When the gourd has dried leaves,
you can wade the deep river.
Keep your clothes on if the water’s deep;
hitch up your dress when it’s shallow.
The river is rising,
pheasants are chirping.
The water is just half a wheel deep,
and the hen is singing to the cock.
Wild geese are trilling,
the rising sun starts dawn.
If you want to marry me,
come before the river is frozen.
The ferryman is gesturing,
other people are going, but not me,
other people are going, but not me.
I’m waiting for you.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
I can actually see the ferryman gesturing…
Ah, well then someone should be crossing over. How fortunate for them.
Yes, indeed–perhaps I hoped it was me.
And perhaps it will be. It’s all a matter of timing, you know.
I had no idea of the symbolism of the ferryman and crossing over til I recently read The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro. It’s a stunning symbol. Thanks for sharing this poem.
You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.
Very, very sweet.
Yes, it is. Glad you liked it.