My Transcreation of a Cold Mountain Poem

Vague, dark, Cold Mountain way

Empty, useless, banks of cold river

The singsong of birds is always present

Still and silent, no traveler is near

Whisper, sharp breath, the wind cuts my face

Flake upon flurry, the snow buries all forms

Dawn after dawn, there is no sun

Year after year, no knowing of spring

This is my transcreation of a Cold Mountain poem, utilizing these translations of Red Pine, Robert Henricks, and Gary Snyder:

The trail to Cold Mountain is faint

the banks of Cold Stream are a jungle

birds constantly chatter away

I hear no sound of people

gusts of wind lash my face

flurries of snow bury my body

day after day no sun

year after year no spring

~Red Pine (38)

Rough and dark - the Cold Mountain trail,

Sharp cobbles - the icy creek bank.

Yammering, chirping - always birds

Bleak, alone, not even a lone hiker.

Whip, whip - the wind slaps my face

Whirled and tumbled - snow piles on my back.

Morning after morning I don't see the sun

Year after year, not a sign of spring.

~Gary Snyder (9)

Dark and obscure— the way to Han- shan;

Far apart— the shores of the cold mountain stream.

Chirp, chirp— constantly there are the birds;

Silent and still— in addition there are no men.

Whisper, whisper— the wind blows in my face;

Whirling and swirling— the snow piles up all around.

Day after day— I don't see the sun;

And year after year— I've known no spring.

~Robert Henricks (31)