all day there’s singing

simply looking around
nature teaches us all

the advice is minute
and unerring

the merit of the mountain
much like ancient music

memory lacking
will never diminish it

7
peaceful music
leads to deep understanding

how can the mountain
measure up to its height?


8
virtuous courtiers
bring back ancient learning

one day
the recluses all come out to play

a white haired man
dwells in the green mountain
looks up to the red door

everything set right – names and ways
all honoured as merit demands

the lofty exalted
those of low morals brought low at last

at variance
only the mountain humble, unanmed


9
the mountain drives the cart

hazardous are the ways men carve

the forest an ocean spread far below

the wedding too late
the words still sincere


10
bitter gut
sweet breast
abandoned baby

a sage is the mother of all things told

363
immortality pills

three or four characters
suddenly in stone
ten thousand years they’ll last

a good thing
because the dead
have a hard time
getting things finished

the moon hangs slant
mourning for the house now empty

how long is a life?
night is longer

words to say
are stone






364
mourning for the prison warder

water’s pure in the presence of the superior man
muddy when he’s gone

what use is friendship to a corpse
there’s no sunlight in hell

still there’s an old pine grows in the house
the door is shut
strings of the zither won’t sound anymore

in the past the view was clear as Spring
now – just look at this wasteland

useless to ask a question of death
only sages know what lies past silence








365
those bones which ornament the earth

bright moon at the peak of the mountain
makes bright all of earth
still won’t shine below

in the deep spring
two dragons fail
to keep their appointment

gold silkworm, jade swallow
lie with the dead
hang brittle and loose

where flesh is fled
clouds of morning now neglected
in the mild breeze bamboo heads lie low







366
maudlin thoughts in house neglected

I came here to bury you
to praise what was left

drink to memory
with other friends as bereft

now in this dim house alone
no more laughter heard

only an old book of poems much leafed
and the broken tune of a wearied bird

should I plant trees I’ll never see to my height?
I should harness these bones to a plough

make crops from barren soil despite
weakness, drought … but I need to eat now

I linger here, where else to go?
this final parting just my tears show







367
parting with the dead is one-sided

parting with the dead is one-sided
a year in the ground their output is slow

I get down from my horse
too choked up to speak

with whom would
I have words anyhow

I can only laugh putting
these lines down later

when I read them again
then again the tears flow

357

happy to see Lu Tong’s boat and his books back to Luo Yang

poor Meng’s suddenly better

things aren’t really so bad

the boat returning

its cargo of learning

green waves in the river

can never be sad

this is

an honest day

all its parts know

when to come

when to go

I give up robes of office

those colours

words like well cut jade

my burden

magpies won’t fly

they leap in the garden

the boat home safe

good news

I think I’ll build myself a nest

still some lucky branches left

off of the ground

and out of the dust

my palace of clouds

and morning glow

sun and moon by turns attend

morality, justice – I’ll live by the book

mountains too high for an old man to climb

dreams are as vain as they’re splendid

358

the librarian listens to a poem about a bossy sister-in-law

the superior man

like a hungry fish

swallows the rites

hook, line and sinker

the respectable sister-in-law

says ‘just one wife’

how touching!

but it’s too short

this just one life

359

mourning poem

the arbitrary emperor

(not naming names)

makes foolish and talented one

wise in such circs

to quit the city

the hungriest tiger

won’t eat its own son

lost in a village

the country has lost

bones join the soil

turn root and stem

but humans know no gratitude

I came here to mourn

nor dare I speak

something grievous

in this soil lies buried

shadow of an ancient sun

360

a second poem of mourning

the talented man lies sick in bed

the humble man weeps through each stage of life

we common folk fear that a mirror will break

the moon never fill up again

all words that are written

are yet to be changed

your voice, your face

at the Yellow Spring in the place below

you’ve left your trusty zither behind

left the much loved wind

how rare to find a true friend in this world

strings can never be heard where you go

361

mourning for my young son

I close a door against the world

no daylight out there anymore

vigour of those limbs

woven to wind

flesh to earth turned

ten years of gratitude for life

a thousand years of tears

won’t suffice

autumn will not wait

362

Yuan Lu Mountain series

wither the zither

just the wind knows

whether it’s telling

or bringing to blows

1

fiercest birds the best fed

how hungry the mountain

robbers are bloated

those seeking fame

may reach high office

toiling in fields

brings more toil

uncut jade is all the same

it’s men who make the difference

the mountain

not wishing to be cut

lacks rice

2

humans have it all worked out

for each there’s a right kind of righteousness

they rush around stirring up dust

strange pride leads to still stranger insults

whose reputation’s not impugned?

who goes unslighted?

