Meng Jiao Project

2005-12-29T00:24:00.001-08:00

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

2005-12-29T00:24:00.000-08:00

2005-12-11T19:32:00.000-08:00

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

2005-12-04T18:45:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-27T18:47:00.000-08:00

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?

2005-11-20T22:07:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-13T19:30:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

2005-11-06T23:26:00.000-08:00

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

2005-10-30T23:14:00.000-08:00

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

2005-10-24T00:25:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-16T23:56:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-09T23:05:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-02T23:22:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-12T19:35:00.000-07:00

282
exam conditions

so – you’re going to sit that damned exam
three days of stale lunches
don’t forget your chamber pot

ah but a martyr has no care for his body
soon it will be surplus

how long depressed
he waits on his chance
sword aged in the soil
will bury in him

the vulgar covet high position
truth interests the superior man

how can a fair ruler
lack faithful subjects?
something tells me it’s
happened before

no bright sun in the muddy water
nor will clouds reflect where rapids make foam

talented, gormless – each needs the other
there’s ying in the yang of the happiest home

283
words of parting in times of trouble

what can you play on a broken zither?
the ‘South Wind’ isn’t really a song

I dream a lot
I’m troubled with sickness

music is needed
without it these words
will never mend the country
or make it bright again

in the past we’ve met and parted often
but never so bitterly
as now, lacking song

all the strings are broken
so the hearts of the people

high officials say
let them whistle instead

284
dao ke dao fei chang dao

green mountains by the Yellow River
below us the road to Chang An

each footfall leads a thousand li on
best leave at home all thoughts of the end

285
a present of calligraphy

your true wild monk won’t fall for wine
well wrought characters do it for him

a wild ink brush finds its way through the sky
cloud makes fine parchment

here let me compose
black bolt of lighting flies from my hand

as water from a pure spring
the apt word flows

when I write see how dark the clouds gather
and washing the inkstone, a mountain in torrents

fresh green in the sun that follows
the ox and the village, track’s happy slant

then here comes this angry serpent – invective
and just as meaning, wild wind at our throats

I’d better put down my brush right now
before these big waves sink any more boats

286
bound for Hunan in the summer rains

rivers and lakes
are all connected

these two kinds of water
wash from the sky

bound south this one sail
chokes in the shallows

no wind in the weeds
we swelter becalmed

ah, when the snow sings
– will the unwashed hear?

let me rise like a crane
show the river its wings

287
for one returning to Henan

wind walks in the bends of the river
no mortal voice heard there

but the crane dances
mid dozens of strings

water chestnuts and vines
trap the boat

the sun shines high
in the mountains

the forest here
my un-tune-able zither

accompanies me
in singing these thanks

288
crossing the Gao Bridge in Suzhou
starting out for the south

here, take this pair of shoes
you’ll need them

the way south is long
the bridge far for a start

green the water
blue the breeze over

pick lotus flowers
early in autumn

clear alleys of light
where wavelets roll

morning’s tides
come in four doors

those girls of Wu
voices soft, sweet

boats lap on the water
where’s the one signed for ‘wine’?

that’s what I want to know
that’s where I’ll linger…ah

always some traces of footsteps remain
for instance all those you took as a child

memory’s like a star in the mist
you wake when the dream is vanishing

my heart burns to think of all this
what’s past is recalled, won’t return

see two middle aged men
at these first steps parting

the Gao Bridge winding away
I remember a tune strummed

fronting an old lonely house
how I was drunk with youth then

comrade, hold my hand
stay the dao just this while

in friendship
the way will not wither

289
sending a Daoist back to his mountain

which pine wishes its colour were autumn?
far less trees confess winter’s their soul

jade’s never going to be soft
it’s the same

you’re climbing the mountain from a straight road
you drink from a river the kinks are run from

for clothes I guess there’s a fine cut of cloud
with the help of the cranes you’ll get letters gone

don’t tell me the celestial village is far
I only wish I could go

290
sending an uncle off to Chu

adrift in waves
sea or sky

it’s the same
light sweat

fan of feathers
sail lightly tossed

shadows of leaves
on the shore

water lilies
sprayed by the breeze

boat anchored bobs
how endlessly

an uncle sings
a nephew worries

291
sending a courtier back to the army

an expert at riding, with bow

young men gather
to see the eagle’s
clear cold sky shot

to see the flag leading
away into clouds

snow’s so ancient there
it can’t melt

in vain blame the stream
that it halts in the mountains

recluse keep an eye out
for dragons, for men

2005-09-06T09:20:00.000-07:00

272
farewell to two scholars

what is it to write,
to fashion culture?

qi of the hearts of sages
no less

the happy heart stands straight as a pine
when the mind’s in a mess
all your writing’s dishevelled

Dong Ting is not of this world
the way there is all illusion
guests go mid-month

sails fill with wind, flow out of the sky
fish and dragons leap from the water
what colourful waves they make

see shrubs and trees outlined in the jade stream
the monsters are terrible
none of them know how high the sky

yet with sincerity
true qi of sage heart
there are no creatures but we may tame
once having given each to its name

273
the high monk off for his re-education

one leaves the borders of Wu deep in waves
the hill of Chu reached, evening glows

three rounds the leaves and clouds have crept

his poems praise cloud, jade the same
how lotus like, how pure his dao

people laugh at those who drift with the tide
forgetting the depths of the pine

274
portrait of the priest coming into the mountain

at leisure a heart like the lonely crane’s
years of wisdom more than these tall pines

far from all haunts
how the stream tumbles here

all the way down

as snow is my rice
the white cloud my field

speak quietly that the heart might lift
receive the sage trace of his height

275
a farewell to my favourite Daoist

the orchid spring laps at my robe
a pure moon lives in my heart

clear green tea, a clean soft voice
heart smiling proof against the way

276
is the Daoist heavier than air?

head clapped with halves of moon
his shoulders cloud sabled

bones pine light allow him flight
heart crane high he soars

one string of cash
in the mind’s eye

he’d crash

277
seeing off an uncle east, he having passed his examination

in Changan roads for horses and carts
tall willows make floating shelter

a thousand hearts, ten thousand – all
for fame and gain are gone… why not?

yellow cranes are all for distance
the sea has no margin to spare

the ebb of the ocean is never quite silence
hear the chanting draws us back

a mantra’s made out of the breeze
falling flowers adorn conversation

bird and fish: their ways must part
one soars, the other sinks

278
going south to look for his brothers

spring colours the ground
suggesting a poem

in hand a piece of precious moon
words as from holy eminence

turnings of the river
like the turnings of the heart

the water runs a thousand miles
all along the verdant valley

to his wild geese brothers
this old lame duck

279
one day in spring

no more to be thought
grass grows – it’s said

listen to the military man by the barracks
one stirring word, see heroes cringe

zither of Chu scares the south geese
such are the facts as I see them

the seaside in the city
sun and cloud are one

with wine the view’s more beautiful
let me recite something embellishing…

passing the Sui dike, willows are withered
come through the dense beds of Luo flowers
colourful shirt, I won’t be seen

still sorry for that bird’s worn feathers
how sad to leave tracks
when your future’s so high

280
an uncle parting for the south

roots of the winter grass not quite dead
sad hearts have certainly withered

the view over water is all day in changes
to reach the sky – how long, how far

human lives follow the dawn and the sunset
we’re driven by sun and moon to go on

north to the mountains
south to the sea

thank the party
for this fine road and fast car

281
looking forward to your long career in the army

the ambitious man
wants to seem thankful
changes his clothes
but keeps the old skin

still friends and relatives
form new impressions
old students and servants
admire him now

with books at home
a sword abroad
what a beautiful stone at his head!

I’m only kidding
that wasn’t you…

just look at the dust where the army has been
the enemy baffled
but isn’t it obvious?
standing mid flags and drums
head high
the dragon is too
too smart to fight

was it not something you whispered?

such sage advice makes ministers
the kind who last from reign to reign

2005-07-17T06:31:00.000-07:00

after Meng Chiao

1
on female virtue

imagine a woman
with womanly virtues

see with what grace
the couple
under the phoenix tree
age unto death –
a couple of ducks
in mandarin

the good wife
with husband all through life
a suffering divinity
(though on a lower perch of course)
she doesn’t fall in love
with any others

or she should swear as much

her heart still as well water
gurgle gurgle gone

2
poem of a woman weaver

husband was born in a village
I also born in a village

I married him
I work for him
tend the shuttle

though the weaving tires me
neither I nor the loom ever stop

we are beyond the window
dark indoors

make fine white silk
in dirty clothes

the emperor posts the message out
path to path among villages

‘plant more white mulberries’
his edict

3
journey of a chivalrous man

the strong man is hard, determined
tough as stone in fire
cracking

kills a man
won’t even look back

dying is quite casual

still tear in eye, white hair
who knows?

nothing to thank for, resent
half this life

a hundred months
since this sword has seen light

4
alone

you left two days ago
and yesterday my hair turned white

half a month
since I’ve slept
always worried
the insects will cry
and so the green
of grass will fade

5
the virtue of wine

clear mirror of the past
cuts villains’ hearts

wine shows the world
a different side of a man
gives him another voice
so good

don’t blame the wine
for strange truths shown

not a bad saying, that

6
to a little girl in Yi Xing

my old home in Jiang Nan is modest
the only firm thing its sparse fence

my daughter is still learning to walk
younger brother ages with anger and drink
my daughter in the care of a hard fisherwoman

they all speak with the Wu accent
I foresee my daughter acquiring it

the kind of place late at night
mountain monsters knock on your door
there are water goblins in the lake

if she got frightened
that brother of mine
would only be deeper in cups

that woman is hard
the farm boys are rough
them holding a baby?
like a bird picking up a stick

I chanted for the Yuan Lu mountain

decided I must learn how to nurse
then I may be with her all the time

7
borrowing carts

someone borrowed carts
to shift furniture

there was less furniture
than there were carts

the lender needn’t despise the borrower
no need to sigh for the poor

a hundred years for nothing, yes
but the ten thousand things
with flowers fall

8
a singer of Jiao Fang

a ten year old
if she can sing
she’s off to see the emperor

sixty
he can write poetry
and sigh near the river alone

last year at Xi Jing Temple
people gathered for the Buddhist lesson

she could recite the bamboo rod poems
shallow enough for the monks on their rope beds

I look at my three hundred poems on paper
if only I could sing

9
crossing mountains Fen Shui

the mountain is strong
but the horse is weak

the horse is walking
the mountain towers

I must raise the bridle
nine times in ten steps

east, west? I’m going in circles

water in the stream
now rain
the cliff is dark with mist

clothes billow and sway in the storm
kudzu flowers wither, fall

light gone, at last alone
day’s journey ending

10
chant for the virtuous woman

beautiful women are jealous of beauty
virtuous women care for word and for deed
no make-up is necessary
a man of integrity might engage her attention
rascals need not apply

then should we imagine ambition as deep?
the music from the strings is dim

11
to Monk Dao Yue

the garment of the monk is plain

walking normally in daylight
his shadow is not slanted

he cooks pines, cypress

in the mountains
early or late
he enjoys the rosy clouds

learning the Buddha’s way is hard
he sews the climbing fig
in order to make his robe

12
grudge against parting

the man of integrity
when I see him again
note the early grey hair

being rich you can shine
but poverty won’t conceal itself

sadness, worry damage health, damage mind
how would medicine help?

the autumn blows and we wither

sun sets and goes
I ask where?

that man with integrity
where’s he headed now?

dusk swallows all

I treat myself as well as I can
but I’m just a small potato

13
to persuade someone to drink more

perhaps you’ve not noticed
no shadows are fixed in daylight
the river’s ripples won’t come still

you can’t live for a hundred years
but if you could – so what?

good wine before us
music out front

one more!
don’t say your face is red

have you noticed
there are more and more pine trees every year
more graves every day

keep watching the south mountains
let me know if you see any change down there

14
sick in bed

it’s really a shame to be sick and poor
no new sheets for my bed

spring scenery still burns
if you get my drift
but the food here’s hard to swallow

hard to think clearly
when your voice is soft
however strong the ideas

the head bends, lifts
do tears dare?

in my silent heart
what worries the morning
carries on into night

15
thinking of Shao Zizhen on a spring night

midnight
can’t sleep
moonless
lamp guttered

ear to the doorsill
where cuckoos keep crying

I have a sworn brother
but he’s sent to subdue
the Hu Yue in the north

ah, keep the mirror dark
then there’ll be no grey hair seen

16
a trip in Jin Shan

a mountain path

horseflies gather
to the bloody beast

it can’t walk

almost dark
no way back

on the track ahead
the grumbling of tigers

not from cold
the lone traveller shakes

17
mosquitoes

mid-May night

pale travellers in this brittle air
hungry mosquitoes won’t sleep

they thirst
what can they know of life’s fragility?

rather shame they would suffer and survive
drink of their betters, live in disgrace

I would like to set up one fine net
for the whole of the kingdom

what quiet and peaceful nights
would be then

18
bad luck concubine in the old days

these fingers for the bowstrings
it’s not them I cherish
but the making of music for my love

always afraid of a new voice

forget sadness
but it comes again

easy to make new things old
but turning back?

the green of green mountains
peer into the dew that won’t dry
what but tears?

the future has no meaning
but that love won’t be kept

19
making friends

to cast a mirror, use bronze
easy to polish

to make friends
keep clear of villains

slimy people won’t be appeased

people hope mirrors will faithfully show
people make friends in the hope of relying

what’s not polished won’t reflect

bad people are the ones who cause trouble

20
travelling alone to the top of the mountain, thinking of my old friend in Chang’an

under the shining moon
see it all

this time, this place
city, village
Li Bai’s, Du Fu’s

the chatter of the people
won’t be told from the wind

right now
I’m visiting Xian Ting

If only my old friend…
but he’s down there in the capital

still we travel in dreams
together we poets all meet there

21
satirising spiders

to each its own

that’s what makes the whole world peaceful

think of the silkworm’s body
and how yours seems to be such an error

the silkworm spins unselfishly
but you!?

you’re a web maker, mistress
the others all hate you

but what can they do?
each has its own nature

22
sad travels in a place remembered

I went to the Spring ceremony
and I came back this spring
I mean the ceremony for poets

just as many flowers
but the poets were few

laughter in the morning
weeping into dusk

the east wind blows
west shines the last sun

23
bird in an empty city

flies into the official granary
what’s that worth?

back and forth, back and forth
it’s a living
but one day the granary’s claws catch

no net for fish in the sky
you won’t cage a bird underwater

to peck freely all the bird requires
the granary of an empty city

24
the bitterness in cold

the sky a cold colour
dark by green
north wind in withered mulberry timber

no chink in the thin ice
sun hidden, short day

pounding stones won’t start a fire
yin spirits all yang away

say bitterness, say cold
recite them
make that your work
your art

25
writing a letter home

tears and ink
I post to afar

my soul goes
I’m left muddled, empty

26
discontent of a wife, husband on campaign

1
went yesterday
bright moon
less than full
or is it passed?

we cried
I was gaunt
by the gate alone

2
silk handkerchief wet in his hand
her tears in the dust of the street

she keeps the dried silk for his sake
the dust comes blowing after the man

3
Yu Yang so far
close as the family gate
in the heart and in the mind’s eye

4
I grew up under rich brocade
how could Yu Yang mean anything to me?

in dreams every night
from his garrison my husband comes

27
chant of an old man in the mountains

I didn’t till the ground below the mountain
I went to the top,
tied an axe to my belt
to chop pines on the way
brought a ladle for water
from my home spring

how would I know the power of words
there’s no need of memorising sun or moon
my body is of crooked wood
unsuitable for carving

how else would life be long?

