Song of the Painting "Catching Fish"

The poor people use snare-nets
when they go out to fish;
the rich people use seine-nets
when they go out to fish.
And so poor people make less profit
than those already rich:
one sweep of the seine pulls in
dozens of feet of fish!
River flowers embroider the banks,
river banks so steep;
at such a time, each foot-length of fish
is worth its weight in gold.
The banks are tall, the snare-nets small,
they can't haul a big load;
the fishermen's songs are full of grief,
saddening the heart.
Every family sells its catch
along the riverbanks:
large boats come and small boats too,
too many of them to count.
The large boats have the finest fish,
and make the biggest profit;
the small boats float there, sadly, sadly,
all day into night.
This traveler, a man of Ch'ang-sha,
sits thinking of his home;
how could I get to return and sit
by the riverside to watch?
Buying fish and pouring wine
to face the brilliant moon:
although I would not drink myself,
I'd raise my cup for form.
Now I am living to the west
of Peking's Lakeside Bridge;
a court messenger brings me a fish
as long as a large chopstick.
My neighbors have never seen such food:
can I bear to eat it alone?
I lean on the bridge-rail and throw it out
to swim away in freedom.
The inspiration of my life
has never come from fish;
examining books and viewing paintings
is quite enough for me!
I have no family enterprise,
so what do I know of these things?
My only wish is that all the people
throughout the land
share this abundant food.
Translation: 
Language: 
Author of original: 
Li Tung-yang
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.