Florence Ayscough and Amy Lowell, trans.

From “Chinese Written Wall Pictures”

Lu Kun—Nineteenth Century

I

FROM the high pavilion of the great rock,

I look down at the green river.

There is the sail of a returning boat.

The birds are flying in pairs.

The faint snuff color of trees

Closes the horizon.

All about me

Sharp peaks jag upward,

But through my window,

And beyond,

Is the smooth, broad brightness

Of the setting sun.

Clouds brush the rocky ledge.

In the dark green shadow left by the sunken sun

A jade fountain flies,

And a little stream,

Thin as the fine thread spun by sad women in prison chambers

Slides through the grasses

And whirls suddenly upon itself

Avoiding the sharp edges of the iris leaves.

Few people pass here.

Only the hermits of the hills come in companies

To gather the Imperial Fern.