28
three lotus poems playfully given
to a very tall man

1
lotus seeds can’t be got
because the lotuses are in the water

too cold this start of spring

lotuses are much better than the willow
by the path breeze swayed

2
duckweeds and lotus leaves
in the same pond

when the wind blows
lotus leaves remain

the duckweed blows
west east, east west

3
lotus leaves closed
curled towards the bitter heart
pond surface in vain ripples

29
abandoned wife

the mirror in heart
polished bronze
is broken
your husband won’t be back again

thread of the lotus seed root in heart
though that silk is cut
still some thread will hold

who could have known the driver
would turn over his cart?

how can a wife live beneath a new sky?

listen to the speech of the crane

lay silent hands above the seven strings

30
a horse ride in the capital

every ten days I comb my hair
what a trial is to tug out, to scatter
filth of my travels

drunk nine times in a single moon’s passage
the same rough meal every time

doubtless everything in this world arrives on time
and I’m the only one who’s missed the advent of spring

having failed the examination
having no position, who’ll visit me?

had I succeeded
my relatives would have fought to see me

take a close look
you’ll see
quiet birds on straight trees

neither greedy nor cruel fish
in the slow streams

the capital is no place
for the man aloof from envy
no place for dignity at all

instead I’ll go in weeds
whip the horse wildly
rattan too thin to have much effect

let me chant the old songs praising obscurity
they make the rural idyll more real

31
on love and its increase

only in another heart, another mind
the heart and mind find perfect response
only the heart mind deepens with love
fears its own abyss

the husband said he had to go

and those words showed her heart its prison
she kept chastely in compound confines

what’s to be said of the work of hands?

in the act of departing
already the longing for home

a hundred months
a hundred years

each knits these two hearts’ mind of home

32
lines about the yellow finch

the yellow finch relied on a household’s kindness
but the household must have forgotten all that
because pellets were shot at the bird

why didn’t the yellow finch fly far away?
the south woods are blooming
no one starves there

try not to show too much interest in the bird trap
taking corn from there is ill-advised

the yellow finch cannot follow my language
why furnish this advice

or
lines for the yellow finch

you relied on a household’s kindness
but the household must have forgotten all that
because pellets were shot

why don’t you fly far away?
the south woods are blooming
no one starves there

try not to show too much interest in the bird trap
taking corn from there is ill-advised

the yellow finch cannot follow my language
why do I furnish this advice?

33
sad journey

poisonous vines in profusion
wind the pine tree round

only friends understand
each other’s music

the tree pales, ails
lies down in its needles
to rot

how could anyone suspect
a mortal dose
in a Daoist’s elixir?

orchids are vanished
harsh winter gusts wind withered stems

I couldn’t get a tune out of the zither
not for the ears of the living

the house not the same as it was before
I burnt a letter to him

tuneless the lifting wind

sailed home on the empty river
waves bore his epitaph away

34
track along the shore of the pond

sun ready to set
young man early almost home
flirts with the white-feathered fan

the ‘come-and-go crow’ could never stay
in branches of the tree that stands
upon the city wall

35
a horseback amble on the banks of the Ba

nothing leisurely in Chang’an
just about sunset too
a gate to make

I’d rather be riding
out in Shanxi
by the Ba and the Chan
let me hang that from the tail of the horse

and let me ride upstream far from men’s haunts
which of the ancestors stopped to praise idleness?
which of my relatives now?

it’s for my own stupidity I sigh
dissolute thinking
got me where I am

I finish the light
dreaming of elsewhere
lack of shelter spurs me home
horse and carriage all driven by ends

see how my hair’s gone grey
a pity to travel on foot

36
chant of farewell

morning to night the river goes
so many partings beside it

so many tears
you could pour them in cups

see how a face turns
smile goes

all of the thousand worries return
one less heart to share with

sun sets in the west
the river carries off in to dawn
never yet

morning to night the river goes
so many partings

so many tears
for the pitiless dark

37
chant for a recluse

I drink but
it’s not what you think

the way is close by
but where water runs
make merry with being alone

just four or five cups to
liven the stream

beside which music
delightfully slurs
a single string or three

to refine the heart
requires a clear stream
in and out and far and deep

when the way to the town
returns to me
let me howl
at a tourist or two

38
an ancient resentment

wipe away my tears
wipe away yours

in ponds far parted
tears have fallen

each stops to attend to the fu rong
that which another age
shall call lotus

for whom is it dying this year?

39
pond song

leaves like ribbons
the cattails have

water chestnuts are purple, horned
lotus seeds grown to spring’s extremity

the girls collecting
how light their dresses!
welcome the breeze as cicadas do
diaphanous silk
the cattails stir

see the bo lao bird wing east

40
soldiers training at Yu Lin

the north so cold your fingers could snap
the wind would break ice here

not even the master of the hunt
would show the barbarians his thing or two

but today one spry soldier
arms brocaded goes out to hunt for goshawks

whips the bridle and the horse runs fast
out of the ice of the Yellow River

41
parting

I know you have to go
had to
you won’t mind the tugging
this morning, will you?
Where are you now?
I don’t mind how late
you come home
if you do

42
deep sorrow for a friend gone

the wind blew me nowhere
I missed your grave

and then
nobody round,
I cried facing trees
in the graveyard

one day the world vanishes
still the sorrow remains

laments shake the Tai Bai Mountains
tears wash Nan Tian

I waded across all the bends of the river
I climbed every peak

but your dark spirit
would not bring back day

I wept among the trees by your graveside
the wind blew me nowhere

43
an overturned nest

the city was wasted
the old woods there
were withered
with cries of hunger

from a slanted branch half broken
a nest overturned
the young sprawled
where the sparrow hawk
would find easy pickings

in spring every creature
works to increase

does a bird know
withered limb from good?
the nest was small
wind and rain came
too soon too often

in the forest proper
precious wood, firm branches
there they nest in comfort
the phoenix’ house
has depth and height

the empty city was no place
to raise chicks

the sparrow hawk
is a bird like any other
it too knows love of its young
and the dangers of generalisation

44
a trip with songs and bows and arrows

hitting drums
blowing pipes
to drive dark spirits away

they were thin,
faces coloured, only their teeth were white

the thatched whip
called down aid from on high

the ghosts were barefoot, in red shorts
their gait was pitiful

everyone laughing ahead, big candles

thorn arrows out of peach tree bows

with all that shouting
those ghouls
didn’t stand a chance

45
from the peak of Mount Wu

a thousand miles’ view
hear the monkeys at this height

though rain flew with the whistling winds
souls stood in it

a thousand years’ hate towards someone forgotten
some other now nobody gave his life for

note the sky clear bright
note the door of dark clouds coiled

46
Shun’s concubines resent their lot

he never came back from the South Inspection
our lives were lost in the river down there
the river was blue of the sky but for what?

a shrine for the faithful soul
where trees stand ever young

clear lights burn over
straw for the picking

the evening of jade
mist paces in lost bends of the river

there’s nothing here that you can touch

47
parting
(after the form of the ancients)

clouds coil up Song Mountain

the duckweed river deciding its branches

clouds scatter but be sure they’ll be back

the river however runs its many ways

fragrance of flowers sets eyes to task

how soft this scenery
makes limbs light

silk willows knit heavy
with sadness of parting

48
border city chant

that city in the west
too close to set suns
everyone said the climate was harsh
dwellers there sold spring water
that left the traveller still thirsting

beacon fires rose in the blue
horses would herd on the summit still green

only in dreams would the traveller return
only in cups could he sleep

49
a path in Chang’an

west wind at the trees of Chin
the humble man weeps in it

red doors of every family open
he sees but cannot enter

Chang’an has twelve forked roads built up
birds are anxious for their trees here

who lives in the attics?
birds can’t remember

someone plays on a reed
or the west wind blows

50
leaving home

1
the river flows endlessly
one hundred years the same

autumn wind and white dew
make moist people’s clothes

the colour of longings must fade
people wither

youth must leave home, hearth
but there’s no bridge, nor is there track

just that through the fields
leading on into fields

ahead someone sings
‘bitter is the cold’

sad stiff I stand to hear that
but you who read poetry

surely you’re bored
with your plentiful table

why would you give
this poor man any thought?

2
sea wind through the frozen rain
the night endless with worry

I am driving a cart
through all manner of hazards
beginning to learn how home is yearned for

two stars stand close
but never in the same sky together

imagine a lovesick beauty
wishing across the milky way
but the clouds won’t clear
she cannot get over

the jade is in my hand to give
I love but cannot see my love

south mountains are high
the white stones are weathered

the sea is blue green
its waves house high

what I would do with wings if I had them!

51
the battle ambiance is far from the border

the battle ambiance is far from the border
fear’s on the central plains

dangerous roads are not in the mountains
level ground bears broken cart shafts

soldiers are despatched again
again the Yellow River blocks them

the high mud stalls officials
and private citizens alike

for all however family is far
anxiety whitens the head

I bed alone and dawn not forthcoming
I speak with the myriad sky

cool wind sweeps the scene
there’s that sunset again

the colours of all things on earth are the same
millions are old with their worries

being a man I am ashamed to see
society as yet unestablished

souls echo for what?
the cry of the sword
as heard from its case

borders are empty
the enemy wanders in field and in street

52
a new song for my friend

the willows near here
just three, four feet tall
yet to learn the song of parting

scholar, please hasten
come back to me soon
shun drafts of barbarian rivers

open your gift when you are far

who knows what treasure in the box?
what plentiful lyrics lie yet in the clouds
your journey will bring you beneath?

53
ill-fated woman

unlucky the would-be wife
hair turning

year after year
no husband for her

see the fifteen year old girl
serving an officer
what does she know of weaving?

she sings, she dances
she does the rest well

I focus my mind just on female virtues
for this the marriage brokers despise me

54
Nan Pu chapter

so many peach blossoms
the river was reddened

willow catkins waved on the bank
in spring breeze

birds sang, it was misty

the old man, having taken leave of the young
in climbing, in low cleft
left to recall

55
beacon

for days, for nights, the beacon stood lit

no traveller would come this way

ten thousand blades in the town shone like frost

billows above the river such snow

those travelling west now must surely be lost

in the south we can only feel sad

56
herd boy and weaving maid

Altair and Vega:
either side of the silver river
their eyes the only way across

57
vexation for idleness

the king died
his concubines wept
tears mottled the bamboo

they go to the root
still in the soil

shoot yet to uncoil
in these hatreds
and fears

58
the road leads to the end of the river

the road leads to the end of the river
boats ply the water
each chooses a way

when the husband goes
is there peace for the wife?

wild geese cry for the moon
and apes for chilly autumn

evenings I dream of him
from the North Gate Tower
tears are despatched

no echo
try hatred instead

if I were the driver
I’d turn their heads home
I’d turn the whole river around

59
song for a valiant general

planning to slaughter the residents of Lou Lan
you won’t see any signs of fury in his face

he beats the drum, never signals retreat
his sword glints under the moon
he never takes any steps to dull it

cunning brave troops he despatches
strategies hidden deep in his heart

Lou Lan is west. When the corpses are piled there
still there’ll be widows to make in the north

shall we sing for so valiant a general as this?

60
on seeking immortality

to understand the nature of life
is to stand on the threshold
of what’s past mortality

the basic rule is indifference
to everything worldly

the elixir seeking mob
may kid themselves
but what they’re eating is really food

how to get by all those puzzles, temptations?
easy – just ride a phoenix to the Kunlun Mountains

ask any phoenix – they all know the way

61
on graceful bearing

the graceful bearing
of the flower
is reflected in the surface
of the spring fed pond

the graceful bearing
of bamboo
envelops the mist at dawn

the graceful bearing
of beautiful people
won’t last

how pitiful
the graceful bearing
of the moon

Chang E visits Tian Di
for which immortal purpose
she had to leave her husband

why not?
nothing lasts in the land of the living

just one eternity of sadness
means nothing to a god

62
gazing into distance

every morning I wait for a letter
and I climb the high platform later each day

plum trees not yet planted in courtyards
flowers in mine bloomed three times
since you left

endless spring it is doubtless
holds up your return

smoke and fog crowd out the horizon
wind blows my head white

of the traveller returning
no sight

63
Qu Yuan

autumn clouds
meld with Mi Luo

Qu Yuan could not see his emperor
the nine doors were too many to enter

Qu Yuan gripped a green lotus leaf, wept

in exile to prove himself
ended life in the waters of Mi Luo

the people who loved him threw
dumplings to the fish

now a dog comes barking
down each of those doors

64
sundry resentments
(in the Yuefu style)

1
no need for too much sadness
remembering those parted

sadness parts you from your strength

you want to send something
to the absent one?

not clothes
because clothes
may never come back

in the morning
two flowers fly from the one stem
in the evening petals disperse in the air

fallen petals gather around the foot of the plant
still clinging for the close of day

those flown far from home
have forgotten time

it only got in the way

2
flowers of the young peach
bloom in the morning
the face of the young girl travelling
still fresh

flowers of the young peach
dwindle by dusk
the beautiful face
of the exile grows grim

trees have their hundred
years’ flowers
faces are altered with time

flowers when we mortals
reach the end of the road

flowers to their own
devices return

3
the poor girl’s mirror not so bright
winter flowers less lovely

yarn, woof, weft for what?
short thread cannot make long sewing

waves make poor mirrors
wild husbands are not the best to follow

reflections scatter from the sea
the husband leaves an odd trail

what if the whole of a life were unlucky?
if a whole life’s hatred found no mark?

65
chant for a son departed

needle in the mother’s hands
clothes on the son’s travelling back

the sewing hard before the setting off
once he’s gone the worry sets in

the inch of grass in the heart no reward
for the sunshine of three springs

66
for my dear Uncle Jian
a poem about a penniless girl

the silkworm girl was not lazy
it was just that there was no spring that year

it was February and the snow was still thick
trees in their thousands withered

the seasons were actually going backwards
how could the gods be so careless with weather?

the fairy of the rosy clouds stood firm on high
dispensing the blue

over the slummy haunts of men
the pale girl grew wings of silk
and flew

67
string music

a person of little discernment
uses the same hoe for mugwort and fragrant thoroughwort
villains and gentlemen share the same patch

a gale blows over the human forest
crooked branches and straight all wither

to choose a husband
judge by virtues, not looks

strong rice stems fear the woodworm too
the wise are saddened with clever slander

when they jump into the river
the slanderers are left to seem wise

spring water should be separated
the clear and the muddy each to its channel

likewise the nests of owl and phoenix
best remain far apart

my ambition is to make these things so
even if the truth is hard to express

few friends understand these strings
all can hear how lonely they are

68
bamboos of Chu

in my hands
a sound
no one has heard before

in the silence
this roaring cloud

crane, phoenix alike
sit up and listen

flowers by the river will not fall
the sun in the mountain sets
in day’s middle

vulgar songs make jarring notes

alone in my confusion
I would share with the moon
this shape of resentment

scoop water with my hands, all tears
the ripples stand one thousand years

69
Song for Mount Wu

from my balcony see
the overlapping gorges
twelve green peaks

the King of Chu met
the mist and rain hunting
slept high in the mountains
dreamt of the goddess

the red mist, her provocative pose
clouds block the bright stars

soul snapped
but still I see the stars

to hear the apes cry
a man weeps in the mountains

70
Qing Dong song
(words for a popular tune,
from a Wu boat on the Yangzte at Jiang Nan)

look up!
cherry blossoms all different sizes
fine pink fragrant rain falls thick,
falls fast

look down!
those beauties vie each first for the petals
silken garments mist soaked

each girl hums the Qing Dong song
eyes bright as jade pendants
a prince might wear

the young man who stands upon the tide
looks up, looks down
finds neither satisfies

71
waiting turns the noble wife to stone

the husband never returned

the water remained just as green

the colour of the stone?

a thousand years, ten thousand, more
no one remembers
that woman’s complexion

or where the husband had gone

72
breaking off the twigs of the willow

1
willows have many short withies
– these twigs
which are easy to break

so many farewells from the tree
still it weeps

there’s a time for youth
but no set time for parting,
fear that you’ll go
no fear of return

no need to detest
the twigs of long yearning

as with beautiful faces
their time will pass

2
spring breeze passes through an open window

hear the willow singing

so sad is parting
the withies are sparse
anxiety in the song

flowers frighten the snows of Yan
leaves mirrored in the ponds of Chu

who would leave here
to join the Jiao He garrison
far in the frozen north?

