Son of a noble family
you rose quickly
perhaps too soon
in the bright glitter
of Chang-an
the Tang's great capitol

Exiled for your part
in an effort
to push back against corruption
at the court
you found yourself
a thousand miles from home
from family and friends
from all you'd known

Lost among hill tribes
men who wore tattoes
and spoke their uncouth
native languages
you did your best
to give a human face
to the empire's
administrative presence

In your grief you found
a certain solace
in the trees you loved
and planted
pomegranites
bamboos, plums
tree peonies
two hundred orange trees
hoping for a grove
and looking to the fruit
to nourish you
in later years
you wouldn't live
to see

In idleness you wandered
through the countryside
taking in the beauty
the exotic south
exploring hills and streams
sharing your insights
griefs, exultations
loneliness and loves
in poems sent to friends
to the companions of your youth
and fellow exiles
as we used to send letters
in the mail

After your death the viilagers
to honor you
built a pavilion
which they named
Fragrance of Oranges
and made a memorial
gravesite by the pond
you used to frequent

Of all your poems
there is one that's known
by every Chinese schoolgirl
yet no translator
seems to have grasped its secrets
you called it River Snow
in it you evoke
the heavy snowfall
that fell in 807
in the south
a rare event
that prompted you to write

A thousand snowy mountains
block the flight of birds
and human footsteps
melt into a myriad paths
while on the river
a lone skiff
and in it
straw caped and capped
a solitary fisherman
old geyser
angling the river snow

This image coming down
twelve centuries
painted a thousand times
by Chinese artists
I see it clearly as your own
self-portrait
a metaphor for your poetic self
angling in your solitude for words
that might convey the beauty
you experience
beauty, words, experience
all fleeting as snowflakes
falling on the river