337
in praise of the poet, Zhang Bi

where is the Book of Songs now?
the well of the empire’s run dry

the rise and fall of cities, kings
is as of the ink soaked brush

still scholars have their dignity
zither on an autumn day

the moon in autumn’s pool

338
seeking the monk I knew here once

in a mossy field
no carriage, horse

sun and moon
lie out of doors

bamboo in its lonely song
flowers wilt unwatched

scarf for the frost
in the green pine woods

I enter
heart uphill





339
at the peak

start from the top
dig down through mists

clouds are the structure
crags cling to

from here you can shout
at the solemn counties

the steep stony road
is a circus of life

green air wreathes
the gnarled pine

famous for height
crowds of rich spirits

a poet
looks up to




340
a new born

from heaven come blessings
some families can’t help having sons
others?

no point in sighing for the phoenix
a carp reads poems just as well

this boy would ask a stone for milk
mother or not, he’s undiscerning

he looks up into kind eyes
call that a kind of understanding





341
reading the sutras

1
Buddhism’s for old folks
like reading for a woman

Lao Tzu’s Huang Ting Jing
a thousand shining stars

the Da Bo Re sutra
takes the heart higher

give up the flesh of fellow creatures
then everything embraces

back in Changan
peace

I took a stroll
on the sun, on the moon

when I’m old I’ll come back
the sutras will have made me strong



2
Confucius’ works are poorly indexed
this monk who left the copy I have
has filled it with bookmarks
they’re fragrant true
but where’s the way?

I think Confucius understood things better
when he was reading the I Ching

shame he spent so much of his time
on re-writing it
…or if Lao Tzu had got the job

now we’ll never know what it said


3
Yan Hui didn’t have
two cash to string together

but he was a good listener
sat at the tall man’s feet

Yan Hui learned
the most precious thing
about virtue
is its shape

just a rumour then
that
in the duckweed countries
there’s a weird religion

all about wishing
not to be wished for
about wishing your wishes away

everyone’s ear there fixed to the sky
as if the body were an embarrasment

everyone together forgetting
the clearest voice is from the heart
the clearest light the light of day





342
poem at the Zhong Nan Mountain

crisscrossed between
green haze of fields
paths of dried mud
where feet where rain
by turns have fallen

towering over all this scene
cloaks of the gods are all pockets
that’s why
ten thousand things are never too much

do you think that the mountain
is waiting for rain?
the river is given all days
to the field

the field stands its rice
for the sun

every home’s staircase
leans on the green mountain
every door locks
the pure fog away

think of those who have given their bones
just for flight
think of all the immortals
who make light this day





343
Spring rain

last night a sudden downpour
the sky had brave intentions

for us – and first to know
the bamboo stood

head higher
than we other trees

waited for a breeze to buy
precious jewels

which remained
stood all night

silent still, till morning’s
first birds woke the sun

a brave decision that






344
old story about Lan Ke Mountain

before the two children finish their game
everything on earth will have passed

they’ll be cloud borne
with their board and pieces

the woodcutter however finds his way home
hands full of air, he himself wind blown ash

only a stone bridge still stands
joins nothing to nothing

one day among immortals
ten thousand years down here

our best wise saw
heaven’s fresh fallen garbage

how sweet the smell
of the connoisseur






345
jade waterfall

a few steps more you’ll be out of the mud
the mountain’s smile takes the form of a cave

hard to make out where the sky breaks the rock,
heaven makes violet the screen

water falls in its myriad threads
– the moon’s curtain it’s been called

stones here pared as if by immortals
foam splashes high, mists floating thin

but these my words won’t do it justice
the vulgar tourist won’t make this trek

here we are now
this waterfall yours

let us worship
in silence awhile






346
seeking out the hermit scholar

I’m a little worried Mr Pei
may have passed on

so long since he’s been seen
of course that’s longevity’s

infallible sign. So I go
where he’s been

I paddle the river
I climb the stiff crags

no winter grass to hide the path
the mountain knows there’s someone

immortality pills, a draft of elixir
this is the factory floor

pin hopes on the moon
hope white hair turns black

it’s all very well this living forever
if one only knows what one’s doing it for

330
moths and candle

moths – in your dance
why all this hurry?