73
ancient grief of parting

sough of the breeze
the breath choked at parting

a thousand songs in the heart
none sung

the one bright moon
in the world’s far corners

74
ancient song for parting

paths in the mountains and rivers
won’t end
they lead us back through time
to the knowledge
all under heaven comes and goes

gut knotted before the clothes constrict
parting brings eternal griefs
no need to find a mirror for the grey
the voice is swallowed before speech

how can I convey
mist wild upon the desolate outskirts
chill wind across broad fields?

though we travel like the moon
we’re stuck
in mountain path, in river bend

each to his own grief
must mend

75
their meaning between lines

a wanderer by borders
woman not following

months and years
the tracks on my face

time and again
I went up the mountain

no use to pick the fragrant flowers
that once in ten years we might meet

only the winter moon reflecting
only the pine to straighten the heart

deep sorrow that the peach should bloom

anger in an empty room
if only I could return from there

I learned to sew and to iron unnoticed
hold silk in my hands
embroider white lotus

sincerity: the letters I sent
could not be delivered so far in the winter

though the ice on the surface shone
bright as glass
the water still ran far below

winding green silk thread
white jade crotchet hook

the thread is unending
the hook bears its burden
no sign of a crack

coming back
would unknot what the hands cannot touch
coming back
would untie the heart’s knots

76
chording for teacher Ding’s song ‘At the frontier fortress’

I cry for the snow
and I sing for teacher Ding
here at his frontier fortress

ten thousand miles of freezing landscape
at Jiang Nan where the students gather

how can the heart not be embittered
with weather as fierce as in the song?

ah but these strings could never show
the ice wind of those lyrics

the heart and mind of sympathy
must be condemned to sorrow

77
humble thanks

these lotuses grown out of water
the dew has been enough to raise them

wind over the dead woods now
what next accident will save them?

78
a kind dram for Guo Xing Yu

the thin man has ambition
as for the rest of us –
we’re old and tired
and sorry for ourselves

you advise me to recite my work less
to give the cow less harp

drinking is not about quantity

as a single drop refracts all worlds there are
the one dram holds a thousand sensations
what you’re to feel
depends on which way you face

noisy in all directions this party
the lazy mind with vulgar music

it’s books that open my eyes
this popular noise
makes deaf the heart

part what’s good to see
from what’s bad to hear
that would make the difference

but I know
the problem is poetry
how can I be cured?

thin Guo!
you’re as good as a book
every word well intentioned
against my vexed muttering

worries won’t be overwhelmed
the rustiest old sword’s still grand

your precocity was always laughed at
when you were young I remember
you hid tracts behind the ridge pole

Guo, you would never be deaf like the vulgar
let me be your pupil
let me learn your style

79
be careful when making friends

choose the right place to plant a tree
bad soil ruins roots

slander’s the best way to tell bad friends
the bad mouthing never takes long to kick in

the superior person, like fragrant cassia
flourishes at the first whiff of spring
blooms well enough in the longest of winters

villains’ hearts are like hibiscus
bloom in the morning, wither by night

don’t tread too softly on the winter river
waves endure beneath the ice

80
thoughts on retirement

how will I feed myself
having reached this age?

banished from my city haunts
I plough in the water
waist deep to plant rice

folk songs of Chu
should make us all happy

but the tune of Qu Yuan
has captured my heart

how noble death is for an absence
compared with this of mine

I go home in silence
when the sun’s set

place wood in the entrance
to lessen night’s chill

81
chant for a cold river

white light at the solstice
the river’s ice uncertain

when the freeze came
waves snapped still cresting
feathers stopped mid-flight

nobody was on the roads
there was mere whiteness
far and wide

now
water flies through rapid rocks
wind and sail
cannot agree

I trusted you
one needs a friend

ten thousand angry words won’t make right
one day the spring breeze blows again
you will forgive me, take advice

wade through the river
don’t walk on ice

82
pine fading

unlucky with weather
the pine’s green fades

the heart should not be straight like this
better to bend when the elements beckon

still this gentleman thought as one should
nor now is his desire awry

83
mad spring urges

rain fell and the grass came
day by day longer

wind blew the willow
twig by twig linked

a sad face before
but now…
let me have a drink

then comes the singing
then comes the laughter

84
incidentally

stay away from
sharp swords and
stay away from
beautiful girls

each equally bad for the health

it’s not the width of the road makes it risky
one wrong step can bring you to grief

or one wrong beat of the heart

85
anticipating a friend’s return

a hundred days passed
since my old friend left

every day in my thoughts
mirror just as bright
but a sad face in there

like a dog
one day in mid-winter
I had the scent of the loved one’s return

I dressed and rushed from lookout to lookout
red carp jumped over the high pond of heaven

86
sick while travelling

who’ll take care of the sick traveller?
it’s hard even to ask a place to lie down

the blazing sun seers the road
my lungs and liver just as fevered

I want to drink from well or lake
I want a doctor but that takes money

how suddenly ambition goes
like the face of youth

a son should never write of pain
but of how he’s safe, how these words precede him

such sorrows travel through my gut
no sight of the road ever ending

87
parable

who says green mountains are tortuous
and will not bend the straight pines there?

who says that muddy water
cannot dull the bright moon floating?

I have an honest heart and clear
but the folk here distrust the hardship of chastity

none of that wavers my resolve
integrity stands taller than pines
the green of the mountain won’t bend

88
learning to be encouraged

striking flint
one might kindle a flame
one can hardly make fire otherwise

knowledge comes from
efforts to enquire

not to make them
is to be unjust
to yourself, to the world

it’s not from the cleverness of others
but from one’s own work
success comes

in youth make efforts
to outlast youthful looks

strike flint
to kindle flame

89
to farmers

my advice is
work hard in your fields
then your granary will be filled

pick the mulberries
thresh the grains

once the frost falls
green of grass goes
one stiff wind strips the forest

if you don’t plough in spring
by autumn you’ll wilt
winter will snap your dry bones

90
tan chung
or
the spring beginning in the capital

the sun shines rising on a red wall
no east wind to raise the dust

see the pampered son, drunk, still abed
tan chung – let us call this ‘visiting spring’

beautiful women ready the scene
farmers forget their mulberries, grains

to the gardens in the west all go
who cares but for flowers and willows these days

look on the walls of the noblemen’s houses
you won’t see ‘ploughing in spring’

91
Yao’s song

1
you could have stayed at home happy
what’s the point in measuring filial piety?

comparisons are on the nose, still
saying things about your mother-in-law
is a good way to get yourself tossed out

hear the cock crowing as the wife abandoner returns
she’s blamed, she’s irrational

what could she know about courtesy?
she turns everything to shit

see the sobbing parents
the birds joining in

heaven has trouble with this kind of wickedness
the phoenixes get lumps in their throats

2
it was the mountain scenery
urged my heart to stay

I had to see the rest of the place
but I knew too it was time to leave

orioles warbling, flowers in tune
see the white haired poet
on the sedan chair
wild as the mountain’s green folds
his brush

plucking qin, strumming se:
sweet music of the glassy spring
so many strings to the mountain

green rhymes with the mists
hear a voice
hear the pipes

92
a high official

seasons pass like water
all life flows east

the high official
turns worries to song

there’s no fortune
can’t be pissed away
by drunkard
steadying his wall

one house in the soil
for all in the end

earth is less partial
than heaven

93
forgetting the death of a wife

grass goes on living
even tugged from the soil

so the willow with its roots above ground

so see that sad soul too weak to walk

invisibly the earth connects us

when a string snaps
solemn burdens are loosed
they like all else will be forgotten

take me through the three Yangtze Gorges
drive me to Tai Xing Mountain
I’ll swim, I’ll climb

where everything’s connected
and all wills opposed

self turns on itself
in turmoil
of the soul

94
guilt of the green pine

frost and wind
and how can the green of this pine be right?

it’s February and only this one stays clad
don’t tell me this is the virtuous man

who bends with the breeze is ennobled
the straight and sincere starve to death

look into the river where the ice allows
clear or turbid, it’s all in your eye

heaven decreed the seasons as four
a time to flourish, a time for decline

frost and wind have their home here
how useless this pine

95
the hero shoots stars for his emperor

the hero shoots stars for his emperor
his heart is a sword
all seems straight with this man
but tiger lily won’t relieve his worries
that’s a flower for girls

the hero wakes every morning
considering empire’s calamities
at night on his hard bed
just these calamities
keep him from sleep

the hero tries his best measuring mountains and woods
brings rivers and pastures to mind

what does it mean to float in the ether
to rise and to sink with the billows above?

it’s not drunkenness
but keeping one’s mind
on the righteous course
sets ajar the hero’s heart
and fuddles the hero’s mind

96
a little dao in your day

it’s well known that the learned are poor
the rich shouldn’t laugh but they do

finding the right path brings success,
makes expert of the ignorant seeker

failing to meet the right folk on the way
… well that might leave you a layman

jacks of all trades treasure honour and justice
substantial men find big pockets to piss in

my advice: grow peaches and plums
you’ll only require the side of a mountain

you’re unlikely to meet anyone that way
but on the other hand
local gods are ne’er so haughty
pay them with fruit of what they’ve inspired

my advice: who asked?
it vanishes like winter breath
see it over the stream in the east?
you won’t meet a soul travelling that way

97
autumn evenings

1
west wind through drooping willows
fragile as silk in lotus roots

up there cicadas sing for the sun
make grey the hair of those within hearing

afeared not merely of tracks on my face
but of all the trials in my travels to come

let me drink the thousand day wine
of the legend:
my moment’s comfort
on the way

2
I follow the wild goose
with my eye of flight

what leisure it is to take up with the air

I do not peck the grains at the warehouse
I do not drink from the square ponds of nobles

hear my long loud cry
see my wings flap high

watch how the catcher
plies net, bow
in vain

98
a handful of snow:
all I have for my benefactor

the learned poor can only chant
and all there is today is snow

soldiers drink the happy stipend
warms them from within

voices cannot melt the snow
its chant is in these mournful branches

the withered sigh is mine
must go where the willows
catch at day’s last breeze

when I come home
already spring

99
a sudden gust stirs up the road

1
climbing the mountain
I thought of something

cold rain tormenting all the grasses
a sudden gust stirs up the road

friends scattered, family
how can they be helped, protected?

five senses, five emotions shattered
how does one get to be old?

2
sky vast and wild

da hua
the changing
the source of creations

everything returning to nature

the sun’s six dragons
rushing to the west wasteland

day by day, more jackals and wolves
the frost comes on the grass and the woods

in a hungry year
birds disappear
not a grain is wasted

son of which household
grey takes the road

sour eyes sky telling
the cypresses

go
don’t come back
hunger scars the face
past knowing

3
sleepless
pacing
waking or not
the fidget of the bitter mind

went up to the roof
saw the old stars
still standing

the seasons stayed as they were
though spring was everything’s desire
it too was with eternity

so loyal the starving
so straight the dead
I thanked the ancients
for their kind attention

4
beauty of the capital

the moon is a beautiful woman
or lives there

ten thousand miles away
she is cool

all the way here on this hillside
yin air
the grass withers

the empire a city a palace

a blackbird in the jade hall
up and left
like that

the man of integrity…
no joy for him here
what’s he to do?
ah but too many names to remember

wealth and fame in the morning
always indigestion later
bad dreams

exploits of the ancients
have always confused me

the beautiful moon shines cool
shines clear

5
I, among all the appointed officials,
went to a far field
came back in the sunset

Xi He, the sun god stopped his wheels then
four seas stood in the afterglow

so desolate the sudden wind
the owl cried high
other birds leaned in
all things scattered around

a man in the east
happy alone
why so silent,
so burdened with everything,
knowledge, the way?

hungry even at year’s end, the poet
closes over the makeshift wood
his door

6
fire clouds
show up the white of the moon
all bright in a full moon night

wise men and fools alike in awe
at daylight bettered

there are many moons
every moon has its parts,
horns and quarters, new, full,
waxing waning

every season returns
so every star shines
not to be missed

7
met in the evening at the river bridge
not much to say in sorrow so deep

a poem had been left to tell
it was because of the corrupt government
he’d left the country

a long time parted from the ones I love
head full of home thoughts

wind shook the empty mountain
raised my head to the stars
all foretelling

as soul from body parted
life from its engendering soil

heart has its own way home

8
birds from the east, from the west
fly
cry
in sorrow

wish I could get past clouds
to the blue
drink in the infinite
uncluttered view

100
tuned strings give the five notes

tuned strings give the five notes
always have been
the pine has a heart a hundred feet tall
and taller it takes the heart
each day unseen

give me the old tunes
and vantage over day’s gaudy chaos
the rot of things below

101
a hermit

once you start running after whims
you’ll float far from the truth

many learned people in mountains
go hungry, freeze
no one starves in the town

tigers and leopards
have long ranged at will
the elk and the deer
should by now
know where to hide

those who strive for wealth and for fame
every day must face approaching misfortune

see how the face changes
by years unseen
there are new greedy hearts every morning

the uncut jade yields dust
to find value
pines shed much firewood
if ever they’re timber

the superior man
finds a home with his dao
stays indoors with poor words
speaks plainly
of how the grass knows
just where it should grow
birds fly by the arc
of their instinct

green cries of the air
are a life of their own
and so cannot lose
the way

102
Job

a man found precious jade
but when he gave it to the emperor
the connoisseur called it merely a stone
for punishment the man’s left leg was severed

the emperor died, a new emperor reigned
loyal to the empire this man
offered his stone again
the new emperor’s connoisseur
having been tipped off
called it mere stone
the man’s right leg was lopped

the idiot cried in the mountains
three days and three nights
his tears were blood
the new emperor died

the next reigning asked
‘what’s the matter?’
and learning the truth
named the jade for the man
passed it down to this day

the palace is full of princes and courtiers
when they come to this display
none fails to ask why
the jewel has this name:
‘jade of the fool
always seeking attention’

103
advice for my friends

ask anyone
and you’ll be told
white can be dyed black
you won’t make black white

but true friends never listen to gossip
nor grudge advice
they hunt for the reasons
the heart might have had
for doing what wasn’t expected

gold orchids
set in finest lacquer
reflect the still of soul

it grieves me
knowing those without hearts
no more than stripped branches
fit for a fire
to warm living limbs

104
who is beating clothes?

cry of cuckoos is mournful
there’s the sound of a sorrowful ape added in

you know
those birds won’t stop
till they’re spitting up blood

the ape did away with herself
when her son died
jumped over a cliff
but died by inches
we have to hear tonight

now is someone is beating clothes
under this moon too

it turns the traveller’s hair white
hearing this

nothing to do with getting clothes clean
she’d beating the absent son
till he’s back

105
gentlemen, no need to be depressed
among the officers there are slanderers, true
but they have inspired these poems

1
few places in the world are flat
but there are lots of high mountains
there are lots of forests

it’s not the road breaks the axle
or the river overturns the boat

one chi of water
the right way stirred can make waves for weeks

no villain overcame Confucius

thoroughwort’s fragrant
mugwort offends

good jade will not be touched by heat
the grain of straight bamboo
accords with its particular dao

2
the sun goes missing
students remain in the classroom

black hair won’t even recognise white

ah, dawn now, its cold copper sleep

the forest with trees still
comes to light
like jade still in the stone

in there green phoenix dances
for a yellow emperor

there is no tale before that

106
the travelling son

tiger lilies have overgrown
the front stairs, the gate
against which parents lean
seeing nor gate nor stair
but the world’s wide corners

107
looking for friends

the north wind blows over the sea
ice sheets the rivers

the biggest waves
stick under the weather

friends’ hearts
though unchanging
must be learnt

under the wind and ice
green soil and gold

you must learn
which to polish

108
the traveller

groaned at night
and the wife’s heart heard

in the daytime
it was thought voice
of insect or bird

the traveller himself
anxious for the wife’s
health at home

then there is the servant sick
away or close by hearth

everyone sighing
for loved others’
unknown states

the ocean has limits
the mountains have peaks

tears alone are endless
so why not stop at home?

