10 AUGUST 1991, Page 33

In his short reed-cape that old man in his boat

Looks like some hedgehog floating on a duck As, under river-skies and far from home, He fishes, fishes, fishes without luck.

For the fish, deep-burrowed into winter mud, Lie safe from sinking seine or trawling net.

When home at last to his wretched fishing-village What kind of welcome can he hope to get But the barking of dogs and Hunger written large On the moon's white plate by a pine-tree's silhouette?

Kao Chi (1336-74)

translated from the Chinese by Graeme Wilson