earth’s ten thousand holes cry and moan

A thousand seething waves sweeping my gate-path clean

The wind as ruin, no trace of heart, no wander in the

Bowl of heaven and no one comes here to visit     just

Some brambles scattering my thoughts are welcomed -

(More than half of the above - including the title - is straight off or slightly changed from two of Wang An-Shih's poems translated by David Hinton. Those lines are highlighted below.) --- Wang An-Shih's poems EAST RIDGE

Together we climb to this East Ridge lookout on New Year’s Eve and gaze at the Star River, its length lighting distant forests.

Earth’s ten thousand holes cry and moan. That wind’s our ruin, and in a thousand seething waves, there’s no trace of a heart.

IN BAMBOO FOREST

In bamboo forest, my thatch hut’s among stone cliff-roots. Out front, through thin bamboo, you can glimpse a village.

I doze all day, all idleness. And no one stops by here to visit. Just this spring wind come sweeping my gate-path clean.