By Richard Collins

– After Du Fu*

We’ve lived our lives for the most part apart
Like the poles of North and South.
Yet this evening we share
The light of one lamp.
Once, for a moment, we were young and sharp:
Suddenly dull and gray.
What about old So-and-So? Dead and gone.
Our surprise is no surprise.
How could we have known it would be twenty years
Before we met again?
When we parted, your wife was still your bonny sweetheart,
Your kids neither married nor buried;
My youngest, not yet conceived.
Unhappy or content, they live their lives,
Never asking about our friends.
We don’t bother to answer the unquestioned,
They don’t bother to fetch the wine.
As the rain falls on the mountain, we chop chives,
Mix rice with seeds and dried cherries.
How hard it has been for us to meet in person,
And so we imagine a meal and conversation,
Endless drinks yet never a drunken word.
It’s your long-lasting friendship that matters.
Tomorrow we’ll be parted like the Red Sea;
Life will go on, with or without you and me.

* “Written for Scholar Wei.”

About the Author

Richard Collins, abbot of New Orleans Zen Temple, lives in Sewanee, Tennessee, where he directs Stone Nest Dojo. His poetry and translations have appeared or are forthcoming in Southern Humanities Review, Exquisite Corpse, Negative Capability, Xavier Review, Urthona: Buddhism and the Arts and Shō Poetry Journal, among others.