THE CRANES

~ Po Chü-i ~

Too quick to post the earlier poems from Dad's collection!

An hour or so later I came across another collection, more heavily annotated.

The Cranes seems to have invited particular attention, although I cannot match a single word or annotation to any line of the translation.

How interesting to have been able to ask my father what and where he was fiddling and have him peel back the different shades of meaning that he was straining for.

The western wind has blown but a few days;
Yet the first leaf already flies from the bough.
On the drying paths I walk in my thin shoes;
In the first cold I have donned my quilted coat.
Through shallow ditches the floods are clearing away;
Through sparse bamboos trickles a slanting light.
In the early dusk, down an alley of green moss,
The garden-boy is leading the cranes home.