Ballad of the Peach Tree Spring by Wang Wei

from "Three Chines Poets" by Vikram Seth.


A fisherman sailed up-river; he loved the hills
in Spring.
On either bank of the old ford stood peach
trees blossoming.
He stared at the red trees. The miles passed;
unaware,
He reached the green creek’s end but saw no
human anywhere.
A gap-a hidden path twisted and turned
about-
Then suddenly among the hills a vast plain
opened out.
From far, a host of clouds and trees – but as he
neared
Among bamboos and scattered flowers a
thousand homes appeared.
Woodcutters with Han names and surnames
passed them on.
The villagers still wore clothes of Qin times,
long since gone.
Together all of them now lived at Wuling Spring,
Tilling their gardens and their fields away from
everything.
Moon bright below the pines – their houses all
lay quiet
When the sun rose among the clouds, roosters
and dogs ran riot.
A visitor from the world! They gathered round
and vied
To ask him home and question him on how
things were outside.
From village lanes at dawn they swept the
flowers away.
Woodsmen and fishermen rowed home
towards the close of day.
At first they’d come to flee the world and, some
maintain,
Had then become immortals and decided to
remain.
From these ravines who’d guess human affairs
exist? –
And from the world you’d only see blank
mountains cloaked in mist.
He did not think such realms were hard to hear
or see;
His heart, still dusty with the world, longed
for his own country.
He went out through the cave, no heeding
stream or hill,
To take his leave from home and then return
here at this will.
Certain he could not lose what he had just
passed through,
How could he know when he returned the
landscape would look new?
He’d gone into deep hills – but nothing else
was clear.
How often into cloudy woods do green creeks
disappear?
All over every stream in Spring peach blossom
lies.
Who can discern where he should seek the
spring of paradise?

Comments

Pooja said…
Been ever so long since I read this. I guess one good turn deserves another.
"Perhaps this could have stayed unstated.
Had our words turned to other things
In the grey park, the rain abated,
Life would have quickened other strings.
I list your gifts in this creation:
Pen, paper, ink and inspiration,
Peace to the heart with touch or word,
Ease to the soul with note and chord."
Here's to inspiration & ideas. Thanks, Vikram Seth. And thank you, Nidhi.