Here's another old Chinese poem to recycle from THE WHITE PONY; I sometimes like to look into old dismal swamps and marvel at the raw beauty that I see there. I really haven't messed with this poem much but since it's a translation I thought I might make some small word changes. The poet was unfortunately executed by the Nationalist Chinese in the final days of their civil war.

THE DEAD WATER
(Words by Wen Yi-Tuo (1898-1946) Translated in The White Pony, pp. 298 Adapted by Charlie Ipcar)

Here is a ditch of dead and hopeless water;
No breeze can raise a ripple on its surface;
Best to throw in scraps of rusty iron and corroded copper,
Pour in all the refuse of meat and soup.

Perhaps the copper will turn green like emeralds,
Perhaps the iron will assume the shape of peach blossoms;
Let grass weave a layer of silky gauze
And bacteria puff up patches of clouds and haze.

So let the dead water ferment into green wine,
Littered with floating pearls of white foam;
Small pearls crackle aloud and become big pearls,
Only to burst like gnats and to rob the vintage.

So this ditch of dead and hopeless water
May boast a touch of brightness;
If the frogs cannot endure the deathly silence,
The water may burst out singing.

Here is a ditch of dead and hopeless water,
A place where beauty can never stay;
Better abandon it to evil –
Then, perhaps, some beauty will come of it.