GREEN IN GREEN

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 Hu Qian and Keith Waldrop

Last Updated: May 18, 2004