WANDERING AT HSIEH CREEK

On the 5th day of the 1st month, Hsin year of the ox, the air was fresh and clear, and the earth lovely in its idleness, so I went out with two or three neighbors to wander at Hsieh Creek. There, sitting beside full-flowing water, we gazed toward the Tseng Cliffs. At dusk, bream and carp started leaping, their scales flashing. Gulls climbed into the still air, where they glided back and forth. Those southern mountains have been famous forever; they don’t need any more songs of praise. But the Tseng Cliffs rose from the water with their own distant, isolate beauty. Having a name we treasure, they made us think of the K’un-lun Mountains, peaks of immortality. Not satisfied with the pleasure of gazing at them, we began writing poems. And suddenly spirit-wounded, we lamented the way days and months pass away, for nothing can hold our years back.

We wanted these poems to mark the occasion for us, so we each added our age and home village.

This new year makes it fifty suddenly

gone. Thinking of life’s steady return

to rest cuts deep, driving me to spend

all morning wandering. And now, air

fresh and sky clear, I sit with friends

beside a stream flowing far away. Here,

striped bream weave the gentle current,

and calling, gulls rise over the lazy

valley. Eyes wandering distant waters,

straining, I make out Tseng Hill: it’s

meager compared to K’un-lun’s majestic

peaks, but nothing in sight rivals it.

Taking the winejar, I pour out a round,

and we start offering brimful toasts.

Who knows where today leads, or whether

things will ever be like this again?

After a few cups, my heart’s far away,

and I’ve forgotten thousand-year sorrows:

ranging to the limit of this morning’s

joy, it isn’t tomorrow I’m looking for.