Classic Poem

The mouth of the Wen RiverÔÇô240 feet wide,
a torrent like a cliff of water, all the way across.
In one night, the wind
that blows the grain boats from the south
has swept us as far as the Nan-wang locks.
How many days since I left home?
In an instant, months and months have passed!
Traveling by canal, there's been no fixed schedule
but now we should be one stage from Peking.
For a hundred li — a storm of yellow sand
in a dry wind that sounds like ripped cloth.

I've long since been competing for a place at the table;
my body feels sullied by the muddy waves.
Thirty years old, and what have I accomplished?
Strive, strive — for a cluster of empty hopes.
Compare me to a boat, struggling upstream,
which gains one foot, and then loses two.