a present of calligraphy
after the Tang poet, Meng Jiao
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 lightning 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
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 straight pines
to yearn'
there — and I hope that will serve for my turn
that you'll raise a glass with me this day
then let us call each other scholars
drink till we forget who's farewelled
and who will stay
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
big rat poems
for a Daoist visiting mountains unknown
after the Tang poet, Meng Jiao
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 yet 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