Su Tung-P'o, Winter Solstice, 1071

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Winter Solstice, 1071

I took an outing to Lone Hill and visited two Buddhist priests, Hui-ch'in and Hui-ssu

The sky threatens snow,
clouds cover the lake;
towers appear and disappear, hills loom and fade.
Clear water cut by rocks - you can count the fish;
deep woods deserted - birds call back and forth.
Winter solstice: I refuse to go home to my family;
I say I'm visiting priests, though really out for fun.
These priests I visit - where do they live?
The road by Jewel Cloud Mountain twists and turns.
Lone Hill's lone indeed - who'd live here?
These priests - the hill's not lonely after all.
Paper windows, bamboo roof - rooms sheltered and warm;
in coarse robes they doze on round rush mats.
Cold day, a long road - my servant grumbles,
brings the carriage, hurries me home before dark.
Down the hill, looking back, clouds and trees blend;
I can just make out a mountain eagle circling the pagoda.
Such trips - simple but with a joy that lasts;
back home, I'm lost in a dreamer's daze.
Write a poem quick before it gets away!
Once gone, a lovely sight is hard to catch again.

-Su Tung-P'o

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This translation is by Burton Watson, from Selected Poems of Su Tung-p'o, published by Copper Canyon Press, © 1994.