109
after parting, yearning

she neither sleeps nor speaks
the end of autumn brings the new moon

lonely the wild goose misses the flock
lost in the frosty sky
lonely the crane for her partner in clouds
comes calling

the heart is a flower floats
wishes are vagrant

hear the sound of the knitting

so raise the sail high
go well and a speedy return

110
hunger in the snow

hungry crows peck each other at night
cry sorrowfully for their wounds

the ice is a gut through which the world goes
never given a choice
the living a meal to hold death at bay

tall winds snap at branches
thick snow bears down the phoenix’ tree
the mythical nest falls
with owls’, with sparrows’

on earth are always those
looking for chances
the loss of some other might be a gain

dawn shows the crows’ blood
shallow in snow
the sorrow of hunger goes on

111
the poet feeling sorry for himself

all my heart to copy these poems
for others to read, to hear

sad that the old styles
fall out of fashion

that poems aren’t what people want
even the peasants mock poetry

words like snow falling
mind bright as mirror

I hold ice in my hands
not drinking, not even that

cross legged like the Buddha
o where is the way

see how art must suffer for me
not a single new line today

112
posterity

no sons to copy my words
Meng Chiao’s poems mainly are lost

I recite my works
to bed, pillow, mat

better attend to the sounds of ants fighting
so clear and rich

they sharpen the mind
of the old ailing man
days when the breath is slight

113
winter days

hard to keep up with memories
with what you could do back then

how does a freezing horse move its hooves?

the scene of day is briefly lit
no afternoon sun for the scone

young, you were lit from within
now winter and I are one

no coincidence day and sun are one word

words are the walls of the prison I’ve built
and still I have so far to say

114
mutinous

heart of the country
wounded with strife

the gods bully
even true men

those who contend
with arbitrary justice
must brace
for more of the same

wings broken cannot fly again
water flows on, never back

a straight pine urges the axe
then where will the weak vine cling?

morning like spring
afternoon autumn

grievances make ill the heart
the sickened heart knows hatred

even the grass resenting
has edge
which it offers
to time

115
sad spring

green grass on the bank of the river
a sea

a decade of war, all walls reek of blood

whichever army it is
it’s the same
the clutching at flowers
red, white

orioles cry
swallows make homes
of the desolate city

spring flowers have never minded
odd tombstones

how quietly they wither here
stood still on this path
on this hill

116
night dark musing

a certain kind of script has been lost

like fish of an uncertain sea
how well they worship what swallows them
through generations and endlessly

in vain would they think of the surface
blow whirling waves
water chestnuts, vines, the south wood

o when may I be falling rain
to wash and make flourish
everything green
to wash old words away?

117
what’s in a sigh?

worries are abstract
grey hairs are real

but how much hair does one man need
and how can the colour matter?

if the past had not been full of dead soldiers
then how would wars have happened?

without fame and greatness
where would roads be?

the sound of clothes washed
is to bring home lost sons

Tai Xing is majestic
but then a mountain is born to be lofty
just so the Yellow River
is by nature turbid

each day more horses
each day more wheels

these are things which heaven lacks
one wonders how long they can run

118
treachery

the troops were stationed by two rivers
the early winter air took smoke

beacon fires frightened the people
by day and by night

Tai Xing Mountain is dangerous, steep
the range lies over three provinces

armies never turn over owls’ nests
traitors there are on whom the sun shines

jackals and wolves laugh in their fastness
who’ll bring the world to peace?

I climb into yellow clouds over cold fields
tears soak my hat’s ribbon
the wind only sighs

119
on plagiarism
or
on the question of which thefts are justified

the Book of Rites cautions against gnawing bones
you’ll notice with dogs how the solitary mutt
thus engaged can make the others greedy

consider the case of babies
they can keep sugared peaches
in the mouth for quite a while

as time passes the flavour goes
but lacking reinforcements they’ll
hang on to the thing they’ve got

watch an old man on his rope bed
reading silently – that’s quite a feat

in the Zhuangzi do you know that passage
about ‘travelling freely’?
it too needs rewritten

in the end words go
they’re clean that way
they won’t make a gentleman of you

120
visiting a sick man

wounds more painful when the cold wind blows
wounds more painful at night

not from personal grudges
but from anger at the public
where’s the dao in that?

there was this king who wrote
how the long life was lived
not in righteous anger

please chant this in your idle moments
it’ll give you that superior glow

121
asking for help

you’re a virtuous woman
polishing the gold, wiping the jade

how little I’ve done in my life
it’s shameful

I don’t mind an ugly face
a cold lake never counted out kindness

you could be the instrument
the Yellow Emperor played

voice clear as bamboo
recalls the valley
where the pipe once grew

how winter flowers blossom
how my clothes come shining bright
home to gratify the little flesh
I’ve put upon these bones

warm in your clothes
full with your corn

if only I could give something to polish
I’ve only a poem to pay back my debt

122
anthropomorphism

humanity in the beasts you’ll notice
is something we put there

what breadth we have, humans
how many see it?

in the old days people looked like beasts
picture the sages

nowadays so much striking appearance
covers the beasts in their hearts

those smiling with each other
whose happiness made, marred?

those tearful may be feigning sadness
there are thorns growing through them

hearts firm as iron never moralise
read no disdain in steady eyes

123
grief and misery

Yu Hu gave the emperor sage advice
Shao Lin soccer was his undoing

Jiao Meng was popular in his time
but the bottle finished him off

as far as music’s concerned
I’m not much of an aficionado
just like to enjoy a strum
with a small group of friends

the emperor’s so famous, so upright
I wouldn’t dare rectify a word

too difficult to change his mind
much better I change mine to suit his
the danger is if I can’t guess what to think

…I change my thinking again and again
no one likes to do that
but that’s rectification for you

poor Yu and Jiao with ball, with bottle
‘dao ke dao fei chang dao’
if only they
if only I
were smart enough to know the way
the way is always changing

124
a chant for the people of a frozen place

no fire to warm the floor
at midnight all wake

cold arrows from nowhere
the wind full of thorns

frost takes down the walls
now there’s nowhere to hide

the rich drink to music
till dawn if they like

the people freezing would be moths
if only they could get near the flame

it’s only their own motion warms their own limbs
and only as long as they last

125
leaving the city from the east gate

bones of the starving horse stick out

it’s a one day trip for a young man
who sleeps even where there’s no fire

an old man like me?
ten days it’ll take

from my wild vantage
the horizon keeps pace

the cold sun won’t wait for me
it sinks beyond the furthest plain

it’s only the dark abolishes distance
if the moon fell that’d be it

how many poems by now have I penned?
they’re all about politics
that’s why I’m out here freezing tonight
tricky business, life

how the heart makes a circle
of night and of day
how feelings fail
to light the way

126
late snow

rich and poor may appreciate
the beauty of the scene

the sea like a mirror
reflecting slim twigs

everyone goes out
cold days like this
everyone tossed in the harsh wind
they’re used to

a girl’s frozen fingers at the strings
old folk sing for the court

streets are clean
now there’s so much snow

one suspects there are odd rules
hailing us home

a greenback flies like a flag in the west
one tries to remember that the east is red

ah what’s the good of being subversive?
one never knows which way to face

heaven will not love unfairly
though old ears may be blocked

what a shame for girls drinking to think of this poem
drink and forget I say

let’s hope this dynasty will know right from wrong
ancient works and works present
in tone strike the same

immortals auspicious
so far and so lonely

their beautiful colour is snow

127
thinking of going back home by way of the River Wei

a thousand li this letter has come
I pace beside the river
which lengthens with my walking its way

tears I send home
by way of this water

128
on horseback in Chang’an

listening to the music, leaving
under a clatter of hooves
each note unstrings the heart

tears rust the chu se zither
such thoughts like a spirit
pursuing me home

I woke to see the candle gutter

129
I think of travelling to Chang’an

pondering setting my face towards heaven
everyone says that the green cloud road
avails best those with feet

my horse has hooves but it won’t find the way

great buildings in the city of jade
lush foliage about them
though land and sky are one, just dust

O thousand homes with red laquered doors
where may a scholar find comfort within?

130
after failing an imperial exam

back in Wu
I miss the west

in the capital
sunset shadows
sink in the river

quite clearly
my mind
was too much
with this

Chang’an won’t
miss me
– neither song
nor the scroll
unfolding

the deaf man
has bright eyes, paints
a world as it should be

the blind man
plays through the spring,
through the autumn

what do they care
for eyes askance
a snide remark?

lacking their immunity
I only know
how the ox
casts its eyes down
ears full of gnats

there must be some way
my poetry could be less popular

too much in my own estimation
even I misjudge it at times

then I should turn
away from these lines
let the world go
wordlessly a while

should you see
a wild goose heading west
please pass
these few thoughts on

131
self-exile

I’ve thought this through
and I’ve decided to
beat them at their own game
banish myself
why not?
look how it’s been

dawn comes
I’m still at the books
even the ghosts start to worry for me

they’re dozing off and I’m still at it

heart/mind, the body: what discord

failure pains the soul till death
only a moment of pain there is
for those who choose the shortest journey

in cassias there are no straight branches
how green the river
how perfect obscurity

132
faraway

a kind crow never straying too far
the filial come home

but I have business
with strangers all elsewhere

I eat by the roadside
my clothes from home are all worn out

absence is a sword rends hearts
to travel takes strength
a childhood remembers us

no servants
so no arguments

seasons pass faster
than our imagining

when will filial debts be repaid?

133
a hut for travellers

blizzard as wild as clothes are thin

past worries vanish under these drifts

coldest night of my life this is

I imagine I hear ‘Xiao Xiang Xian’
– song for the water god

only now do I understand this music
only now can I catch the meaning within

134
on passing an examination in Luo Yang

dusty sun set
I’ve no will to ride

but the future’s a palace
which beckons me

green river
shaped as a dragon
winds on
to the many rich doors of the capital

who would wish to leave Chang’an?

a stupid scholar like me
can’t get into his skull
a single one of the myriads trick
got everybody there

135
sound of autumn crickets in the night

bed empty
with only the colour of moon

thin nightgown of the traveller
the rooster’s crow awaits

four walls containing this song

seasons of feathers, mosquitoes and gnats

if luck comes to me
then will you look down?

you’ll know in that case my soul despairs

how smooth run roads to high office

136
after failing the imperial examination

we shared the same sun and moon
but I was the one to feel sad
no spring for the grass
the cuckoos won’t sing

one cloud, another
near the sun they gather
on Mount Sung

a childhood ten thousand li from here
I remember a chant about white duckweed
begin to work those lines again

137
travelling south after failing

wind clear in the south east
bright under all of heaven
one sun

failing to join the bureaucracy
I’ll become a farmer

I’ll make a trip
every day
speak verses to the river banks
grow haggard whatever I do

herbs weeps with me
the moon in the sea

how light life now
with nowhere to go

hear the temple chanting

the apes cry
for one of their own
failed to make a way in the forest
more lately
failed to come home

138
consulting the I Ching

sixty four gua there are
my fate in just one this day

ming¬ – sinking light
how apt
the reading’s always apt

what to do but write a poem
the I Ching will survive

through words I’d hoped to make my way
but sinking from that light today
I see how words have made me nobody
and destitute to boot

shadow alone beneath moon falling
rag blown on its way

if I go back
there’ll be no rest

inkstone and paper
these are my field
no choice but that I plough

139
failing

trifles of the past are unworthy of mention

failing frees the mind of old bars
now borders dissolve
I think where I like

how a spring breeze quickens hooves
to the crest

and how success is measured!
today I have known every flower
in Chang’an

140
one can always be diminished

fifty five
and they fire me
just a junior clerk

was it even worth the bother?
I was already nobody

now the host becomes
a guest in his house
servants are silent with fear

the ten thousand things?
let them all loose

a new moon shines on these empty walls
let them be the text to master me now

141
not every brush must toil for the empire

shameful for a man to adorn himself
let the hair on my temples be white

my best friends are orchids
see how they’ve withered
see the late elm
in its striking appearance

in the mirror
heart shining bright
mind ringing clear
just with attending this day

142
going home to wait on the off chance of being elevated to a lowly office

the water of the River Zha
clear and deep for nothing

my image in it
but my heart
a white crane
far removed
from other birdly trials

sailing, I compose a song
my theme:
life in the mountains
where no cell phone rings

143
on receiving the imperial ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ card

hard moon
at bright dawn
struggles more now than ever

everyone talks about blossoms in spring
who sees the frost on the leaves?
who’ll say so?

the eagle owl weak
the wren soars to new heights

how I am discarded
again, again

144
song for the heart’s flotsam and jetsam

easy to admire a face in muddy water

ripples in the clear
another case altogether

think of the folk
who live under the sea
beseeching the moon
in each clam

if I can’t sing
in these gurgling deeps
then how will my heart
know the dawn?

145
sleepless

sick in the night
I get up
look for clear water
and after I’ve found it
I’m sick

evening comes
the flowers go
the wheaten wind
grows chillier still

one only knows friendship in disgrace
one only feels kindness and hate when one’s poor

to be a hermit or a vulgar official?

give me green mountains for my companions
I’ll tell all my woes to twigs
fallen like me

146
slum song

so cold
I can’t sleep
I can’t dream

autumn outside
I hear it – it grieves me

wind blows through branches low
branches high

shallow water’s not fit for drinking
nor should a barren field be ploughed

friends today not like the old days
then hearts were pledged
now it’s fame and gain
that’s why
no one knows anyone
here in this slum

147
free ride

twice in my dreams tonight
to Chang’an

I sigh and I sigh
dreams won’t take me home
that’s just too far
for the sleeper to travel

tears fall uselessly
won’t water flowers

perhaps if the morning comes
I’ll set out

148
autumn night on Sung Mountain
fifteen pieces

1
I couldn’t sleep
nor the insects either

the old man sobs
dry in his cot
autumn dew for tears

strength goes with time
weakness wove over hills
its horizon
sad tufts to stumble by

then a boat
travelling south
would bring me
where I’d been before

south of all days till now

2
colour of the autumn moon is ice

the old guest ghost thin nothing wishing

words from nowhere come

the withered tree one tune of wind
in sorrow sung
lofty the Wu Tong tree
bent crags of it
like mountain tops

no proof for what I must suspect

dew drips cold on the dreamer’s forehead
waking him to grey of light

3
like a sword
in this dance of wind
moon strikes
through open shuttered night

old bones
gathered in their watch beneath
what kind of man do they make?

insects too, greedy for the moon’s loss
birds call from nests

all yearning and yearning
sun’s splendour forgotten

like a sword the moon rends
the still dark
that’s life

4
the house lacking doors
one is poorer in autumn

I seldom go out
the wilds are upon me
flowers show last of their light

feeble the songs
of creatures so small

see when I stand
the sick man’s impression
among his traces in the bed

even I who have lost
interest in everything
note this

5
bamboo and wind spoke
long in the night

my hidden home
with illness weak

in such a trance will gods, ghosts
know me?

as a drought fallen
these autumn leaves
won’t soak

gather into sunset

as thin as clouds are high
this shroud
wind laughs off

one line of smoke
curls vainly
carried

sour groan of prose occurring

6
old bones fear the autumn moon
like a sword it glitters
like a skull it shines

lonely bird builds its nest
in this empty mirror

gods wander floating
hang like ice

weaker than clouds
I walk the night
in muddy dreams

once poems spoke
now I see how little was said

today the piercing voice stalls hoarse
great dreams lie crooked
in this bed

what should bones fear of the sword?
the moon is ice like them

7
about to die
you have a choice of worries
that’s worrying enough

down on their luck
the insects cry
how loud the unseen
in human ears!

the grass itself is shamed among them
thin as hair in this semi-desert
yet shamefully it grows to seed

chrysanthemums in their brief style
here to be slandered, what more?

just so
I hide under the bushel to come
the ancients sing my praises

8
dry salvages
five tones of night

brows knit
a harsh wind

cripples my legs
call of an army from afar

youth was dizzy with hunger
and now in dreams
I glimpse the coming dark

the superior man
like poverty’s mountain
fighting the villain
just for a poor hearth

the more you covet
the less of life
thus heaven has ruled

grey hair is like the autumn garden
lies fallen when it’s cut

9
in the cold
a withered wind
till dawn

moon
like a clean bone hanging

even the insects
grown hoarse
grown old

one blossom in the cold
spring stands
among these shameful others

10
sun rises and falls
life, death every day
only we old folk notice

the poor life has steadied these eyes
thus far
now I’m so short sighted I can’t see my door
so hard of hearing the wind won’t be caught