hating darkness, loving light

aim for the moon
and you’ll live a long life



331
four pieces concerning immortals

1
a palace in heaven
see through the mist
a one-wheeled cart comes flying
curtained carriages tend that way too

through a part in the clouds
see virtuous girls

in the golden book
they’re partying non-stop

I know where to go
my problem is merely
what to tell the driver


2
these heavenly cabbies really are loons
bank and turn

there’s the tiger’s back business
for brakes they simply claw the clouds

gears out the window – it’s all overdrive
but the winds of heaven could blow you away

still – if you want to ring those bells
you have to fly over the forest


3
entering the clear jade of heaven
is the best way to become a goddess

‘her dragon dress whisks in the cloud
the tiger flag flutters before’

too much thinking will lead to more thoughts
‘the thing in mind’ is a thing that’s soiled

best to keep clear of poems like this
instead – just let the spirit come

mountains straight and lofty
jade so bright it shines in us

a dawdle on the milky way
then dark streams of night are lost

the dao has to be from somewhere
bound somewhere

we’ll meet I know – in everlasting joy
there’s nothing up here but air


4
in the high clear place
a miraculous carriage
brings me to the bright jade peak

air in me, air out
everything around me home

white sun in the morning
yellow moon in the night

the sky is a sacred temple
and empty

just once a fat goose flew so high





332
a poem for the heath transplanted

I sigh for the heath
grew south here once

transplanted to the capital
nor snow nor frost
can make it wither

there’s no self-pity in those limbs
its flowers like a bird in flight

when the winter sun rises
how delicate beaded dew

the rain will try to wash out colours
what’s a flower to do

but spread its petals through the courtyard
be everywhere, in every corner

poems compete with the birdsongs of pear trees
songs vie for the orchid’s sweet breath

at dusk indoors when we sit down to tea
this heather’s sunset in our cups





333
poem in praise of the pine clad in dew

what would the sky say
heaven I mean
dew on the pure and blossoming pine
what better omen than that?

rivers surge under
Spring flows with breezes
what power has mist to mar a fine evening?

listen to the birds in flight
calling each to each
a thousand years – the same birds speak

stars in the black sky are called to account
by morning though never all numbered

let there dews and let there be breezes
dawn full of the fragrance of pine







334
tears in the post

at night only lamps will see a sad face
ink runs, tears pierce fine paper

if you want to post your tears
to a loved one
the Yellow River will be best

no single tear is ever lost there
nor will those yearnings come to a rest






335
for the river and the Spring rain

over the river
flowers and trees cold
in rain lies the Spring
withered, fallen

honest exile
leads to a wandering life

after the rain
no birds sing

the world’s sad corners
so far from each other

snow falls
to show the first light welcome

up to green grass
river comes chanting
only the fish all ears

what’s water here
to the dust of Changan?

the going-home boat
blown onto its moorings
the cart in mud come stuck

against all my griefs of exile
men labour the day as I’ve set down

my one clean handkerchief
I’ll offer






336
happy rain

a single cloud to mar the morning
by dusk a thousand li of rain

makes wet branches of the highest crag
turns dust to mud down stairs

320
morning crane

the morning crane is reading today’s sutra
a classic of course but it came on the last breeze
Brahman’s this one
– you can read all about it
just get a hold of the latest lotus leaf

or

first thing
the birds and their sutras
sky they rhyme with realms below

see the lonely moon mouth open
tells all in the star bright heart

dreams of nothing can’t be broken

better to fly and to fly
better to build a nest in the blue

321
what can compete with the colour of roses?

no green of mountain
no heavenly blue
can ever compete with the blush of the roses

gods there are everywhere colouring day
each to its distance

drunk red of the rose
calls for companions

the poet’s work
is to call all to cups
so that we might hear
what a rose has to say




322
the Zhi Zhu tree at Zheng’s place

red star in a blue sky falling

some trees cannot be reached by hands

see here lonely shadows dancing

fire bursts over our heads

petals on a green stem burn


323
in praise of one particular pine

some poems are too sad to praise
some trees for words too high

not even Confucius competes with this pine
heart so tall, so many splendours

holds the huge hand of the river
splits the mountain
beats back wind and rain

how can I let this dao in my heart
all of it’s slipping away

there’s honour in loving what’s gone unsaid
the unseen in the everyday

fairies are weak, dragons
are misty waves in the mountain

fame and worth are flimsy illusions
see how this giant carpets my way

then let us merely judge by height
ask
how can this soul have no name?




