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Back to the Gardens and Fields, five poems by Tao Yuan-ming ( A.D. 365-427)

English translation by Roland C. Fang

poem I

From my youth I have loved the hills and mountains,
Never was my nature suited for the world of men,
By mistake have I been entangled in the dusty web,
Lost in its snares for thirteen long years.
The fettered bird longs for its old wood.
The fish in the pond craves for its early pool.

Back to my land I cling to solitude,
To till the soil in the open south country.
My plot of ground is only a few acres square,
The thatched roof covers eight or nine rooms,
The back eaves are shaded by elms and willows,
Rows of peach-and plum-trees stand in my front courts.
The hamlets spread out in the hazy distance,
Where chimney smokes seem to waft in mid-air;
And the dog barks in the deep lane,
And the cock crows on the mulberry top.
My casement and hall are clear of dust,
In the vacant rooms there is ease and quiet. 
Long have I lain within the prison of men,
Now I am to return to nature and its ways.

Out in the country I have little to do with men,
Down the deep lanes the wheels and hooves are few.
Closed is the wattled gate under the broad daylight,
Dusty thoughts of the world enter not my vacant rooms.
At times the villagers go their rustic rounds,
Picking their way through bushy fields.
No untoward words are uttered when we meet,
We talk only of the growth of mulbeery and jute.
The mulberry and jute become taller day by day,
And day by day widens the outlook of my happy lot.
Often I am afraid of the onset of frost and sleet,
What if my cherished hopes be scattered like weeds.

Beneath the southern hills I sow my beans,
The shoots are lost among the rank grass.
I rise early to clear away the weeds,
Till, hoe on shoulder, I plod home with the moon.
The paths are narrow, the green growths tall,
And the evening dews moisten my clothes.
What matters if I am wet with dew,
So long as I enjoy my heart's content!

Often have I wandered among hills and streams,
And heedlessly traversed woods and plains.
Once I took with me my sons and nephews
To pick our way through the wild hazels.
From mounds to fields as we tarried,
We came upon traces of desolate homesteads.
Marks were seen of old wells and kitchens,
And the mulberry and bamboo, cut and torn.

"Woodman there, let me ask you,
What has happened to these dwellers of old?"
"They are dead and gone," said he;
"And once dead, they leave no record behind."

Generations change in court and town;
So goes the saying, striking and true.
Life fades like a passing show,
It all ends but in nothingness.

poem V
Alone, on a staff, I came in vacant mood,
Up and down through bushes and briers.
Clear and shallow, the mountain streams,
Where I've stopped to wash my feet.
Now I strain my newly ripened wine,
And cook a chicken to share with my neighbours.
The sun goes down, my room turns dark,
I burn wild brambles in place of the candle.
Happy am I, but how brief the night;
Another day is dawning in the east.