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