moralism melts like mist

before me I see the winding track

the lonely mountain and I

make our ways

3

superior men

don’t look for trouble

trouble’s always

on the lookout

for them

it’s hard enough

to walk on the mountain

without a disputing mind

look up to the eloquent sky

look down – see the elegant earth

– heaven’s work

within?

like all else

of five elements

humans

the dao of the mountain

just where it is

there’s the eloquence of the empty gut

which tells

how

the changes of nature

need mending

with virtue

4

sages have a reputation

for vanishing

their dao is different

their reasoning right off our radar

no need to mention minor merits

when the stomach’s full

hunger you see

to the mountain is nothing

sages are of

vanishing reputation

5

step by step

is how you get high

try skipping

and you’ll only stumble

the sage’s clean entrails

clear sky on a cold day

sincerity

can be faked too

the smart man

outwits himself

chasing the mountain

till there’s no trace left

347
mourning for those fallen in war

humans the smartest?
their bones lie as white as the rest

Spring to them nothing
soldiers lay their lives down

less than grass
remember Yao and Shun?

those kings cared about crops
more than killing

people here tear at the mountain
make iron for digging, for halberds, for death

a good thing earth nor sky pure gold
then war would be unending

348
dream of a sword

I dreamt about a sword last night
I hid it in my guts

I cannot bear to see your script
blood on the wall – the words won’t wash

you knock at my door
with unusual anger

blood dyes the dream
the wind takes the sword

I dread the justice of your cause
light in your eyes

your patience
as a ghost befits





349
thousand steps to the temple

so you implore heaven
several times on the way

before I’d made a hundred steps
big waves overwhelmed my eyes and my heart

balance was hard
at every step soul at sea

the old and the sick pity themselves
like driftwood we’re tossed worm scarred

like duckweed on the autumn’s ocean
morning like evening

sincerity is useless
intention has no meaning

words from this inch I tread below
how will they reach heaven’s ear?






350
relying on an ancestor to beg the government scholars for tea

when that beautiful flower withered
I lost the teapot
lost the will, my way

bright colours in the waters here
the mountain fragrant clad in bush

can you not conjure
something for me?

clouds cut the green
ground red with leaves fallen

this sick bowing man
has only this poem

with which to implore
justice on high





351
Fu Lang’s poems – none better

Fu Lang needn’t take all the steps
the rest of we poets are bound to

he’s already on the highest plank
there are none there to trip him

this is nothing to do with being prolific
one millimetre of white jade

puts the green stone to shame
this boy stole his father’s brush

to write, he begged for ink
to rub the stone

the whale in the ocean
flaps its tail, makes a whirlpool

and best of all knows when to stop
so as to not over-do things

for myself, I’m sad I lack such a son
I’m as proud as I’m jealous of this boy






352
Gu Mie, occupied city

Yue is the soil now
Wu is a ruin

the emperor’s kindness is wild

now to peace
and proclaiming

this fall and rise
and rise and fall
all must have a meaning






353
autumn day after the rain

rains overnight
bleak rain stands on stairs

all worries through my autumn heart
my feeble hair full of stars

my thinking now, past ambition?
friends scattered to their callings

if I drink from the spring
then surely I’m drunk

be cautious with the splendid houses
and with divining, with the sky

heaven is not obliged to answer
those few saws which are given

need not always apply






354
calling on the Zen master on a summer’s day

which of the sect’s founders my master?
this one preaches ‘no emptiness’

desire
the visible
and what’s not
– these are three jie

yu and se and wu se
worlds outside the Buddhist heart

the master sits between the skies
earth balancing beneath

the temple clear of ghosts and gods
the master’s body grass, green timber

I don my dusty robes
take the ever uphill track

ill fortune need not be your lot
consult the master

see in his bowl
writhing, the mass of poisonous dragons

the cage which held me?
blink and it’s gone




calling on the Zen master on a summer’s day 2

the day outside is fire
but in the temple autumn’s breeze
a mantra in the mouths of monks

I cannot be disciple here
my name’s hung
in Confucius’ hall






355
the Daoist wasn’t there when I went to visit

teacher, know your weapons travel
your bright fire’s hidden on three legs

the sun sets and the crane crosses over
mere shadows left to the world

one pill to take away death’s sting?
I think the Immortals more jealously

guard treasures no scholar has yet comprehended
brave works which drive the wind






356
explaining the ‘Wei Mo Jing’ sutra

the old tree’s just a few branches and leaves
the monk who leans on it’s real

on mountains the trees grow each as it will
straight crooked, no mirrors to see or conceal

Daoists and Buddhists shun disputation
hold the ‘Wei Mo Jing’ in their hands

they worry about their guests soon departing
when the sky comes suddenly bright

still there’s snow lying in flakes on our shoulders
wind washes the picture clean, winter shines

clearer than any sun’s squint
this sutra straightens the day