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