Plowing-Grass Calligraphy Song


I’ve terrorized my family making three thousand jars of wine,
but ten thousand bucketfuls couldn’t ease such restless grief,
so this morning, drunken eyes ablaze with cliff-top lightning,
I grab a brush and gaze out, all heaven and earth grown small,
then suddenly send strokes flying, forgetting who I ever was,
windy clouds filling my thoughts, heaven lending me strength,
and divine dragons battle in landscapes of dark rancid mists,
unearthly spirits topple mountains over, the moon goes black.
Before long I’ve driven off the grief that infected my chest,
I bang on the bed and hoot, wildly Hing my cap to the ground
realizing even exquisite Wu paper and Shu silk aren’t enough:
I’ll send ink sprawling across the great hall’s thirty-foot walls!

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