Yan Wu
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Autumn in the mountains
By Yan Wu
after Wang Wei (701— 761）‘Tall bamboo blaze in meandering emptiness:
kingfisher-green rippling stream water blue.’
Autumn in the mountains, red leaves fall from a tall tree
maple tree, startling sleeping birds in bamboo.
No one on the stone path, only I witness the color of the blaze,
like a phoenix obtains new life in
a spectacle of flames and combustion, a meandering
creek flows into the emptiness.
Water drops roll from the wings of the kingfisher,
Like drips of dewdrops on grass green.
The sound of the evening temple bell rippling
in the valley, along with the murmur of the stream.
The setting sun glitters on the shining water,
My heart is no longer in the mood of blue.
Where the Leaves Go
By Yan Wu
Parakeets soar high，
The plane tree leaves lose their color.
Green against the blue sky.
The Path of the Fox
By Yan Wu, June 2025
The fox wears a pair of black gloves,
walking through the wet street.
The warm orange sun of winter
flickers on a bonfire lit in the alley.
It walks along the riverbank
bluebells of spring ring an alarm.
A heron lifts, startled,
back to its nest in the willow.
In the summer garden,
the fox sniffs at pink roses.
A butterfly hides under a leaf,
watching the stamens brush its black, wet nose.
By autumn evening,
the fox slips through the street
and vanishes into holly by the roadside
like a cat,
like dew sliding off leaves.
As a white colt bolts past a crevice
By Yan Wu
As a white colt bolts past a crevice,
Spring daffodils bloom after winter's gloom,
Time flies swiftly, the past holds more than just bliss.
Rage, anger, and nerves, they're no nemesis,
Conquer fear, grow amidst life's fierce monsoon,
As a white colt's bolting past a crevice.
Future's path veiled, a mysterious abyss,
Tomorrow's steps uncertain, under the moon's commune,
Time flies swiftly, the past holds more than just bliss.
Alone, a boat adrift in seas endless,
Lost in the waves, amidst confusion's festoons,
As a white colt's bolting past a crevice.
The past, a labyrinth, its depths boundless,
Living in falsehood, under veils opportune,
Time flies swiftly, the past holds more than just bliss.
Through distance, truth gleams, a beacon, righteous,
Timing not early nor late, but in life's maroon,
As a white colt's bolting past a crevice,
Time flies swiftly, the past holds more than just bliss.
The crow captures the rail
By Yan Wu
after Xu Zhimo (1897 –1931)
The icy rails shimmer beneath the sun’s bright light,
A crow alights, strutting with careful might.
Its tail flicks as it steps across the ties,
From rail to rail beneath the open skies.
It chants softly: “The train captures the rails, speeding through the night,
Over hills, over water, over bridges in its flight.”
As it walks, it speaks: “Across wild lands, past ponds,
Through village after village, it responds.”
From afar, the whistle echoes, drawing near—
With a leap, the crow takes flight, without fear.
The tracks lie still, their silence to reclaim,
As the crow soars home, beyond the frame.
Journey
By Yan Wu
Outside the train window, Scotland's scenic beauty unfolds—lush grasslands, towering trees, and tranquil lakes under a golden sky painted by the descending sundown. Memories of home stir as I watch the sun dip, casting long shadows. Time rushes by with each passing station, a relentless journey forward.
like a train hurtling forward
Yet unlike the train
Time never retraces its steps
Nocturne
By Yan Wu
Crickets and Tettigoniidae are singing,
The lake is under the cold light of the autumn moon,
Small silver fish are sleeping around the lotus,
Only I look at the stars above.