Seventeen Poems of Qiupu

1. Quipu’s long winter makes people desolate. Full of sadness, I hike up Dalou Mountain where I can see the Yangtze in the west. If it remembers me, it will bear my tears to my friends in Yangzhou. 2. Crossing a stream at night I hear the white monkeys wail. My hair has turned white. I’ll die here from all the whiteness. 3. The feathers of the pheasant of Qiupu are like a rainbow brocade. The birds avoid standing water; seeing themselves in a mirror would make them act too proud. 4. The night I came here the monkeys cried, and my hair turned white and thin as silk. 5. The white monkeys in Qiupu fly through the trees like snow. They play in the water with the reflection of the moon. 6. I try to be a good guest here; they take me to see the flowers. They think of only Qiupu, but I think of places that I miss. 7. I can’t drink enough to forget and can sing only sad songs. No one here cares about me. My tears are in vain. 8. In Qiupu are ridge after ridge of rock that’s fallen from the sky and scoured by streams that wash lichen toward the sea. 9. A rock protrudes from the Qingxi River— an ancient scroll with words of moss writing a poem to eternity. 10. Forests of heather and privet, white egrets in the mountains, and wailing monkeys in the streams are enough to break a tourist’s heart. 11. The Jiangzu stone stands so high only birds can see its summit, but fishermen have fastened their weir to it to hold it back from the rapid current. Passenger boats pass by so swiftly that the fragrance of mountain flowers hits them in the face. 12. The surface of Lake Pingtian is like a silken fabric. On a boat at night it’s easy to get intoxicated since you’re riding on the moon. 13. A line of egrets, flying over the lake, interrupts the moon’s reflection. A girl who was picking water chestnuts goes home with a young man, singing. 14. Men sing with flushed faces as they work the smelter at night. Against the fire of the furnace— the bright cold moon. Against the smoke and embers— red stars in a purple sky. Against their song— the cold river flowing. 15. In my misery, it’s hard to distinguish the frost of autumn from my long white hair. 16. A silver pheasant is an old man standing in the water, fishing. Reflected in the bamboo, his old wife has made a net to catch him. 17. Where I step onto the boat, peach trees are blooming. People say goodbye to the monk bowing his heads to the white clouds.