Autumn Journal

Petra White

As for me I am a floating twig, writes Du Fu

to his brother, after the Yellow River burst its banks.

He calls on sea monsters, dragons—

in the calm of his lines, ten villages disappear.

The yin and yang of our existence caused this storm and rain,

he begins his watery letter, in the autumn of 746.

Syllable after syllable, the children learn to read.

They rise early two weeks to see the comet,

but dense cloud pins them to earth.

On the fourteenth day, the sky is clear,

needle pricks of stars, and there, with its tail,

it streaks across the cosmos, like a friend in the universe.

Young pond, old frog leaps in to disturb the living.

The world’s grief scrubs at every cliff—

as if there were no hierarchy.

You wait and the seasons change, whatever your effort.

Outside, the Japanese maple blazes yellower by the day,

as if it lived for pure colour, without argument.

Lines from Du Fu are David Young’s translation

PETRA WHITE’s most recent book is That Galloping Horse, shortlisted for the Queensland Literary Awards and the Prime Minister’s Award for Poetry.