Bing Yu Guo

    i

    Dean Wu assigned me the task
    of writing two poems
    while my Lady and I visit Bing Yu Guo.
    But now that I’m here
    sitting by the water
    the breeze gently stirs
    I see a pagoda
    at the top of the mountain
    across the water.
    I see travelers climbing the steep path
    toward it
    and I know my friend’s assignment
    is an impossible limit.

    ii

    A sign tells me the places to visit
    here at Bing Yu Guo --
    The First Gate
    Folk Sound of Cuckoo
    Elephant Playing in Water
    Pavilion for Viewing the Sun
    Drunk Buddha
    A Ray of Sky
    Drink in the Scenery Peak
    Camel Looking for Water
    Double Dragon Meeting
    The Kindhearted Hall.

    iii

    We declined the Deluxe Suite
    staying instead in a Standard Room
    to better experience the simple life
    at Bing Yu Guo.
    Our first evening Grace says the bathroom floor is wet.
    In the morning I go to the head housekeeper
    saying wanti – problem - and shui – water
    my fingers signing falling water.
    Soon a repairman attacks the drainpipe
    finally installs a new one, smiling sweetly and nodding
    and speaking a flood of optimism.
    With a flashlight I see the raindrops
    still falling to our floor.
    I walk slowly across the bridge
    looking up at the pagoda
    at the trees clinging to the steep rock cliffs
    lining the deep crevices.
    A cool morning breeze touches my face.

    The workman returns to mend
    our personal rain in the afternoon
    carrying a new sink and drainpipe
    which he installs with great confidence.
    He invites me to shine my flashlight again.
    Sparkling drops of water fall from three new places now. .

    Finally we move to a new room
    with a dry floor and a larger window
    through which we view the tall rock mountain
    above the lake
    and at the top, the pagoda.

    iv

    Grace rests in the sun viewing the mountains
    through our new window.
    I walk through the canyon of Bing Yu Guo
    photographing the tan and orange patterns of its rock walls
    beauty visitors have celebrated century after century
    here at Double Dragon Meeting
    where the Ying Na River joins the Xia Yan River.
    By the landing for the ferry that brought us from the road
    I find a path through the woods.
    A blue flower matches the vivid color of my silk shirt.
    A white moth floats in the shady breeze.
    A small bird with brown striped robe
    hops along a branch pecking out its lunch.

    But here in this ancient paradise
    I also see junk food wrappers, cigarette packs,
    discarded water bottles, plastic bags.
    I gather the litter into a bag, just as I would at home.
    As I approach a recycling bin at the landing
    an attendant strides toward me glaring.
    He points to my bag, shakes his head fiercely,
    and motions me to leave.
    I find the Chinese for “trash” in my dictionary,
    as two other attendants, both shaking their heads,
    join the scene. I can’t find the word for paradise
    to justify my inappropriate behavior.

    v

    Grace and I ride the electric cart
    up the rocky canyon of the Xia Yan River
    stop for juice at the crazy bridges crossing
    choosing the one with rollers to reach the other side.
    A boatman urges us to rent his bamboo raft,
    poling along beside the path to persuade us.
    Above us oaks and pines begin to appear
    in the crevices of the high cliffs.
    Around us families, all Chinese,
    enjoy the scenery, the water,
    the funny ways of my lady and me.
    We are the only westerners in this beautiful canyon.

    Grace rests at a riverside shop
    with necklaces, bracelets, and cold drinks.
    I walk up the river far beyond the reach of electric carts,
    photographing flowers, ferns,
    a butterfly at rest on a fan of white flowers..
    I watch the light and shadows move across
    a high mountain valley rising above me.
    I pass a dozen rickshas sitting at odd angles
    their bearers too engaged in a card game by  the river
    to invite me to ride like the leisure class of old.

    Far up the canyon an old man sits on a stone by the path.
    He speaks loudly to me hoping to break through my ignorance.
    Finally he carefully unwraps the cloth covered box
    he has carried for many kilometers,
    opens its lid, and holds up a still frozen bar of sweet green ice.
    He motions me to sit on a stone beside him
    to enjoy this amazing delight.

    When I return to Grace she is using our phrase book
    to talk with the woman who sells necklaces and snacks.
    You’d think they were dear old friends,
    the way they look at each other.
    She admires Grace’s earrings and Grace makes them a gift.
    Her new friend’s face opens like the clearing sky
    I saw lighting the mountains
    just beyond the place where the butterfly rested.

    vi

    There’s a shop across the bridge and around a mountain.
    Every day I walk there very slowly
    to buy peaches, plums, grapes, and nectarines.
    Even, one day, a watermelon
    to share with our lovely waitresses and bus boys.
    Today Grace walks with me,
    stopping to greet the Buddha
    standing in his pagoda by the water,
    to watch the climbers coming down the stairs
    from the other pagoda at the top of the mountain,
    to feel the cool afternoon breeze
    blowing to us across the lake.

    There are new apples,
    golden yellow with a blush of pink,
    large dark nectarines,
    and the black grapes whose skin
    slips off with a sweet burst of flavor.

    This valley and canyons of Bing Yu Guo
    these lakes and rivers, these rocky mountains
    with their green cascades of foliage
    this is surely the place
    to taste the flavor of a new future
    deep in the mouth of our past.

    August 2002