Poems of Meng Jiao
A South Bank List
South bank, peach blooms turn the river red.
Down the bank, willow silk follows spring's winds.
A birdsong, harmonious, emerging from thick mists,
I've heard before, far away, with a sad old man.
This man had long since left young years behind
And could only remember his wilderness...
Meng Jiao is playing with List Poems (篇) again. This isn't, of course, a category of poems. It's a kind of title appendage he's adding in this poem and the last. And no one else I know of uses it. I means list or a piece of paper. I think he means "list" but doesn't yet know what he means by it. I have the feeling this poem is from his tween-marriage years. But the poem also feels mature to me. Each couplet moves deeper and the end is profound. The more you think about this last couplet, the deeper it goes.