The Grassy Slope Poem by Xiao Kaiyu

The slanting grassy slope had the tone of a lamb,
free, bright, melodious as a brass instrument.
I was there in silent meditation, under the three-foot high rocky shore,
the crystalline stream, flowing among the carp.

A herdboy led along a water buffalo, sometimes an ox.
Before the good grass, the beasts were rapacious and gentle.
The grass once eaten grew back even lusher than before.
He was thinking of happy things but singing The Tune of the Mulberry.

A girl came walking toward me with fruit and flower seeds
in both arms, a young landlord following behind.
We played some simple games to make him happy
and teach him a little. He would rather be catching butterflies.

Suddenly, fishing birds flew up and landed at her feet,
grappling for food; it was a shock to me.
In a book about original sin, I read of the measure
of beauty, the only Helen in the realm.

Ah, summer, with the corn stretching down the riverbank,
where did the resplendent woman and river full of children
run off to hide? The autumn wind came on with a vengeance,
the river instantly turned cold, the willows wizened and died.

Air penetrates one's flesh and like a sparkling paring knife
Shaves the burden from my body.
How light must one's thoughts become in order to fly?
I reclined, polishing a pebble in my palm.