I could pass for a Buddhist statue
if only I could hear the prayers

still I am thankful for life’s beginning
I pray for as good an end

I’ve left the land of letters now
with rough folk here I plough

same round of season
stock of phrase

the south is rich with rivers and lakes
it’s barren up here where I’ll end

once I had thought to be swept from my depth
now I lie down and see how empty day is

plough and I’m hungry
patch clothes by night which daylight frays

if I in these mountains cannot be pure
then who can grasp old works, old ways?

dim woodwind moves the spirits
young dragons aspiring won’t outwit fate

even in rags I keep writing
my last breath will be given to teach

wisdom, will it be, in what I write,
what I say?

do not look into the timber for notes
only the heart can hear

11
a host of furious fancies

no words for it
but more each day –
desire’s result
a Buddhist would say

am I a Buddhist?

the old man’s every step
comes lighter than the last

too sorry for myself
never sorry enough
for or to the world

if I could get out of bed
would I ever make it back again?
better stay tucked in with Oblomov

out there there are hungry people
wishing to be fed
the cold want more clothes

moths in the laurel
those leaves not so chaste

once the grovelling’s got out of the way
history’s all stinking words

dying’s the best time for regret
you won’t have the chance again

I may be wounded
my words out of order

at least it’s warmer in here
than out there

then bring my horse of air
Tom O’Bedlam

ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end
methinks it is no journey

12
withered branches howl through the wind
what souls are lost in these thorns here

old insects cry like dry iron
beasts startled freeze to jade

there’s no choking the mind from this
no covering the ears

there’s no companion for a worthless youth
wasted with worries always to come

I missed the way to the clear stream below
now I float like a feather
revered merely for the age I’ve survived
with neither the words nor the strength
to invent
nor to augment
this howling
this withered branch of wind

13
the freezing air breathes in sick bones
an old man’s body grows to ice

desiring what little remains to desire
I cling to the pains I’ve become

hunger till the heart is spent
I listen to those sage souls near

can’t come up with anything better
than ‘take your medicine, dear’

I know what I am capable of
– telling kind words from hateful

this poison has too strong a smell
and yet I can’t detest it

it’s winter punishes the heart
lighter, thinner till the body breaks

look up to the gods who manage our luck
there’s no point winking now

14
the Yellow River returns to the sky
fidelity in its meander

the human heart? it’s not so good
once gone you’ll seek it out in vain

Isles of the Blessed, Peng Lai – inventions
pragmatists know to chase wealth and position

keep to the way that can’t be told
once lost
the strings, the sword both broken

as poems grow ancient
so the snow dazzling white

these clothes of mine
they grow like moss

I advise you to brush
away day’s dust

15
scorn has killed many
without blood spilt

its bark like the poor family’s dog’s
beyond pathos
emaciates the listener

not so many words are needed

scorn makes ghosts weep
and scorn is unending

Qin Shi Huang Di burnt worthless books and men
scorn would have been more effective

scorn rises again from its own ashes
who can afford to scorn fire?

149
in praise of comfortable obscurity

every day I chanted for home
hummed and I sang
and now I’ve come

it’s for sake of tranquillity not vanity
I love to live high in the mountains
to drink from the clear springs there

hungry, I eat just what grows wild
nothing goes rotten to burn

shelter and clothes decay,
I keep writing

thrift is a virtue leading to virtues
this I’ve kept in mind

bamboo in winter
we could pickle
everything here takes up with its use

young people are frightened of smoke
but fears are vague things

the river flows always away
I think of my relatives’ barren ploughing

over years I’ve noticed the virtuous
have more than enough of virtue

rich guests disappear quickly
things are too rough
day merely day here
and when dusk winds away
here I dream just of where I am

how careful and discreet the soldiers
yet they put no one at ease

temptation of a world away
keeps the competition here down

ten thousand horses wend through dust
but the main road is empty at night

quit all this disgruntled rambling
swear your heart at the end
as it was to begin

silly outspoken men are few
never silly or outspoken enough

150
snow

fell suddenly
began filling
my home, house, hut

a ruin it made
severe
it was dazzling

the maid
opening the front door
paced
to keep limbs from snapping

I tried to say something
but words froze on my lips
you know how it is?
or maybe not

at the time I was waiting
for a last pay
from the government
for services already rendered
the whole family found this depressing

you see, there was hunger in that cold
roof and likewise cloth too frail

in fact snow’s not so bad
poverty’s much worse
don’t mock snow
unless you see penury shining and lovely

what I did was to sell a few things off
and get some alcohol
fire inside

just to raise my hand again
find phrases to pass
the direction of heaven

to write
without the least fear of intention
just this one word of beauty
just
snow

151
vexed

I’m not much of a judge
and I don’t want to judge
but still I know there are good poems
and there are bad

how to tell the difference between them?
bad poems can get you a government post
good ones help you embrace these mountains
themselves a source of good poems

days when it’s cold embracing cold stone
I have a sad face the whole day
good poems make people jealous of me
what swords they hone their words to be

there was once a wise man
dead for a long time
that was wisest thing he did
how he was recited
no envy could touch him
no one envied the place where he hid

now look upon my crippled body
misshapen, frail, failing
for this world not long
not much of a poem, you’d say

not much skin to clothe the bone
and yet it will embrace the mountain
which I’d have naught but leisure for
if only the hungry tigers
would stop their staring my way

for you to judge
the good, the bad
of poem, mountain, day

152
address to a certain notable
visiting Zhong Nan Mountain

sir, you’ll notice
this mountain’s stuck mid-way
between earth and sky

sun and the moon
both rise from its rock

day’s afterglow when night has fallen
dawn’s slow in the deepest ravines

people who visit here – sturdy and honest
the path is uneven but their hearts are not

wind moves the pines
leaves sweep the ten thousand hollows

I know it’s hard work and fame
chased you here

we’d appreciate it
if your pager was off

153
a visit to Long Chi Temple in Zhong Nan Mountain

birds cannot fly here
to this house just for monks

a dragon makes the water green

when the rain lets up
how fresh the mountain

I walked above the white sun here
clear river far below

the ground was cold
the pines far down
paths uneven to walk

when evening came
the copper rang
heaven knew
the mountain
looked up

154
gathering with a few friends at the house of one we admire

where isn’t dim in the mountains?

here there’s a different mood

monk tapping a chimestone
and seven of us
chanting for the autumn moon

spring water makes pure music
on its way down
wind whistles through branches
it moves

although the night is almost passed
wine and talk still flow

155
for the Lin Brothers – scholars –
climbing the steps of Hua Yan Temple
viewing Zhong Nan Shan

there are mountain ridge cliffs
rise straight up to the sky
eaves of the temple pierce clouds

mountains are innumerable
in secrets
their vigour in confiding
or not

ten thousand things
the mountain swallows
five sacred mountains
in this grandeur here

the first time you see
worries are vanished
second time
wishes are those of a saint

three green lotus hermits
we are
beheld in the daytime view

156
Nan Yang Gong invites me to Cherry Pavilion for the spring feast

ten thousand trees here yet to bloom
just the one’s arrived in spring

frost on the grim leaves
sun strikes now
dirt stirs in the breeze

new flowers rinsed purple
I must note them down
like fine jade they are

as powder to the handsome face
pure rain to the clear river comes

incomparable
how cherries fight
for the attention of revellers
happy friends chant
for this forest theirs

power of the ancestors
stood things this way
their wisdom in leaving alone

and I?
having removed myself
from noisome haunts
my mission to take home
the seventy two kinds of flower
that grow here

each has its posture
each has its place

but I never came to the Cherry Pavilion

in heaven a boy
much like me
reached down
plucked a decorative man
of this place

157
the Daoist’s retreat on Hua Mountain

the mountain is mysterious
plants on it are always green

stones of five colours make up the mountain
the lakes are strange colours as well

wine for the immortals won’t make you drunk
life’s lengthened when wishing gives way

starry night – hear the devout
to sleep through their song
would be disrespect

I heap pine wood against the cold
I warm my hands to write

158
pavilion near the lake of just a little mountain

lamp gutters
but our talk goes on

stars still
but the day unveils willows
orchids in dew

little mountain
laughs at the towering peaks

a new song?
this one for dawn

my companion already has words
now that I can see the strings
I cannot find the chords

159
for rocks and flowing water
ten poems

1
the crags themselves not scenic
but for the water
and the woods below

the north wind bites

river goes where feet won’t
still I’m drawn on
into this night

2
flows into the mountain
to distances further

a voice upon stones
bright
brings views of elsewhere

ten thousand voices
sort to season

sun, moon in glimpses
rosy peaks
from clouds are grown

and gone
I must move higher

3
my stick
it brings me everywhere

of the trail it was made
foolish legs won’t go back now

look at me – lichen
grown on a river bend

so the caged bird is muted
the royal horse brought to heel

it’s not the right time
and never the right time

the superior man’s
biggest sneer
for himself

silence
a duty
to mountains and mists

4
snow peaks in the tarn
a sprinkling of stars

the river runs too fast to rhyme

dark waterweeds
moss floating

to tame
the soulscape in and out
begin with observation

5
waves come through the hollow of valley
they deafen
water so fast it peels the fish scales

the mountain is sharp
its ridge drills the sky

steep earth hewn stairs
and dangerous planks

these lean against
the blue, the green

immortals fly
on fine boned wings

from great heights
one exaggerates

mere duckweed
my view here
the forest below

6
notes in clear water
tunes among cold stars

to wash old things
brings back the colour

I drink from snow melted
not from the stream
which passes men’s haunts

smooth marble has a sharp edge
jade is dense, is matted, like grass

river and valley
mortar and pestle

the argument of right and wrong
and always wrung one way

7
go deep into the valley
go high for the best views

past paths, past every human trace
escape the vulgar world

forget mortality, daily things

foolish beasts will not fear people
thus they’re tricked with nets

equality of poor and rich
comes only at this height

see scholars clean like clouds
and thin, so thin, dissolving

8
ten thousand zithers
the discord of the town
where here the one stream sings

old men keep their strength
but when the wind blows
lean in to the cliff

the young man
crippled with failure comes

to learn among mountains
how the peaceful mind
need not be calmed

9
I crossed the south river in the great wind
today I climb for the view

most things in the mountains seem gaunt
nights ice and the days cast in shadowless snow

gaze into the depth of jade iced over
still the spring sings

no mending old worries
dragons hide their scales to float

fish leap for new poems
forget the old

the moon is yet to hang on sparse summits
not even the sun knows where it will fall

10
shall we visit the virtuous in first light?
this mountain’s thick with hermits

the wind like a brush
over inkstone and valley

how angrily
a river flows
to set down

the lure of all things
in spite of their wildness

just here
where I’ve sought
to lose my way

160
beckoning the scholars to drink

the poet’s life flower fragile
does not befit refusing drinks

Li Bai was proud of this prowess
and it’s the same today

our fate to drink and sigh and drink

who speaks of nature?
who speaks of law?
how can they know what they say?

poets north are sad with their lot
the south a sorry crew the same

fragrance of plum trees faded for good
the willows are never yet come to their colour

how much heavier these than human sorrows

let’s drink and let’s sing for the snow
let’s sorrow with the evening glow

never be sober
never speak of the dawn

let us drink for this night
come, what do you say?

161
accompanying an imperial bodyguard who just happens to be an uncle of mine

uneven pavilion my rest for the night
first light I climb high to sit with first sun
it breaks across ten thousand peaks
moon swims in the tarns deep below

pine air makes pure the eyes and ears
beyond in a perfumed bamboo grove
a withered man chants pearls, spins song
to catch the first light brought me

162
invitation to appreciate flowers

dusk now
the darkening
dense air

how far the lake now in this desert
ten li between flowers
yet they draw us on

it’s only in light
we manage to travel

the wind and the dust
outlive their sun

163
spring festival at a scholars’ pavilion in the mountains

my good friend
where is he now?
at some pavilion near the peak

he has invited me
where spirits lead

a crowd they are
of song and light
water in the clear lake flows

duckweeds my high aspiration
I sing of the autumn for you

164
visiting a rustic river with a mighty judge

a palace of coloured glass in the mountains
outside the palace the river keeps on

crags match the porches, paths are uneven

green flows on white stones
air green with cicadas

here you’ll forget
all official circles
conventions and compliments
fall by the way

see fireflies strike
at the ends of the branches

cloud high Buddha sits

we’re both climbing mountains
how different our steps

in dreams the same

165
visiting Han Yu at Cheng Nan

I thought that you’d hidden
the lake in your home

Dong Ting Hu

sometimes the moon is in the lake
and when the wind blows over the surface
all the world shakes then

white sunlight through bamboo and pine
clear air through every crack

birds gather their sky
to these acres of pond

I could walk the shore path here forever
the world in that water
as wide as heaven

166
gathering at evening

friends are the ones who encourage each other

the zither and drink – they’re great friends too
they’re fish and water

like clouds making rain
we readied music for the chicken and crane

‘Heroes’ ambitions’ was the song we played
for whose sake did the sun rise then?

friends are the ones who encourage each other
it wasn’t the wine
mere happiness made me
forget to go home

167
mountains and rivers

come to the place of mountains and rivers
in daylight eyes and ears made new

as if everything were floating in air
thousands of turns in the green mountain road

in its myriad courses water comes falling
who can climb heights touching the sky?

no one can muddy a pure stream
in air so clear nothing is hidden

where ground is ploughed
the spring onions come

even in winter the lake keeps green
tea leaves wouldn’t wither

how far I have walked in awe of this view
how can I leave now?

let me sing instead, a new song:
‘the south’

168
deep in the mountains

1
one step and a next
and a thousand miles

come alone to truly
be in the mountains

soaring so high
gulls float in the river
forget the sky there

old and sick
will be nothing
when you are

beautiful green
and the beauty of sunset

I and the oriole
so much to say

2
shaky bones
celestial heart

a thousand miles
in the mirror shone

god every day splendid
yet passing like spring
like spring returning

all seasons here
for birds are spoken

fog in the river
lost to their flight

169
at Dong Ting Lake, Wei Qi’s other house

mountains in the green lake float
pine and bay, mist block the sun

a breeze on clear water
the tourists come for
as quickly blow away

a gentleman can afford this solitude
agitation not of crowds but clear water

a billow to the ancient shore
the crags here know me as of yore

I worry the flourish of green will ruin me
the blue of the lake dissolves sky and sun
then how can a poem withstand it?

no need to sweep this old study of words
the garden grows in where it will

170
listening to Monk Lu playing the huqin

the huqin is an ancient zither
from the north and the west I think

good for the guests with poems to offer
good echoes the night gives back
and the mountains

we borrow the moon
face south with such purpose
a cold wind blows at our backs

bottle of wine
and the huqin for solace

so sad and so happy
it’s the one dream we know

171
pavilion of the floating stones

stars stand yet
on dawn’s abyss

through wind and rain
we drifted here

I the one mortal
come to this island

green grows and the brightness
catches in mirrors

of pond, of sky struck
clear water running

how pitiable
each finds self, other

having eternity
and this mere instant

doomed to the sight of
all good things met here

172
green

bright water, bamboo
awash with each other

green in the eaves
and columns of coppice

the clumsy pavilion
is struck with first frost

how rare would a word be
where none are to utter

dust on my collar
blows off

173
a bridge in Luo Yang

iced bridge of an old dynasty
no one walking in the streets

elms and willows sparse of leaves
the tower lacks footsteps

moon lights the snow
on mountains beyond

174
five flower poems

1
in every home
shao yao, peony
blossoms tender
like girls’ pink smiles
can’t be helped

the moon and Chang E
together come down –
how bright the celestial staircase

I met a mortal in a cave
only the peonies
know what we got up to
and they’re too coy to say

2
who can match
and who can marry?

no one dares
rather they wait for the poem to wilt

eagerly peonies blossom each day
slim though graceful
strength they lack

spring has its cold spells
then there’s hesitation

youth!
to you, a hundred cups!

