Poems of Meng Jiao
Enjoying Minister Fu's poetry, with his Heaven-bestowed talent
Reading Fu, can't help being elevated,
His lofty writing carries one upwards.
In its smallest elements, it is white jade,
Already hard to compare to lesser stones.
He writes with a stolen brush,
Begs his ink and grinds it in the dark.
The great whales begin to grow tails to
Stir up eddies in the kettles of immortals.
Fortune should be forbidden to
Give anyone such a mad and joyful heart.
I am sad, without his having to sigh,
Joyful and jealous of these two birdsongs.
This poem is full of allusions which are opaque to me. So I have left them just as they literally are. If the poetry of a Minister Fu survives the centuries, I am unaware of it.