Blue Rapids

A hundred men shouting at once, helping to rattle the oars;
in the boat, face to face, we can't even hear ourselves talk.
All at once the men have scattered—silence, no more scuffle;
the only sound, two winches reeling out hundred-yard tow-lines:
whoo-whoo, whaa-whaa—how fast the winches unwind,
boatmen already standing there on the sandy shore!
Fog lifts from reedy villages, red in the setting sun;
rain ended, from fishermen's huts the damp smoke of cooking fires.
I turn my head, look toward home, now a thousand mountains away;
a trip up the gorges—we've just passed rapids number one.
When I was young I used to dream of the joys of official travel;
older now, I know just how hard the going can be.
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Lu Yu
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