3
because of the morning wind
they are fallen
only a few remain
helpless
waiting for one worthy official
to pass
how sonorous his songs
at night
more beautiful
the flowers
then too

4
I couldn’t see the cup’s bottom
I was lost in the red wave
ponies straighten the heart
free up the memory

hard to drink when you travel alone
I carry my own wine
but it was the flowers
said to slow down
they told me I was slurring

5
three years it took
to build this hamlet
in the time of Shun
a year would have done

today
a white haired woman
passed me on the road alone
wept

spring crept into my heart
an instant

the peonies
witnessed all

175
Nan Tan

a hundred lakes rise with the rain
the deep pool deeper with night

green sand at the bottom
reflects the dark sky

the traveller is weary
but here is respite

a flag on the high shore
from which even the flood dragon
must hide

the power of Lu
protects the weak
spirits of evil can only flee

listen to dawn
the fresh flowing waters
mountains lofty and changeless

with all of this distance
just my eye that’s altered

176
ten songs together for the RuoMu tree

no muddy waves in the mountain stream
the roads are rough

a white horse brings the guest
cool wind

music floats over the able and virtuous
wine fragrant in a shining cup

there’s a tree in the forest
where the sun sets
if only we sang
in its branches

worries will wear you
just hear the truth spoke

I’m nobody
but I can listen

never is it easy to meet
parting is always a pity

so let me see you off
into distance
I’ll hear your cartwheels
till they’re gone

177
hosting imperial soldiers

blossom on the branches
quickly falls to dirt

she doesn’t mind how wide the waves are
how far afield you go

her waiting faith as saintly
as her presumption’s sly

but bees won’t return
to the scene of their spree

only butterflies tussle
with colour they’ve borrowed

they like flowers
fall to mud

178
dragon falls

foot of the mountain
day clear and bright

but climbing
the day wants dark

behind the dragon falls
mossed wall
in droplets
shines minutely

springs fragrant
green with spring

but higher
all to mist lost

moon above the pines
cold green

so glum
the roughest beast
won’t stay

sun sets
but I keep on undaunted

the dragon
guards my way

179
on Sung Mountain, the sacred peak

monk waving his robe
where breeze upfurls

see azaleas blossom
just for his passing

alert even strolling
he’s attuned to the flowers’
heedless attachments

bees and the butterflies
dance late
towards dusk

all living things
still happy with light

I only
know day
nearly done

180
spring gathering for those who’ve passed the examination

thirty of the learned here
sing songs to shake the wind
we sing and dance
break branch and flower

dusk touches me then
how the spring blossoms fade
but faithful for another day
just one more yet

see the tracks of the horses lead off
the best horses, the others –
how differently their distance is made

the music is a bit off key
but what of that?
spring bright with blossoms

everything fading
I myself am

everything that I see new
the green fog drooping among willows
the red rain to the flowers comes

let us show poems
let us speak of justice
a thousand years
this talk’s all the same

there’s no black smudge
in the heart of good jade
the eyes of the scholar
are turned up to heaven

that’s how a reputation
is mended, is made
ambition is gold,
won’t be made base metal

an empty song among sweet grass
sweet pears hang lost in thought
as it seems

to gather and to part are common
none can dampen aspiration

how dark the night
between the stars

wait for the moon
then all will be seen

181
spring in Ji Yuan

the Tai Xing Mountain
lies over the spring

the late spring steep and high
in its tracks

fragrant the colours here
big clouds hang over
paint on my paper still wet

a dream to be painted
light shines from the mountains
stream as green as flowers are red

as if in some spring rite
I pass the cup
by the doors of a thousand homes

jade fish swallows gold hook
jade and glass, the gods sparkle

village children as skilled in gossip
as honest as credulous

I dream until dawn
the feast unending

you never meet lazy folk here
all diligent scholars
in this cloud kingdom
all talented too
and know what to do

don’t tell me I’m mad
to travel so far

this place
cleanses me
of ways told till now
it washes the dirt away

182
travelling on the Fang Kou River with Han Yu

ten thousand willow roots
grasp firm the clear river
(litotes for a change)

the boat among meanders floating

spring peaches, red smoke fill the air

at dawn
then are we in the mirror?

drink all you like
you won’t get drunk here

green banks, bamboo and the river
so clear

I’m the nobody reciting old poems
encouraged by some giant of virtue
that has to be you – Han Yu

you’re as straight and as green as…
I mean to say – though you haven’t travelled
you get to the corners of things…
I don’t mean the dark…
it’s all so sublime
I’d better just shut up

even the phoenixes are shocked
at how many cups we can drain

yes and for hunger
there’s freshwater bream
let’s tuck in
a garnish of gold
for everything pickled

purity?
too many unmeaning words in its honour

don’t forget the fish hooks
and the rabbit trap
we’ll be needing them again

183
visiting Zhao Cheng Temple with Han Yu

on horseback in the dust
how lonely

hear the bowl beating monk
his night chant
fragrant as spring

the sutras are like ice in my hands
the vanishing truth of the world
this my desiring body undoes

lotus blooms in the red hall
glass of the green is smooth

the monk speaks of the end of mountains
of islands beyond the sea

such happy banter among cold bamboo
no high officials to kowtow to

but there are wobbly times as well
the body knows the pains of hell
yes poetry is pure, it’s bliss
but give me a pension – I’m too old for this

184
in a slum between the city walls

I am poor
and the candle is gone
the bright moon shines on my book

night’s friendless, nowhere
weeds hold up the house

virtues of purity?
the peaceful mind?

in autumn
cicadas must lead
the plain life

185
seven poems about Han Shi Day in Ji Yuan

1
wind shakes the nests and the birds cry ‘ya ya’
old man with no sons looks up and sighs

I can’t see the willow bow, the reed sword
no sign of male progeny
only flowers and trees
red and green
hide the door

2
pretty girl by yellow flowers
how late spring is cherished!

the bees escape
the butterflies hide

the girl casts the green dish
from her, gives chase

3
green grass
feet sink through
finding soil

a child
and a horse
each as the other
hungry

sweep flowers

beside a stream
towards evening
just two or three cups

4
vanity of mossy wells
I miss you

the rope in the pulley is
tangled, frayed
and then you see
where it’s broken

no news

black hair
of the young men drinking

the poet in his white hair
hidden

5
Chang An
wind takes up with the falling flowers

it’s the South Wind and it leads them
to the Three Aspected Hall

lovely spring flowers
must meet heaven’s son
their appointment is early

before day’s wilting heat
which leaves me
alone chanting beside
the dry river

6
azaleas shine red
just for me
on the way home
they dizzy eyes up
they tower
to heaven

7
bees grind their teeth
for an unseen master
snap at ten thousand spring flowers

spring should fill every pot,
every jar in your home

how praiseworthy the season
its creatures

186
passing Ling Bao temple, headed west

the Daoist has no grey hair
his voice as pure as spring water

green pines always green
white stones bright by moon

the Daoist in the morning glow
sway of his robes a fresh breeze

the books are hidden in the ceiling
how precious the air between

the road to the gate for ages now old
still folk tread the ten thousand li

it’s rare to meet a real immortal
much easier to write these verses

187
the Yellow River running

who broke the head of water in Kunlun?
who made the river mud?

spray braces the air – ah, negative ions!
strings of the river belt out a song

if only I travelled downstream
if I swam

the river won’t wash away my worries
I’m only crossing to another shore

188
overnight in Xiazhou en route to He Yang

a sobbing crow circles the trees

the traveller from his horse gets down

why not this old mountain?
why not stay here?

owl and dog barking
cloth bag for my dinner

true friends only find the poor
tomorrow I’ll be there

189
crossing Peng Ze lake

the boat sighs in this lonely breeze
five willows no one has planted

thin ice on the lake
the rain too is thin

the empty boat
drifts home
unattended

190
the new house: ten poems

1
Spring!
far green the mountain bows to me
paths wind ever on

precious shelter the new house is
crags straight and high
must beckon the brush

in the garden well
still winter’s disorder
the tufted grass gone grey

like me
pensioned here
still thirsty
right up to the brim

wine’s cloudy
it’s the dregs that fill

2
the lofty city holds up the sky
the new house is clean
containing mist

– Luo Yang
place to be pensioned from
my door though faces the Luo River

downstream or up?
I’ll have to check later

better like cloud
to embrace the tall mountains

these fog banks here are all my belongings
I wait for a thief to blow them away

just one puff
rattles roof and walls

in a clear night
big stars
the day as long as colour’s clean

how idle words lie under wisdom
the folk here rarely speak

despite my little fame
they haven’t heard of me

there’s a gap between
frame and door
suggests
the vulgar world
its invitations
and my remaining here

3
mine may not be a saving salary
no desert ships ply silk roads for me
but virtue ever wore homespun

to the wren its branch
the turtle’s lotus leaf suffices

we all look up to the lofty
and laugh

4
a door fit for kindling
won’t keep out the weather

the river is clear on cold days
at dawn it flows green

in the evening I wash
myself and every cloth that warms me

benevolence is got this way
snow on the far bank makes the light last

wind roars through bare branches
those birds which travel love this place

never stand
on the twig that falls

5
rough steps on these rugged paths
and some footfalls are risky

why travel when the moon comes to me?
this plain spirit rests on the evening banks

6
the long road is steep
the garden untended

fragrant herbs
picked by hand
but known by heart

how unemployed
the waged may be

just a bowlful of rice
makes boastful

feel the guts going
all the way down

head bent in shame
to the ancient soil

behind the plough
I follow

7
high splendid town
respectable home

the River Luo
takes in the streets

mandarin ducks
fly over town gates

the green so bright
the frost can’t bite

away from the thousand homes of town
these acres must look after me

the other kind of mandarin
I could be

holding my shou ban
tablet to show them

of ten days
nine I hoe the field

I make myself
at home

8
hoeing is enough
by myself is enough

to worry about the youngsters
to lie awake dreaming
sit waiting for the day to end

the old field raises
green shoots high

free from the fetters of seed
enough

9
jade hooves ring in the water
a silk ribbon from heaven floats down

I wipe off my poor man’s mats
to welcome some august official

my virtue never will be enough
I must exercise all rites

my grandsons bathe
in the glory to be

if only I had children
of my own

how one sunny morning
makes all days auspicious!

10
a house full of scholars

no carriage
no horse

a mind
of oblique snow
steeped flat

how vivid the green
of seasons to come

191
walking near the river, yearning for a lowly office

hard to cross its many forks
I made thirty six attempts
that’s persistence

cicadas at the green water
and up on the slopes
woods green with cicadas
perspicacious noting that

many travellers disappear on the road
will experience make the difference?
but someone is telling this story

all that I see and hear
must fascinate the mind and heart
the superior man can be an optimist

mountains higher than the purple of clouds
trees come floating
giddy with height?

the tired horse misses its old fodder
I lead through the lofty clefts, crag to crag
a few soothing words draw the beast on

pity the legless man who cries for this stone
for the jade heart deeps of the mountain
he’s left like dirt on the road
still bleeding –
that’s loyalty past common sense

I’ve a level head
and a long c.v.
can’t you see I’m the man for the job?

192
walking past the pool of dreams

mountains of Chu fight to block one another,
sun and moon won’t shine till time’s end

a path has many turns
a traveller
is in many minds lost

soul come back from the north
there the black arrows come
the fine horse has lost its brave rider

the partridge longs in its socks for the south

the pool long since filled in

193
from Shang to Fuzhou to call on Lou Qian

a single body
paces through a thousand mountains

if I can’t go home
at least I can
kick off the dust of Chang’an

Shang mountains are slippery with moss
crags uneven

sand, mud, each unclean
but the view always new
the water bright

I cry alone, I wake in the night
alone I chant till the morning comes on

through a thousand mountains
the one heart, the one mind
lost and still on its way

194
thinking of Qu Yuan, travelling in the south

I come to the waters which carry this soul
a forgotten voice over the stream

listening well to ancient words
can tell apart the wise from fools

when a noble character comes too close to villains
expect displeasure, exile, death

a poem makes bright dark defeat
who wants to be a high official?

how difficult it is to drown
much easier than losing faith

to die like Qu Yuan
unmourned ghost
whom no piety may serve

for thousands of years
hear this tale chanted

a cart for the dead
whom the white sun tops

I give the emperor my heart
this poem for a mirror

195
parting with Meng Ji, my brother, at night on Mt Fen Shui

not much level ground in the south
mountain and river run into each other

ten thousand curves the water takes
but the boat always finds a way on

a way back through the lapses
of judgement, of conduct?

from a high place
worries must blur like the view

but losing oneself in the cool of the water
in footsteps through the ancient woods

wine takes me
and the wind takes too

the rustle of autumn, our leave taking
which leaves us only

your image of me
my image of you

196
song for Han Yu

1
morning and night
the spring breeze blows
darkens green foliage by day

I sing and I weep –
how many the mountains
their green reaches
all the way up to the sky

crying of the cuckoo
breaks the traveller’s heart

a blaming voice can cut the strings
I force myself to sit and play

2
no use waiting for wings to sprout
in dreams though ten thousand li are nothing

I fly alone
soul swaying over the south’s lofty mountains
whispers in the woods I hear

the upright man, though exiled
evil spirits fear to trouble

persons of talent
must be prepared

villains flatter the moon
to what end

a crowd is all words
no more and no less

cherish time
do not give up ambition

3
I sing in the morning
I sing at dusk

I unfold the letter new come
and clouds fall

the bright moon
slips its way into my pocket

words in the letter
can move the south wind

the voice of the sad ape
sways the bamboo

the stream whirls headlong here
you won’t turn it

the mountains where you are
the mountains with me

the one colour
still not sufficing

197
for a doctor in Suzhou

this man who writes about rivers and mountains
when he intones you hear the frost crack

the vigour of nature
so light and so simple
good trees won’t throw crooked branches

if words are well in their connections
honest and graceful
then mountains and rivers
will prosper in colour

duckweed and cattails
flourish by lakes

in the old days were poems
one might remember

I too would wish
for some of their essence

am I too proud
or too humble to say

198
to one who has just passed the examination

who says that the body and shadow stay close
when the light’s gone, what of the shadow

who says that water and fish make one sea
on land a day, merely skeleton, scales
even the cat has forgotten its meal

once we were frustrated alike
now your echoing laughter

I’m the washed up carp
you are the dragon
soaring in clouds

the tree lain down
worms easily take

nor will spring return
to the flowers it’s spent

the beautiful view before me, what say
how desolate the morning
how grievous all other parts of the day

the strings in the box are soon buried in dust
the sheathed sword knows no spoils

please think of something high, upright to say

a true friend I would still know this way
he would ask heaven to answer me
just one question – ‘why?’

