GREEN IN GREEN
   
   
   
   

   1
   
   
   Because of an elk, the mountain stream
   is cleaner. Antlers branch off into green
   footprints of quiet animals pressed into the
   water. The air reeks with an odor of herbivorous
   lair. In the rain, yesterday’s Buffalo
   River becomes so eloquent, so
   warm, so sexy
   
   
   A deeper green collects at the bend
   of the river. For a strolling bachelor
   the cliff leans lightly backwards
   Afternoon sunlight first makes the traveler
   homesick, then without saying goodbye
   vanishes from the smooth rock
   All this time the ranger's horses follow
   the mountain’s moving shadow, grazing
   in the heat. The river chases a blue canoe or two
   shooting into the distance. The distance
   is childhood cleanly dressed and tidy
   
   
   The brown wooden house is my new residence
   I come back to Tang, close to the river, staring
   as a few deer walk the left side of the Ozarks
   into the deep—my life, at this moment
   a classic Chinese landscape painting, slowly
   unfolding
   
   2
   
   
   A man paddling a canoe suddenly
   makes the river narrow at the bend
   Woods here draw more water from it
   The mountain hawk wheeling with narrow wings
   turns a woman’s body shiny in the shallow
   waters. Martens circle an uprooted tree
   and help the rower in the bow
   dodge the torrent’s broken wood and hard rock
   Whenever the river broadens and deepens, the
   rower in the stern becomes homesick
   
   
   Homeland is how water runs to lower ground
   Red gill fish fall in love beneath a reef
   A tortoise swimming heavily makes the woods
   on both sides of the river quieter
   A tired horse ambles into dark forest
   creating more downstream bends
   in the bright light. Dripping oars
   reach forward. The shiny back of
   the lone worker takes us out of this
   vulgar place where we’ve been trapped
   so long. Where unvaried work
   pollutes and impoverishes. Where forests
   and fresh shadows are gone
   
   
   In his forward motion, the lone rower
   turns the river into a river forever
   creating, dreaming forever
   
   3
   
   
   Deep in a canyon, horses give the winding path
   a sharp turn. A vacant red-roofed cottage
   in the green haze. A fox
   idly climbing beside a short
   stream makes the man with a pitchfork
   feel even more sluggish. At this scenic spot I
   am wasting time, experiencing happiness
   Dust above the dirt road blurs the image of
   that young water-carrier I remember
   
   
   Idle as that fox who is sauntering
   uphill. The canyon opens wide
   Woods quiver at the top. A pheasant
   jumps from one square pebble to another
   setting the stream to tinkling. Deep in the woods
   a wild boar, green from snout to tail, is spoiling
   the clover. There you have my youth. Now
   squandering dreams and wishes, I've unwittingly become
   a poet of gloom in solitude and wine bibbing
   Deeper green, with the cry of a fawn
   unfolds in carefully ordered words
   
   
   The canyon leisurely stretches itself. Blue smoke from a
   forest fire makes the treetops denser. A red-tailed hawk
   skims zigzag over the hill trail
   Praised by the long-distance traveler, dried grass
   curls into coils scattering all along the fields
   Farmer’s day, fleeting moment
   in a long dry season. There also is my youth
   and a scorching season for travel
   Leaving from the stereotyped crowd
   the irritable crowd. Leaving town
   where life is unpoetic, full of rustle and dejection
   Quit the place with dazzling lights that sicken you
   Strolling and dreaming in the Ozark woods
   experience is an expanse of green
   sensation. An aesthete’s mind, deeply indebted
   a kind-hearted man, rejoicing in this
   green season within an infinite green
   
   4
   
   
   This long river, because of a white-tail deer’s drinking
   becomes shallow upstream. Morning fog moves
   with the current, dissipating by noon in deeper waters
   The boatman, rained on, solitary and leisurely
   causes the river to bend even farther
   Wet and shiny oar, tapping particular stones
   in the bend of the river. At this moment
   horses start across the river upstream
   
   
   At this moment I am writing poetry in a
   red-roofed cottage. A farmer forking hay in the nearby
   valley, sunshine that dazzles on the fork, the sweet odor
   of haystacks, make every word come with a longer pause
   an inside pause—make the writer more precisely
   oriented towards grain, towards awakening, towards light
   make the writer, coming after the poetry he composes
   arrive sooner at the source he's been searching so hard for
   But an elk has got there before us
   and quietly drinks. Its gentle antlers
   shine in the morning with light
   like that our best poetry is capable of emitting
   That man, on higher reaches of the river
   maps out the path of kindness, of integrity and of
   effort, that leads eventually to light
   
   
   
   
   
   
   XUE DI
   trans by Qian Hu & Keith Waldrop