Poems of Meng Jiao
Uplifting, that the grass isn't dead,
That a willow stump still manages to bloom.
It's only people that disappoint
And suddenly, I'm listless.
Before this, everything was connected.
Today, only the sound of broken strings.
Entwined, each moment was important.
Without you, the present has no weight.
I feel like taking a little boat down
Three Gorges, where the water has no peace.
Or like taking a horse and cart far up
Into the high and cold, cold mountains.
If all things are rooted in one spirit,
How about we stay together now?
A poem for Meng Jiao's dead wife. If the collators are correct, he's still mourning her almost ten years gone. I can see their thinking. It's a poem of mature mourning. But they could be wrong. Maybe he wrote it as he sat beside her grave. Maybe he always had this kind of poetry in him.