199
eight poems about a cold stream

1
frost has left the water clear
a few small fish to show

in the mirror of illusion
sad ill frame ogles

no turbid moment for this heart
and yet the mind’s a knot of dangers

a handful of this water
splashed upon the worried brow

takes the dust
out of my wrinkles

2
the stream before the village
a boat drifts mid the cracking ice
sound of the ice like jade

green water
and the falls
a white tablet
in which all the world is written

the icy world, its withered limbs
the desolate tread of frost

I walk until I lose my way

a child on the bank
chopping thorns
but they’re few

his song cracks
under the frozen air

3
at dawn a cup
of wine to brace me

I step into the snow
pass the clear stream frozen

waves likes swords
stand in it
slash at wild ducks
and at gulls

blood sinks to the soil
blood rises like a wounded beast

flowers from this soil are widows
sob with the thorny knowledge of loss

out of the freezing sleepless village
ask who will plough today

4
with his punt pole
the boatman
strikes at jade stars

the fisherman’s sad with fish
lost under ice
still there’s the phosphor glow

teeth gnaw at prey
harsh winds sour the bell

not a ripple in the surface of day

the ice here must be broken and broken
bitter, the boatman looks up and sighs

strikes at the stream with his pole

5
straight river, bent river
scales shine white on the dragon

cold howl of sorrow
the valley bumpy
with rocks, tumbling winds

a letter stammers into court
forgets its message

the birds and beasts we should indulge
great law against the tiny murders

break the string of the bow

every day clear, every day bright
sun and the moon
and the blue high for stars

alone in the snow
a poem just for vacant space
I freshen up the thousand worries

a certain star shines vainly
one other is jealous
the emperor won’t listen

still a court-load of scholars
followed that nobody, Confucius

in a missive the emperor was admonished
the meaning obscured as it was set down
now no one knows which reign

6
fish death stiff
but the wind won’t stop killing

to war in the name of benevolence –
the stink of righteousness then

waves ice swords, superior men
the god of water says why

the hundred valleys are closed, are dim

look up!
see new clear light after snow
polishes the anxious heart

7
the old man crying
like jade
the water from his face falling

seeing death in small creatures
how the heart’s split

carrion in jade preserved
no sword sharp as this cold today

8
wind rids the stream of winter

ripples make new the view

bright spring in which the flowers drip

teeth and stream – stones wash

a hundred storms, a hundred battles

young dragons sun their scales

for one who dreams of obscurity

to live in a cave
in a cleft of the mountain
somewhere in the peach blossom realm

to build a pavilion
to keep my own clouds

to blow on bamboo
till the melody comes

high sentiments these
but one notices fleas
and
digging wells
is hell

200
visiting the quiet home of one descended from a great official

the talented have value

the lonely lane need not mean privation

I smell the strings of night
tea brewing – hear the pot on the hob

we talk from view to view
tune dispelling night

a frosty branch detains the magpie
over these lines drying

wind dusts through the bamboo
herald of spring

201
for Li the Da Fu in He Yang

a general is all strategy
no soldier can out-anything him

wicked birds dare not fly
where the goshawk holds sway

this river and bridge here
high ridges climbing
give heaven a gate
for the arduous man

up against the worst of winter
give me a thick coat

the poor are few in colour
the rich while fat through winter’s drought

swords of frost diminish stars
though they stand brighter
yet they’ll break

try climbing to heaven
why not?
that way you’ll get a feeling
for how small grass and insects are

consider benevolence of mountains
at home with them the creatures, trees

202
these lines a gesture of respect

your certain words drive worries away
a picture bigger than me fits

tolerance –
it takes in the rivers

makes smooth the passage
from time out of mind

breath in the frost
straight like your words

like sun shone on homes
to warm them from winter

as the moon comes calmly
in all of our view

your poems like the lotus’ shock
your words, your lips

recalling like an autumn wind
the sustenance of summer

the phoenix keeps no company
voice of the crane is unmatched

how lucky I’ve been to learn from you

reviling hatred
no paradox this

203
dreaming just of where I am

how wild around the house grass grows
and so the south wind when it blows

for whom?
the far away heart, the far away mind

I sleep alone, I dream the Chu river
a single sail I am

and waking here
upon the shore

the five strings in the box
lie still as timber

please, please play

204
for all the great generals

a general need not praise his sword
mountains shake for him
rivers roar

who can compete with his words unsaid
the poem he’d write
that brush which ink has never yet touched

his glint lies scabbarded
hand on hilt

thus heaven and the earth are turned
thus steadied are the hearts of men

a general need not praise his sword
nor need he praise war

205
for a frozen Daoist in the mountains

I see the peaks
in endless recession
each paler than the one before

I hear the stream, the spring, the kettle

you’d not burn pine
to warm cramped limbs?

what luxuries you’d set aside
to hear the nothing song of snow

reclusive immortal
(or so imagined)
what’s that jangling
in your bag?

the kind of medicine
all men know

206
in the temple of kindness
at Kun Shan in Suzhou

yesterday I got there

was the stone made of cloud
or the cloud of stone?

moss on the tin sticks is green
robes fragrant with pine and with cypress

long rhyme of the bronze bowl
the ancient light lamp as ever on

see how the cranes return

207
for an old uncle, Meng Shu, who lives in a cliff cave at Ling Yan

let the whimsical heart shift and ache
only the mountain stands firm

in autumn cloth – how fresh one feels
how lightly one climbs with a stick

past summer and a clear view of pines
the wind free here, how welcome its words

far different from the world of dust
from my fond home below

208
a poem to hang on the monastery shutters

one chants obscurely
Buddhist phrases
until the vulgar world has gone

turn the white clouds over then

the lotus revealed
one sits like a pine

when dawn comes
open the shutters

see the clear grove south
shy cleft of heart

209
in a straw house by a blue stream

justice and righteousness
hide out in the valley

like pine and like laurel
everywhere and still recluse

some folk are solemn

the farmer wearied by the plough
the woodsman by axe likewise

water winds clear in the streams
wind lingers in bamboo

blue the bank
and blue the mountain

sunset – a cold cricket cries
the thicket fragrant

all this in a single cup
call it the dusk snifter

it’s only through idleness
you’ll come to see

210
choosing a quiet horse for a friend

time to travel lightly now
and as for me, I’ll just stop here
two fields will feed me

when swords and soldiers go
the land can nearly till itself

how high the mulberry stretches
my music in this fragrant shelter

to work the land – well that’s one thing
to hurry to the city for its thousand trifles
yet unknown…
I haven’t the patience

that barren patch will take some orchids
when I find the time

211
in supplication

water’s meant for the sea
what good would it do in the sky?

trees are for mountains
in the sun – they’ll just catch fire

coming close – I realise
your virtue, your justness

the best voice is unsuited to trite words
the virtuous best bestow favour

I wish I could play the strings of the mountain
old hands, old heart leave me

like a stone obscure in the river’s midst
like a vine creeping under a well hidden pine

the humble man is what is he is
being that way he lacks other ways to go

212
reverie

the scholar’s words shine
like the crown on his head

a song heard alone?
different tune altogether

see the spring clouds unfurling over paper
imagine the autumn waves in my breast

sometimes I celebrate glorious men
five of them, seven, more

the cassia and the pine
hard at it in spring

wings of the yellow crane I have borrowed
you’ll notice the clouds parting now

213
as empty as sky

however sweet the water chestnut
it’s no good for the gut

I could force myself to sing
but it wouldn’t make anyone happy

just out on the street the impediments start
who says the sky and land are wide?

mountains grow out of the flattest terrain
bandits are just as tricky

there’s light still reflected when mirrors are broken
from the dead orchid comes a fragrance

I and my betters, with one heart we shine
sorrows rise into vapour if you’ve the mind

disappointed souls soak their cloaks
with snivelling tears
to what end?

the ancients were always on about eating
my guts are an anguish

but on my face you’ll only read how
the knowing sky offers clear frost to the first light
how shocked I was
this morning to read an empty sky

214
of an eminent monk

resting on the green mountain’s peak
peace in mind and out

he doesn’t step on the living grass,
he drinks from the silent springs

the pure heart sees all things empty
writes the scriptures on tiny leaves

drooping lotus of autumn to clothe him
I’d fain join him and leave the vulgar

but when eyes seek him
… so thin he’s gone

215
for a friend become an officer

invincible
no need to show his power or powers
the chest grows hairy just watching

see the old stick carts slip under the gate
that leads us to time past

I live in a five string instrument
the ancients called the zhu

from the flat west to
the skyscraping ocean
benevolence might reign
if such a man were put to it

yet how will a people long depressed be comforted
even with your mighty kindness?

bamboo roars bitterly in the snow
at night you can hear them in thousands

ah the poet – when he hears something bitter
must benefit from the distraction

tears fall to the wine and there’s happiness there
a hermit lives on this alone

wine must be plentiful or what’s the point?

no need for beautiful girls or red candles
you’ve got to be restrained and serious here

it’s the look
take another so serious sip

216
poem for a library

blank scroll like the sky
profound of meaning
infinite as mind
its moment's bloom

open to light
celestial flowers?
four seasons worth
hidden in this case of words

in the library a bamboo forest stretches tropic to tropic
in there the secret book
its painted boards gold glint

closed weather, open weather
the dragon in charge
of flood and rain
vacillates... so changeable
the cast of skies here
set down in the book

to polish the pearls already strung
in the storm the truth of greatness
benevolence the teeming light
and dark's relief as well

how long can you keep from the world in your cave?
sincerity makes true the dream

clear away the inkstone, brush,
leave the mind's scroll to heaven

217
dedicating the new pavilion where words were never had before

beside the stream
a pavilion for gossip
high in the mountains
how far the green

thirty six peaks
in the fan shaped screen

flats and edges, corners float
no place to steady the gaze

in vain praise caves
big words for big mountains

I wake when the others
have drunk their fill

if you listen then i'll have the strength to speak on

218
three big rat poems

1
give stone to the stone
height to the mountain
green to the pine
give courage to men

virtue and loyalty
just this poor house where
as in the book of songs
a famous rat eats the seedlings
as they rise

I could leave but to me
this old hut means friendship
and who knows
what this rat was before
or may be

2
the rat got through
the heavy mud wall
gnaws the silk on the loom

it leaves some clay
but not a stitch of cloth

withered mulberries greet first light
the empty loom shows chill dusk

the common folk
are great advocates
of fat horses,
gorgeous clothes

how hungry and feeble
the aspiring are

heaven trains its eye on this rat

3
the day before yesterday you left
my hair turned
white as the sleepless grass

now here the insects
are loud with stillness
the rat rustles round out of doors
half a month since the wind
ran through

219
better pour your bucket in a puddle than the sea

better be friends
with good men
than rich

sometimes the sea
and the riches
run short

the sun and the moon
together make bright
the poor world runs between

one bucket can save the thirsty fish
if puddle and fins fall together

220
poem in the mountains for
the mountain bureaucrat

pure rain on green clouds
all silence in the thousand mountains

hear if a leaf moves
your sleeves as orchids fragrant

chords of the ancients
on your strings set down

221
for a soldier in the south

you know
China was a mess
all the trees were knocked down

how real the green of bamboo,
the yellow

soldiers make the sunlight dirty dream of the enemy's surrender
all other customs subjected to ours

a harsh wind made pure
roll up the red lightning

how lofty vigour
in clouds now the mirror comes
chases and chases
it's shadows not gods run away

222
for the bureaucrat in charge of the grain silo

the warehouse leans west
but the rice is from the coast shadows of ships swallow the river noise of the carts
knocks the gates down

my fields lie fallow and my clothes - not even homespun
merely grass, leaves

ah but if in your heart you pity
the denizen of the thornwood gate
then read my poem on leaves that grow only from the phoenix' tree

223
words of a wild flightless goose

jade pendants blow about noisily swords cut the frost they have gathered

you laugh at the past
I love your beautiful lines

talent is lost
like the sky's bearing beams

the emperor, though gravely concerned, trusts to the officials concerned those corners in which they should officiate

so much kindness undeserved
no flight for me
my feathers short
and far from shiny -
I pace in the dust

how noisy my corner
how nasty this nest

224
a superior man

this man went
to the Green Mountain Temple
beauty and purity
around him like light

in fields he toils
in dust he travels
never a spot
to soil his clothes

225
words with uncle number 15

only the strings under my fingers
can say what's in my heart

life priceless as an inch of grass
the kindness of the mountain

north how sand and wind
mean as they do
south and we dream
the spirits of waves

tear moist the day of parting
sky dry
sorrow can't be explained
I could blame it all on mother
on filiality
my duties
her need of looking after
no such account suffices

people chase wealth
and people chase fame
shout for their rights
and their wrongs
nights noisy with
the clamour of games

it fills the chest with hatred
just thinking

such sentiments are hard to curtail
which is why after a sleepless night
I try to remember the words
of virtuous men

it's then I see
not the longed for sun rising
but you bright phoenix
my guardian from birth

childless my self
I pray that one day
I should be deemed
such an uncle

226
to a teacher

sky and earth in my chest
quite a crowd in there
and one sigh is enough for thunder

the older I get the smaller my works
and yet all of nature's cut to size

think about the old poets
think of Li Bai
must be tough heaving
the heart of a sage

no room for little creatures
in the grave works of such men

while living however
I'll pitch my lot
with tiny dragons seldom seen
the black ones for instance
which grow in measure
with their inspiration

after that?
perhaps I'll reconsider

though I lack the courage
yet to be certain
see the dark scales shining
as they strain
and that looks
like a pearl under the chin

227
torn

east and west
mind made and dreaming

the wild scholar's heart
composed of clouds
the high priest
in his moon hidden home

floating is free
and the bright orbs at leisure
what worries planets stars?
they wear shabby clothes
they heed ancient winds

you yourself if you come
might hold a stick of green pine
listen to the jade voices of water
mists condensed and ledges

careful rocks tumbling far far
into rivers lost far from the sea

you won't catch vulgar ills
in the mountains
you'll starve in a singular way

I would send you a letter
to such effect
but the birds
won’t come up this high
and I can't bring myself
so low as to find them

228
seeking a certain recluse
far in high places

people talk about Zhu Rong Mountain
it stretches as high as the sky
and still further

a thousand fountains hidden there
most eminent of monks
all once descended from this place

they say the old paths
show no human traces
that clouds spit out the rosy stones

a thousand mountains
in clear green water

the recluse hiding here
though he cannot cook stones
for rice
still his eyebrows
are as long as head hair

leaves of the carpesium
fall down upon the zither

one tries to forget but one can't

229
floating cloud
and hidden dragon

the mirror in darkness
has nothing to reflect
when will the morning come?

in the gloom I think back to autumn
my soul finds a home in these others it's known

the ambitious man lamenting time's passage
up three or four times in the night

the innocent man in vain he feels pride
how can a muddy river run clear?

old friendships are far
new resentments pain me

you hide your ambition
I flee from my name

in the past the great ones
shunned all forms of show
superior folk never gather to slander

defeated people compete to get by
only the ignorant can save their souls damage

one day a certain cloud will float by
the dragon long lost adorns its true sky

230
clouds parting

two clouds have a single thought
and yet they know they have to part

the cloud in the south happy to go home
but in the north where ice embraces?

dark beyond the snow's horizon
a thousand li the wind carries our cries
till not a word remains

231
the virtues of work
and the problem with people

banks of the river a vigorous green
horse in its gallop at autumn

the god in the moon knows sun above
nor has the phoenix shabby haunts

he visits the bamboo forest
climbs to the temple of clouds
each green as the valley
its frozen stream

magical sheep there
weigh truth from fiction
right from wrong

thousands of mountains
lie fearing the daybreak

a sword in its scabbard
longs to strike armour
hear frosty drums a hundred miles

all of which is a roundabout way of saying
that your office has many people of talent
if they know gratitude
they will work with you
fight for you

we should appreciate them
the rougher and more common kind
never manage to be of one mind

232
many are cold but few are frozen
words of advice from my uncle

think back to spring
when frost persists
the traveler is yet to return

it's a new year
that's why the sky has changed colour

the traveler's back's threadbare
sandals thin as the pale daylit moon
no lift in the crane's frozen wings
how long grounded?

thousands of families in dry ponds or frozen
their memory is of fragrant times elsewhere

what else but this propsect
of past to sustain them?

cherish the spring
on days the frost stays

233
let's party

think of the water in all rivers banished
think of the sea with its waves run to ground

people have their places: talented, stupid
degrees of tolerance differ too

in an argument who knows
what clever things will be said?
great songs come of the most mirth had

okay so said shed tears for the passing of Qin
have a wake and then
let's party for Han

234
home south for a spell

a child cries parting from its parents
and I from my master likewise

all that I've felt here
I've hoped to pack up
but now that the moment
of leaving is on me
sentiments gather and spill
like belongings

draw breath
release it
find something to bite
think how big fish and dragons expand and draw in

first thunder in spring
and we all wake to cue
then who can be sad?
which of we insects?

everyday folk struggle
just not to starve
then why should
the mighty be proud?

no secret in a mirror's light
great glory waits to be reflected

hibiscus red shore
reeds in the waves
note now the sun rising over the sea
its gentle breeze embracing

home I'm headed
and when I'm in sight
how gently a mother
admonishes absence

home!
can't you hear the mountain bell breathing
pines toll in tall air here
the temple shakes its clouds away

I bring with me new heart
new mind
a new home I bring
the habits of childhood

I drink from
where green water has fallen
I'll tangle for good
in the old vines one day

235
for one who accompanies the emperor in his studies

which crooked branch
will like its shadow?

