Poems of Meng Jiao
In Treasurer Li's hall, mourning over the writings Li Yuanbin left behind
A few scattered manuscripts
Suddenly achieve eternity.
By these, we know our silent guest
Has no writings that will feed death too.
Slanting moonlight hanging on an empty wall
Makes it hard for a wanderer to sleep alone.
It seems like all our lives
A hundred troubles always came between us.
Like family, tears for my old friend,
Far, far away in death's eternal springs.
Already, it's hard to speak again.
At every word, more tears fall.
It seems as if all the remaining poems have titles with "mourn" (吊) or "cry" (哭). Between the harshness of the times and the loss of one friend after another, Meng Jiao enters the final phase of his poetry. In this last tenth of the poems are half of the longest poems, including "Mourning the Gorges" which was the poem I began with and which caused me to translate the rest of Meng Jiao's work. Perhaps, he is now unable to go up into the mountains. That would be a sadness I could understand.