324
a rack of vines beside the well

brick wall of the well
locks away silver water

high leaves make a trellis
of cloud for the sky

once a god shook out her painted umbrella
that’s how the islands and creatures all fell

shadows are scattered, a breeze coos to tell
where the moon at a thousand points touches

fruit falls to ready hands here –
delightful to the nose as well

drink liquor from a flower cup
and live as long as heaven





325
at a temple in the mountains
haunted with a hero’s ghost

green grass runs through the old grey temple
like hands through an old man’s hair
it’s grime keeps shutters from rattling here

in the darkest night, all stars extinguished
who comes to face off with the thunder?
whose sword against lightning strikes?

below the temple far in the valley
regrets were long since shed

down where the salt flood
fell from this brow
still the river runs away





326
listening to the zither

sa sa the wind blows
fine rain falls
fan fan the oak leaves rustle

the moon falls into mountains west
just three stars to this sky

someone is tuning by the river
an ear in the forest am I

I light a candle to scratch
at my rough desk

but starlight and a tune
entice me

stand still and the tracks
of my shoes grow deep

now the clear spring runs in the garden
now the breeze through my shirt

all night my unknown neighbour plays
all night I bend my ear





327
planting trees in Spring

wait for Spring to plant out seedlings
Spring is brief – don’t wait too long

see the flowers morning, evening
parting’s sorrow taints their song

I myself with heart so withered
go on planting into dusk

worry over life’s green details
though now myself an empty husk






328
thanks for the fire
(a note to my neighbour)

white house in green mountains
where the kind man lives

he gives me two dark
ingots of charcoal

better than rice and
better than silver

warmth of the fire
this charcoal gives

straightens the body
peels off the cold

sunrise and sunset
spring, summer bold

better than rice and
better than silver

warmth of the fire
this charcoal gives






329
I rest the night at a Daoist temple

moving, one finds the day is short
sitting still, too long

I pity myself in the guise of a traveller
lodge at an empty hall

see how my one candle holds off the morning
shutters won’t let sunshine through

ten thousand things outside in the day
cassias in this cave of dust

shall we light these leaves in your censer
what beautiful incense they’ll make

then rats will be still
and the light will pour home

tomorrow on alone I go
the sad track in my guts

311
red strings

red strings play a song for parting
splendid lights grow dim

mere things are senseless
but the hearts of men?

the journey’s unending
it’s the breath gives out

in autumn
from the phoenix tree
old leaves fall

wild geese fly
with the winter dew
far travels always bring regret

at night hungry birds all gather
the early lights so dim

in day’s last glow
plash of horses

a wild goose brings my letter home

mountains and rivers stand in my way
or is it that I dream them so?

312
chanting for the willows at a scholar’s home

jade stands from the trees
makes fragrant their lean

in the blossoming dark
of dusk’s final sigh
I fear the bright new moon’s sharp hook

branches like coral, sky a vast deep
we drink to the lees
munch pine nuts like squirrels
till those were the last

peckish, sobering
still we know
fresh flowers won’t die

dawn never comes
day doesn’t end
with frost the purest winds all blow






313
swaying willows

what frightens them
this drunken crew?
night and day
they sway and stumble

girls would come here
if these oafs would behave
how the still waters
would shine with jade tresses

then we’d all have
a drink or two






314
libation on a summer night
or
thanks for the grog, sport

into my chipped jade
you’ve poured
a cooling draught

this dram restoreth
hearing, sight
it tunes the mind to poetry

sip of the moon next
cools the bones
then you forget to worry

ten thousand things
– no longer there

here, come and sit on my lotus
together soon
we’ll take off for the clouds

just let me top you up first






315
singing with roses

on the god’s loom
a phoenix is woven
seventy two rows it takes

colour of sky has fallen to earth
everything sways in immortal breath

like girls in the palace perfumed, bejewelled
like peaches – this weave of the day

fragrance of roses all round the Buddha
I’m worried the breeze will wash them away