villains always fear the best
night is their element
all shadows then

scholars must grow
by their candles

236
exhortation
to pop out for some air

a pure wind
makes peaceful the heart
fruit beautifies green vines

just look
how spacious the valley
deep in the view

a fine horse
to the cart's shaft bound
you linger over sums by day
nights find you still checking

you'll gutter that way
like the candle you work by

even a buried pearl is bright
life's too short to spend squinting

get out of the office
in daylight for once
see how even leaves
disdain their slow fall

237
o soul come back

so far north here
stars have frozen
neither sun nor moon
put in an appearance

gone too far
the poor scholar's insides
are soured with plums

thousands of every day folk
choose the circle
I alone must study the square

spring leaves
will fade to yellow
in autumn

notoriety's candle
casts no private light

let me quit
this silly self imposed exile

I'll exchange famed absence
for an obscure part

238
to the provincial governor

green mountains past the outer wall
Han River at the white copper dike

I thank you for your leadership
for getting the dirt
out of mountains and rivers

ten thousand iron horses gather
in the frost and snow

red flags
make a thousand rainbows
blood red

the wind blows
and the waves are uneven

I've seen stones piled one on
another - your palace

blooms here even in winter
the colour of things is ever more

tears won't fall twice
just say so
and the people are happy

they can go back
to their fields and plough

when they're old
they'll be helped

so agile and so
thorough in action

swim deep
walk far
climb high
never waver

everyone thanks you
for green fields
for plenty

even wild birds
have come here to nest

no need to hold the reins
on the paths home
horses know Xiangalila
by nose

239
lines playfully given

1
dry voices of autumn
sad words of the leaf with the bark

a thin monk resting on thick ice
sword in every poem he vents

how far from war is the spirit of poetry?

poems are craggy heights
from which the weary world
is shrugged

poems are waves
crystal vast towering
waves to get out of the way of
they turn the certain shore to mud

see the poet staggering
along the road
toward some master or away,
not sure

a shame li Bai and Tu Fu
are not with us

the madness
of poetry is much as they made

2
a monk's robe
is a fine source for poetry

tired of the killing world
one retires into words

the sky may be high
but not too high to touch
the wild sea reluctantly
shows dreamers its source
who has the talent and patience
to reach out?

beside the whale's mouth here
it's hard to keep from being swallowed

there are no objects or creatures escaping words' turn
the poet worn as thin as his clothes
laughs proudly in the face of officials

240
three poems on the art of the recluse

1
sitting too straight
can ruin your posture

high offices fall
yet hearts hum with truth

the loyal pine
felled and cured
gives no smoke

straight still
the grain
of cracked bamboo

have you seen
a waning moon
change colour?

the virtue of moral folk
is ever renewed

there are many poems
and many books
in this house
though woods are sparse
and grass is poor

this is the place
where we dream of fine fish
but draw in only
the imagery here

the still pool
the mountain which outlasts fine jade

a landscape sets words to motion
though words work on the inner eye
they never quite catch
how the heart has meant

2
give up the trappings of secular merit
stick with poverty instead

heart like the sea
of unknown depth

one bows to that virtue
which towers like mountains

one strong foot forward
brightens the view

likewise in retreat
bring back darkness

there’s a door in the sky
but unreachably high

the wind blows wildly
moans meaning for me

what can the Son of Heaven see
he’s yet to lose his shirt

3
to grow old requires
humility, calm

things rush to destruction
but one need not join them

consider how differently
water is shaped
according to the kind of container

best timber yet
may surely be ashes

dao is the mother of tracks we make
dao calls us home at day’s end

who has talents will persuade the others
in nature there’s nothing to do

yet what a fuss these hermits make
arranging the view to their tunes

in court every day
so much paper is spent
on the long list of nothing again

give me six strings
a cup of wine
to clear the mind
then every day must be its own
I’ll play a tune to the view

241
eternity, postmodernity:
a study in alteration

white sun glints the water
so pure the eye casts
to the deep bed below

the upright man
moves in green mountains
over stones smooth and rough
the upright man
befriends the pine
in green branches

the mountain is unalterable
will tall pines slant from true?

just so – the superior man
hears no vulgar rap
knows all the eternities as they must be

it’s not for me to grip the moon
how can its brilliance be endured?

but wait, but wait, there’s a light brighter
wheels turn round the clock

don’t talk to me about Jesus, Confucius
your new found dao
it’s all a little sickly really
credulity crumbles at last

there’s a foolish old man who’s had his way here
the quarry and the timbermen finished
the mountain is dust, trees all ash now

242
untitled

with what power the phoenix chants

the owl’s voice urges the bright moon up
the crane can make the clear wind blow

so the hermit plays on cassia strings
floats down the muddy stream
knows which wings to attend

243
thanks

the ambitious man
tougher when poor

when young
his standards unchanging
judgement won’t err

when he plays on the strings
alone he embraces
breeze, melody

this his thanks
for intimate friends

244
after passing over the bridge of filial piety

dawn the bright mirror I cross
glowing clothes
wind swaying

see
the owls are in pairs
the traveler alone

easy to stay awake after drinking
parting’s sorrow is hard to forget

it is I
gaze emptily into the distance
beyond which you have passed

245
powers of virtuous obscurity

close hearts
grown empty with parting

mud deep
in the official streets
steep slipping the official’s way

rough mountains tower over green valleys

an old man stays in his poor pavilion

if you want words with him
although he seems weak

with one breath
he’ll dismiss all clouds

246
since the rebellion

the country is a mess

all those sage Confucians
are in the army now

in nests birds keep their heads down
the deers’ ears are all burning

tactics are the talk of the land
officers boast of their fish tallies

but a battle takes up so little room
it’s easy to
walk away from the dust
and the clatter, the rot

take a leisurely bend in the river
footsore you’ll rest where the breeze catches up
look up and join with the mountain in laughter

here comes an old poet alone
the empty town in open arms
hardly a pot to cover the fire

only children to meet him
each on a hobby horse
mounted well
and hungry for the wars to come
the children hunger for their time

247
questions of honour

cry when we meet
and again we part

withered flowers
won’t wait for the breeze
they fall when spring
has ended in them

joy passes
and who will lure it home?

lone door ajar allows the moon
to join me in my bed

loyal blood lies on the blade
the house silent
the road cranks up a gear outside

those favoured
notice
they’re jackals, they’re wolves

to top oneself?
to cut down others?
where should honour lie?

248
imperial presence

better to be blind
than not to have seen the emperor

the blind weep for the keilin
no one else has seen

sometimes when my heart was stilled
I felt I had the palace’s trust

but I was dreaming
the dream turned to dust

wonderful eyes they have in the capital
and ears pick out a town away
the wheels of the emperor’s carriage

the wheels are of jade
and likewise the road

the emperor is everywhere
whether or not you see him

when he burns offerings in the south
every nose in the north sets twitching

249
not quite broken yet

waves in the sea are endless
no wind in my lungs
my words fall short

pine and cypress taunt me to tears
I force myself to bow

the stick I walk with
bent like me
not quite broken yet

250
having decided to go

at night
cold bamboo sounds

men chat

I read the sutras
by moonlight
an eye in the open shuttered room

snow drips from the eaves
the sky is clear

a chime stone in the gentle breeze
reminds me of rivers west

tomorrow I take my stick and go
tonight I stretch my neck
think again
maybe stay

251
on the value of inspiring works

the traveler yet to come to rest
winter and motion is warming

clouds in a green sky
wind pure, snow falling

no one on the path between the fields
fleabane grows along the river

the farm cow turns back to the alley, the village
a wild bird rests on the sill out of bars

hunger and cold? I’ll lift my skirts
out of the mud. I’ll pop into the temple

a Zen master there brings me peace
I’ve read the songs of Chu and yours

I chanted the lines till all breath was gone
and then I was desolate, empty

252
the poem panacea

autumn wind around the dying willows
from far the traveler hears the rain

from your own door
all evenings one

and so unnoticed, gone
only the mind in motion sees

poems are to pour the soul
to show its truth, its vigour

a sovereign remedy your poem
it widens the world

makes the weak well
with autumn wind

round dying willows
you had to smell the rain to know

forget that long list of Daoist elixirs
brew me a poem instead

253
some words in honour of my ‘hero’ fountain pen

sadness on high faces parting
sadness in poor bones

it’s a while since I’ve polished
the bronze of my mirror
while it’s dull the grey won’t show

no flowers in the old tree this spring
the cuckoo cries, there’s blood

I stay away from strings and from music
they only break the heart

how to be in society?
it’s all just obstacles

better to travel instead
to lose the way

only truly lost
and only ever quite unnoticed

can one hope to be a hero
true heroes are unsung

254
I wish I were an ancient zither

I wish I were a straight pine here
rooted in this pleasant land
arms accepting all of heaven
sun would shine over me
moon rise as bright

I wish I were a scene embroidered
the eye lost there forgets all care

dirt never needs to bury injustice
hatred has ever fallen as snow

I wish I were an ancient zither
to bring the poem to your heart
if I were made of strings and timber
your fingers would know where to start

255
aint scared of dyin’

Qu Yuan died in water
Meng Jiao will freeze to death

wet, dry…
it’s the same element, just a question of degree
if I can keep punning up till the last
things won’t be so bad

what worries me is that drippy ice
the slippery season, neither here nor there

there was ice long ago
there will be long after

ice has the vigour of mountains and more
it glitters in strange and uncountable shapes

sometimes the mirror of spring cracks
then heaven’s reflected, air rushes in

the hidden god is all silence
the pure traveler’s tum is well known
for its antics

my heart let me give
my works as many as waves in the sea

death a mere mountain
with dignified bearing I have to admit

it’s dark and it’s looming and none get around it
…perhaps if we all lapped long enough

no?

forgive me if these lines are disturbing
I may be old but I’m wild with it
not wild enough by half however

hear the phoenix?
when will he come?
when will my friends come
back from the mountain?

this life and this death could be depressing
or you could lend me your magic cow

256
trust

don’t bother writing to gain reputation
don’t rely on ‘tracks’ in the mountains

there’s frost in the pines
breeze sings over the tarns

who is withered should be pitied
but this world’s too young to know

257
memorial to the clerk in charge of imperial edicts

all those insects in regular rhythm
clear and sharp as morning frost
they’re laughing and it’s not ‘with you’

frost sharpens the sight and the hearing
wind cuts like knives at the trees

gentlemen follow elegant works
only with age can the mind be outstanding

you take up the old ways now long forsaken
I work to fill up empty words

lonely rhymes put a spring in the poem
they come as a fog piercing call

the snow on the crag has no concept of noon
the dusk more chill with melted water

now drunks awake
so many recluses

the river flows far
its ballad new sung

poems are mainly sarcastic these days
that’s because the youngsters write them
careless of what they ought to say

order is everything, you’re so high up
you must see it

mossy foot of the mountain
knows a grand palace

it’s only from high up
water can fall

let me recite the works of Tao Qian:
‘open my heart, let loose earth and sky
forget the shape of things, this world’

past sages never bothered with stairs
green mountains were enough for them

now a great man should set up a bright mirror
choose a voice that’s loud and clear

the phoenix well attends the cricket
there’s meaning in the smallest mumble

three thousand memorials kowtow to the emperor
sad expressions of something they are

the truth however is somewhat more hidden
to get to it one must yet travel far

258
the heart aches wherever you go

when you went south
my dreams of the north ran aground

who says it’s easier for the poor to part?

morning took the moon’s brightness
the autumn wind blew

the waves on the river already high
who would climb into the fragile craft

and wishing for home
put this world away?

259
still centre

Chinese firs have roots like rocks
the eye of the mountain a well fed spring
large enough to swim across
too cold to put a toe in though

…so views?

leaning on trees makes you more moral
drinking fresh water brings great ideas

I laugh at the recluse I’ve become
laugh more at all that once concerned him:
arriving and parting
passing, failing exams
rites and passages
long reasons given

by what longwinded circuits brought me
hear how the cicadas giggle

they root like rocks the Chinese firs

260
everything flows
it’s for you to distinguish

qi of earth and sky the same
somehow tacky to see it said

the great truths never need big drums
what’s everywhere is never seen

the worries of others rise to a moan
virtuous men should sing

superior learning is all hidden branches
they wither and fall
make fine fires one day

jade the green distance of valleys
rain falling
jade is the river that runs through the day

the young dragon yet to come to his changes
same as the fish, their one wave, their one sea

take care with the vines
that grow on your mountain
you’ll wake set in stone one day

261
the scholar’s self pity is world embracing

green mountains to dust

none idle the day

big carriages – great patronage

only the well heeled come in through gilt doors

this bundle of books I labour behind

my own misunderstanding

262
for one who has failed in the examination

sun sets in the muddy water
who can notice light when all’s dim?

respectable ambition has always kept a narrow focus
how vulgar to look up
note mountains, see stars

the hero though – his heart is craggy
he dreams all the distant elsewheres to go

take your nose out of the dirt of Changan
we hermits are many

but mountains are slow

263
for a Daoist visiting mountains unknown

nature has the highest place
mountains are lost deep in the green

that green is mainly plants so young
one drop of rain misplaced, they’d perish

the river stills – a perfect mirror
better than bronze – it shows my grey

gibbons fly, their cries are bitter
inferior selves we must read there

to be a happy god forget
this tawdry world, its consolations

peace and ease? grass grows high
it buries the blossoms

build yourself a yin-yang fire
boil up the gold, melt down your devils

trumpet lilies if you can find them
then there’ll be visions

god is a mountain, gods everywhere here
in one slight swerve this single raindrop

brings its world to grief … seeing in these lines
how little my dao must come to you as a relief

264
what’s the use of worrying?

musicians listen in the woods

though the phoenix is unseen
its song will lead them to the phoenix tree

from this wood comes the finest zither
every fret and note is true

and naturally all one in fiction
as song should be

the upright man detests the vulgar
ancient music charms his soul

what’s vulgar and what’s charming vary
but snobbish hates won’t soothe

documents on the clerk’s desk tidy
sun, moon a thousand miles away

in the mountains no smooth road
big waves contend with those who cross

there’s no catching up with time
better to close your eyes for the tune

265
the future a vain and vanishing whim

how rugged the mountain
how verdant the temple track

full autumn moon above the peaks
sun set, downcast the man goes back

clouds high, rain sprinkles on the lotus
lush, green, insensible to this

fleas render useless a well made bed
birds won’t return to withered nests

they fight for the new trees
though the old were as good

in sunbeams gone as soon as sighted
the future’s done before it’s said

266
for one dissatisfied with nature

cranes won’t build in flimsy pines
crags won’t stop the clouds

you complain about this river here
just try making your own

you’ve wished away the summer
now walk the mossy stairs

make your clothes of climbing figs
and in their spirit rise

267
a note in supplication

pity me!
I grind my ink with falling tears

Confucius cut back the size of the canon
this doesn’t augur well for me

my voice rarely rises above a murmur
I live on two thousand a month
it’s nothing
but I dare not spend it
no knowing how long I’ll last

a mischievous fish hangs upside down
waves still roll in those glassy eyes

I would rise like a crane above this decay
but as you know a goose stays low

eyes bright like a mirror
can pierce other hearts

once in extremity you took my part
now I fear the time comes again

268
a note on self-righteousness

sun and moon shine differently
day and night are realms apart

the sage won’t bow to circumstance
unless in a propitious time

I cultivate a different opinion
I walk and chant under rough peaks

great words will not be paraphrased
breezes weigh with best intention

who will remember this mountain
or how sorry for myself I manage to be?

I know that real tears are for others
to cry, those others won’t remember me

269
hollow homecoming

no one in the old place now
still the spring bubbles up

flowers wilt to hear the birds weep
the war is centuries past for them

still dust covers the haunts of men

270
the poet vacillates

how high the gate of Qin in the north
how far south mountains of Chu

what is a river but weeping
and what does it mean if a river runs dry?

if I were a yellow crane, if I…
my guts lie in green hills between

271
bathos

wind cool and sad
across bamboo

your heart, your mind
of cloud tossed high

of jade the heaven casing

a peasant from the south
see I have written these lines

on a bamboo leaf
was that not self-effacing?