THE OLD CAPITAL NANKING Poem by Mitsuharu Kaneko

An old capital (1) amid weeping willows.
There are tiles with yellow dragons painted on them. There are old coins.
No, in the lonely weeds are crumbled red walls (2),
puddly ponds where water buffalos play,
and a long, long castle wall where magpies fly.

In the canal below the teahouse surrounded by the warblings of birdcages, a pleasure boat. (3)
Red-purple lanterns from the eaves, coloured handrails, simply bored and hushed during the day. . . .
(A crow's shadow, reflecting in the dirty water, flits.)
The singing maidens, tired, will sleep. Jewelled necklaces removed, lips peeled;
no fiddles, no clappers sound.
In the old capital that is endlessly declining,
old temples with roofs, and roofs, with odd cat's ears erect on them.
If you are to hear the pitiful tune of man's declined heart,
go to the Taihuai (4).
If you are to explore the songs of the most profound rise and fall, go to the grassland.

Quails, reeds, black ugly toads and coffins, and wild dogs,
do you not hear in the wind the tinklings of sash jewels (5) of old?
do you not see reflected in the slight puddle (6) the colonnades that used to be?