316
a feeble farewell

a beautiful woman threw out her zither
not because she couldn’t play

when I hear you sing I understand
how hard it is to find an ear attuned

how unaccomplished my listening is
yet really I’ve tried

fleabane won’t root once the wind lifts it
water runs into waves

travellers yearn for the home they’re deprived
a tired horse wishes its saddle away

one hopes for sincerity, speech from the heart
one tries to write feelings down

but everything vanishes with a farewell
the brimming cup empties, leaves nothing to say








317
a farewell in summer

a blazing sun to fire the way
a rich man won’t escape this heat

only the hermit
by cleft of stone
catches a cloud slung breeze

dust of the track
is nothing to him

no further than his fence he goes
to pick for your collar
this one fragrant flower
to mouth a fare thee well






318
poem of farewell for Uncle Number 15

you were after
a description of parting
of how it feels to the heart

let me see into the deep pool
of moment – where to and fro
the soul gathers time

parting is like wishing the river back
but not simply as it was
no mere reversal of flow

no, it’s like wishing that water
back high at its source
in a still pool clear
at a craggy height

only the virtuous haunt such a place
even their footsteps are seldom seen

and higher still, there’s something before:
jade vapours, in the mist lost dreams

those clouds which gather round the mountains
so strangely shaped and changing

each knows its appointed day
and each will soon be back







319
crossing the river only to part

1
the River Luo goes west
rocks in shallows shine

a clear wind takes the carriage off
its dust will not come back

parting in Spring
too early in the frost

day bleak
makes easy sentiment

the hall of a hundred nights’ banqueting
more empty when its guests are gone
than any barn or ruined temple

the years pass arrow like
say what you will
no, I won’t speak either
we both know this is final

worries like raw silk pour from the loom
I sigh for those here you’ll never meet


2
the gentleman goes back to Changan
the wild geese miss their way

yes, I have a reputation in words
weaving them this way and that

shameful these hands though
beside those of famers
their qi in tune with the land

officials are well fed with ink
even especially when peasants hunger

having no post though, be assured
I’m working on vacuity
I know it’s working on me

please take these poor words
they’re nothing to carry
sadly the best I could say

292
a word of farewell,
well a few

Tian Tai is the highest mountain
reaches the Red City gate

don’t worry – the beasts there protect errant monks
the apes will be happy to carry your robes

if just to purify my eyes
I’ll sweep that mountain of arrogant flowers

my character’s another question
for that I’ll filter the spring, sift out mud and sand

things of the spirit are naturally straight
‘ten thousand pines, none slant’

was written by someone who lived on the moon


293
appreciating roses

surprising how red
a thousand, ten thousand

the fire for Buddha’s gone out
just this fragrance

more than enough
under these flowers

we chant, drink
make our names with the brush

a group of officers send an officer off
cart and horse pause

sniff at the dusk

294
the scholar goes south

sad poems are all about parting
how can the wine or the flowers assist?

water a thousand li stretches off
no harbour in this reckless wind

the south is all tales and
when you’ve them by heart

come home, tell all but
right now – better start

295
words of comfort for the traveller

autumn wind in white hair
this head of nobody

when you see the crane’s smiling
you’ll know you’ve arrived

monk, please don’t sigh
the isolation will cure you

that’s the whole point of being a monk
pure clear landscapes make sparse the mind

I often look at the moon in the mirror
that way there’ll be three of us
even when there’s no wine

296
I fail to persuade you to stay

not even a parting boat
stays the sun

the old man
walks home from the river

dusk calls him


297
farewell to Dan Ran
twelve poems

1
his bones like snow

his presence and attention as of the lotus

his poems resound like the voice of the thunder god
make you look up and sigh without cease

bright jade in such dreams

cold bamboo plays
Shakyamani’s tune

if I can’t come back in a year
I’ll be the man in the yellow wood
south of the sky

how far from still this heart
so listing


2
like to sit on the grass
it takes in the shore

so vast the sea
and what but water

seeks no permission
to ebb or to flow?

your hands in the wavelets
of Jing Hu now green

Yan Mountain flowers
bring spring to heart

yes – these clothes are smelly rags
what’s a sage to do?

at least in solitude there’s work:
the sutras – our shabby task

to translate from beyond
where words have yet been


3
drinking the river wine from a bronze vessel
striking the metal and with this note sing

