Tuesday, June 16, 2020

LIN HE-JING ~








Living
As A Recluse
On The Lake


Lakewater

Comes into the yard.

Mountains

Wind round my hut.

A recluse

Should avoid the world.



Normally shut,

The unused door's turned blue with moss.

Guests arrive,

Frightening white birds to flight.

Selling herbs,

I almost hate to price them,

Love watering the garden

According to nature.



And how about

India Road

Through the woods,

Still reaching deep autumn

In a distant,

Blue dream?


________________
Lin He-Jing
Recluse-Poet of Orphan Mountain
Brooding Heron Press 1993
translated by Paul Hansen