Returning to the Farm

I

From early days I have been at odds with the world;

My instinctive love is hills and mountains.

By mischance I fell into the dusty net

And was thirteen years away from home.

The migrant bird longs for its native grove.

The fish in the pond recalls the former depths.

Now I have cleared some land to the south of town,

Simplicity intact, I have returned to farm.

The land I own amounts to a couple of acres

The thatched-roof house has four or five rooms.

Elms and willows shade the eaves in back,

Peach and plum stretch out before the hall.

Distant villages are lost in haze,

Above the houses smoke hangs in the air.

A dog is barking somewhere in a hidden lane,

A cock crows from the top of a mulberry tree.

My home remains unsoiled by worldy dust

Within bare rooms I have my peace of mind.

For long I was a prisoner in a cage

And now I have my freedom back again.

II

Here in the country human contacts are few

On this narrow lane carriages seldom come.

In broad daylight I keep my rustic gate closed,

From the bare rooms all dusty thoughts are banned.

From time to time through the tall grass

Like me, village farmers come and go;

When we meet we talk of nothing else

Than how the hemp and mulberry are growing.

Hemp and mulberry grow longer every day

Every day the felds I have plowed are wider;

My constant worry is that frost may come

And my crops will wither with the weeds.

III

I planted beans below the southern hill

The grasses fourished, but bean sprouts were few.

I got up at dawn to clear away the weeds

And come back now with the moon, hoe on shoulder.

Tall bushes crowd the narrow path

And evening dew soaks my clothes.

Wet clothes are no cause for complaint

If things will only go as hoped.

I farmed that southern hill

No one controled the weeds.

An acre I planted with beans,

They dropped and left bare stalks.

IV

For long I left the joys of hills and lakes

Deprived ofthe pleasures of woods and fields.

Today I led my children and their cousins

And made a path to a deserted town.

We walked around among the grave mounds

And lingered by a dwelling from the past.

There were traces ofthe well and freplace

And dry bamboo and stumps of mulberry trees.

I asked the man who gathcred firewood there,

‘Where are the people now who used to live here?’

The gatherer of firewood answered me

'Dead and gone, none of them are left.’

In one lifetime court and market change

This in truth is not an idle saying.

Man's life is like a conjuror's illusion,

That reverts in the end to empty nothing.

For long I left the joys ofhills and lakes;

Now I revel in pleasures of woods and fields.

V

Depressed, I come back alone, staffin hand,

Up and down the path that twists through bushes.

The mountain brook runs clear and shallow.

It will serve to wash my feet.

At home I strain the new-brewed wine,

Prepare a fowl, and call my neighbours.

As the sum sets, the room grows dark

A torch will do in place of candles.

When happy, we regret the night is short,

And the day has dawned already.