I am the one who pounds the waves home
worship the woman of the river, weed-wreathed

step on the bow, I balance on planks
coir of my raincoat dances in air

laugh with that famous old drum tune Yu Yang Can
how useless the pride in composing such songs

leaning leisurely on a green bamboo pole
my feet in the wash and my head in the breeze

not even the bright sun can bite me


4
this rough well ventilated cloak I wear
– don’t think it’s afeared of the water

short oars draw over wild rice and cattails
locals come to the bank to watch the boats pass

I laugh at sailors tussling with waves
what kind of glory is that?

better to pick up a knife and bamboo
make a bow, take down birds

to call dinner

5
frightened ducks scatter through the wild rice
the whole crop shakes with fear

mandarins – their colours betray them
a man of the water is clean

at least, though lacking contrast
might muddy some eyes

those village landlubbers bound for exams
gingerly they step aboard

ooh, serious… the boat, the boatman
pole, paddle all laughing


6
the teacher’s gift to be understood
but what can you read in my face?

my daughter’s in another poem
the milk in there’s no good

an old village for our homeland
jie jie the bird sings there

for distance picture the nun’s grave efforts
to tempt the girls to vegetables

Bai Fu – my ‘hundred fortune’ daughter
this simple meal reminds me of home

7
the scent of poetry but faint here
though paper is plentiful
crumbling to dust

on the bank of the river
heart in the waves

bronze cup to brim
skimpy raincoat
let’s see how strange a poem
such bits and pieces make

words of passion on horseback home
after the storm a breeze stays

I’ll write some words on the still wet wall
people might look up to read
they might not

a temple here makes straight the mountain
the old man’s tears come pacing down

8
so many temples
and the mountains here famous too

wonderful music
beside a still stream
oars ply forth and back

trees and rocks vie for attention
red, green, what else?

the taste of all this
remembered from far


9
Bao En and Bao De
these temple names meaning
to repay virtue and to repay kindness

mandarins like gold piled
in the main hall
bananas, bamboo
and the green chapel light

voice of the sutra
soft as a child’s
chime clean and cold
as a spring

my guts around my feet all piled
there’s a journey I’ll go

it numbs the mind
to count the miles

till death

10
step by step
the grass grows greener
day by day deeper the stream

blue sky for my temple
cassia breathes

it’s through poems
in the past we’ve met

you visit my blog
I’ve seen your website

flying leaves scatter east
my brush leaning west

head sick on my pillow
think of your words
and so sadness goes



11
tugging at the teacher’s hem
saying goodbye

why must he go?

he stammers
of course he wants to say
‘to write – that’s why…
make splendid my penury
with words, which unlike me,
go on beyond the sunset’

dizzy with hunger
already you see
how weak his reasoning has become

being a poet could leave you quite lean

don’t you know
there’s a long list of writers
who died of poverty

why not say instead
‘I yearn to be lamented
however long it lasts’


12
instead of writing poems
wouldn’t it be better to grow some wings?

or closer to the ground
imagine just sounding like a pheasant

so much wiser than offering advice
to folk higher up the food chain

my poem like a withered leaf
dangling from a frozen branch

notice the ice arrested spittle
the eye just happens to have caught

thread by thread the garment comes
by threads the poets back goes bare

298
returning from the temple
to build houses for the homeless

a Daoist ten years
an open book

comes to meet his Daoist friends
goes back to his home far away

homespun clad
he’s left his cap of colourful jade

places all his hopes in spring water
that it’s pure, that it’s cool enough
299
farewell to the scholar returning home

voice chanting for pines, for cassias cold
voice from the traveler’s guts

birds that live beneath your floor
of fixed abode, yet they fear to travel

I would like to visit your place
but it’s a long way to go

rain in the mountains and rivers are pure
wheat torn from its stalks, wind ruffles the stubble

a tear falls into ink, city dust stains the shirt
no reason for this poem to be given

but that the heart can be jogged to remember300
for someone else now returning having failed an exam

sea as tranquil as the soul departing
it gets warmer though

when he was young this boy thought deeply
on what would be required to fly

but he got stuck in the observatory too long
now it’s all a little abstract

and guess what? he can’t fly

take the osprey – it chooses a tree
and other birds leave well alone

or a fast horse through city streets
everyone gets out of its way

bird and beast hail wind, summon rain
head in clouds, heart full of thunder

can make the mute folk shout
and shout till this world’s done

he misses the roads would bring him home
the farewell feast among the flowers

no parting from the winds in Spring
no use to linger after the parting
301
the Daoist in the mountains

