by Brett Rutherford
In Li Yü's 12th poem, he thinks about how, far in the south of China, spring was already well underway. I did my own version of this poem already in 2013, so here it is with only a couple of minor changes.
DOWN SOUTH
After Li Yü, Poem 12
Down South, they know what to do with springtime.
There, when my thoughts turn away
from duty and empire, I imagine myself,
where the spring is already well in progress.
Now every lake floats the pleasure boats,
the er-hu fiddles hum like bees, flute girls
exchange shy looks with the young scholars.
The green-faced rivers are drunk with willows,
towns dust-clogged with trees' yellow catkins.
More flowers bloom than eye or hand can capture.
Busy are those who watch this blossoming,
trying in vain with brush to draw it,
so quickly is it here and gone.
Busier still are their sleepless nights
when one beside another they lay
entwined, and the high stars call them.
2013, 2022 rev.
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