No More Learning

MADLY SINGING IN THE MOUNTAINS

There is no one among men that has not a special failing:
And my failing consists in writing verses.
I have broken away from the thousand ties of life:
But this infirmity still remains behind.
Each time that I look at a fine landscape:
Each time that I meet a loved friend,
I raise my voice and recite a stanza of poetry
And am glad as though a God had crossed my path.
Ever since the day I was banished to Hsun-yang
Half my time I have lived among the hills.
And often, when I have finished a new poem,
Alone I climb the road to the Eastern Rock.
I lean my body on the banks of white stone:
I pull down with my hands a green cassia branch.
My mad singing startles the valleys and hills:
The apes and birds all come to peep.
Fearing to become a laughing-stock to the world,
I choose a place that is unfrequented by men.


RELEASING A MIGRANT "YEN" (WILD GOOSE)

At Nine Rivers,[75] in the tenth year,[76] in winter,--heavy snow;
The river-water covered with ice and the forests broken with their
load. [77]
The birds of the air, hungry and cold, went flying east and west;
And with them flew a migrant "yen," loudly clamouring for food.
Among the snow it pecked for grass; and rested on the surface of the
ice:
It tried with its wings to scale the sky; but its tired flight was
slow.
The boys of the river spread a net and caught the bird as it flew;
They took it in their hands to the city-market and sold it there
alive.
I that was once a man of the North am now an exile here:
Bird and man, in their different kind, are each strangers in the
south.
And because the sight of an exiled bird wounded an exile's heart,
I paid your ransom and set you free, and you flew away to the clouds.
Yen, Yen, flying to the clouds, tell me, whither shall you go?
Of all things I bid you, do not fly to the land of the north-west
In Huai-hsi there are rebel bands[78] that have not been subdued;
And a thousand thousand armoured men have long been camped in war.
The official army and the rebel army have grown old in their opposite
trenches;
The soldier's rations have grown so small, they'll be glad of even
you.
The brave boys, in their hungry plight, will shoot you and eat your
flesh;
They will pluck from your body those long feathers and make them into
arrow-wings!

[75] Kiukiang, the poet's place of exile.

[76] A. D. 815. His first winter at Kiukiang.

[77] By the weight of snow.

[78] The revolt of Wu Yuan-chi.


TO A PORTRAIT PAINTER WHO DESIRED HIM TO SIT

_You_, so bravely splashing reds and blues!
Just when _I_ am getting wrinkled and old.
Why should you waste the moments of inspiration
Tracing the withered limbs of a sick man?
Tall, tall is the Palace of Ch'i-lin;[79]
But my deeds have not been frescoed on its walls.
Minutely limned on a foot of painting silk--
What can I do with a portrait such as _that_?

[79] One of the "Record Offices" of the T'ang dynasty, where meritorious
deeds were illustrated on the walls.