a thousand years walking
he leaves no tracks

spends a day in the mortal world
they mob him like a rock star

he knows whom he’ll take along
cloud wreathed see his apprentice
302
seeing an imperial envoi off

looking over the water strains eyes
some countries are just too far off

the autumn sea too wide
too much duckweed

my thanks beyond the sun and moon
my dream in waves lost

as wide as the mind the ocean goes
and lonely as the one boat tossed

even with a sturdy stick
until my back’s quite bent
won’t bring me

hundreds of poems for your farewell penned
all about heroes, their talents, fine views

mine, among all these, the most useless
sound and soul stolen, what more can I say?

but that I hope your own words forestall war
I don’t wish to go where you’re going today


303
so you’re off to the capital

the east is just for tourists now
Chang An is the place to be

hat and sword of a VIP
you’re off to the capital

I know it’s not the emperor in particular
it’s just that celestial feeling

don’t think of me
I’m just a sad sick tadpole

even in the crummy dust of my province
still kept on a string

but I can look up yet
make words which may outlast this world

blue clouds, white hair… see me?
anyone here for a poem?


304
intimations of mortality

you start out reading poetry
then suddenly your hair is white

no need to kowtow
to every well fed young official

you never noticed
but the fact is you’ve come to care
about the mountain

you’re attached to it all
– the world and the wheel

as soon as you see this
the traffic forgets you

drink wine in a shop by the side of the road
think of walking alone in far mountains

a phoenix swoops low
remember that tune?

glance up and see a bright mist in the gate
that’s how you’ll go one day


305
whether to serve in the coming campaign

red flag into the green of the mountains
the ugly horse forced to a gallop

the road aspires, hooves clatter high
pikes scratch at the boards of heaven

to cherish this life
when one might lead another?

to serve in grave causes
or keep the empire’s calm in mind?

so much less
self obsessed than me

those characters with
the white masks are cunning

the heart swings under their
malign moods

to go or to stay? I dream
of night coming, drink half the day

and this is how I will never decide


306
climbing through far away clouds

‘in the clouds of a dynasty long lost
I climbed
picking through fragrant grasses

through clouds of five colours
all spirited

and I myself
by eye
cast above

peer down among pines
of the forest
to yearn’

there – and I hope that will serve for my turn
that you’ll raise a glass with me

then let us call each other scholars
drink till we forget who’s farewelled
who will stay


307
a pavilion in the mountains
where a poet might think of the sea

a pure cool breeze
through the river temple
the temple that lies far below

in the past
the poets’ pavilion was crowded

today I chant alone
just my miserable voice
thoughts too deep
blur the view

the wind through the grass
the voice of the timber

this tower was built
to mourn a love lost

but think of what’s been written here
the songs and the sagas, just the odes

to this place would make a fine volume
and one that would gather no dust

the brush must take the hand for granted
the heart not be daunted by what’s felt before

take wing instead, fly by the river
in the east past silent villages green

green the dark of the forest then dazzling
high in the mountains you first smell the salt

dream of the far far sea


308
leaving my wife’s house

dawn lotus wet with autumn’s dew
this is the morning we part

bed as empty as the way is long
there’s that new mandarin duck quilt

we were given… see how the breeze follows
them, see how they fly, over bumps

of the road and over rough water
into the west and the night, they’re with me

the one bright moon to light our dreams
the one bright moon in spring we’ll see


309
parting from Han Yu

it’s not from muddy waves I drink
but from this cup you’ve passed me

gaunt days I watch the further shore
between us waves in vain embrace

their wet foam blows all not amounting
nothing to forget there

four seasons now I’ve been away
through woods, by streams, in far meanders

wild berries keep the eyes well down
it’s only the well fed see up in tall timber

how straight the form of the starvelings below

310
in the mountains your home
where we consult the I Ching

how apt to speak here
of earth and of heaven

you won’t mind if I
call you a turtle

truths no one knows
yet you have taught me

the autumn moon makes light the night
a tune in the cool breeze blows

all that is here seems suddenly far
silence roars round, cities are dust

one hexagram known then each must be
as night melts into day all known

no carriage ever stops in this place
a horse merely neighs, goes on

the man in the wild grass is much praised
it’s in his honour the mountain here towers