Up Early at Fish - Creek Lake by Meng Hao Jan

Dawn spreads early luster across the east.
A clamor of island birds just startled away,

and lying in a bed at the mouth of Fish Creek,
I hear unseen paddles fade into distances.

Sunrise thins mists away, and I start to see
how replete an expanse my river course is:

young women rising late as usual, exquisite
lit reflections traced among drifting froth,

gibbons down to drink, skittish at the river,
otters surfacing to sacrifice captured fish.

On a boat, sorrow's always far off. And today
I'll sail clear skies all wide - open radiance!

By Meng Hao Jan, part of the Mountain Poems of Meng Hao Jan, translated by David Hinton.

Chinese Poem and Richard Brautigan.

Seeking but not Finding the Recluse
Under pines
I ask the boy:

he says "My master's gone
to gather herbs.

I only know
he's on this mountain,

But the clouds are too deep
to know where."
By Chia Tao, translated by Mike O'Connor.

Excerpt from "In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan"
Moths fluttered above the light that came out of the river from the tombs below. There were five or six moths fluttering over each tomb.
              Suddenly a big trout jumped out of the water above a tomb and got one of the moths. The other moths scattered and then came back again, and the same trout jumped again and got another moth. He was a smart old trout.
              The trout did not jump any more and the moths fluttered peacefully above the light coming from the tombs.

From the chapter "Vegetables".