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POEMS AFTER BAI JUYI
1
to be prolific
footsteps lead off in me
they know the way
weeds grow between cities
weeds cross our paths
these are the years untravelled
lamps die and flare and die again
the brush in its forest of ink never stops
the sun paves the setting water
the moon is a bow with empty quiver
heart in the leaves yet to tread
the path unravels the heart and the head
*
in the wilderness
you always had in mind
I follow the mulberry and hemp path
the way is long, the steps here steep
treacherous for goats
the neighbours say you went
into the mountains
I've followed and I know under
these branches twist like dragons
I must already be there
I know trails end but this forest won't
I know that I won't arrive
2
watching the reapers
too tired from toil to feel the heat
too wearied with cold to know
ashamed of the suffering of others,
of my comfortable view
how charmingly immune these folk
from the arrogance of power
yet one suspects they're familiar
with dogs who eat dogs
there's blood in the sweat
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3
the old charcoal seller
every day his clothes thinner
with age, with winter
still he wishes a harsher cold
to drive the prices higher
4
madly singing in the mountains
a tune at the back of the head
is my failing
the wandering track
inattention
mad singing to startle
the forest's sharp ears
how the moon swells and how the moon lessens
the flute and the lute strings bear it away
"what matters is poetry's not mattering"
that's how the passionless colour their days
all that mad singing,
those mountains, mine
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