HOW OLD ARE YOU?

Poem for Today - April 29, 2014

E  00183

Confucius said: “At thirty, a man stands.”

At thirty, the doctor diagnosed his infertility. His clan                 will vanish. He shattered china, burnt books,               wailed himself to sleep.

Confucius said: “At forty, a man is no longer puzzled.”

At forty, he trembled at the sound of singing, guilt                     made him give up his golden Buddha. 

              He moved out of his mansion, turned over                   a new leaf. A weak man wants nothing 

              but peace.

Confucius said: “At fifty, a man knows the mandate 

              of heaven.”

Porridge stains all over his fifty-year-old wife, 

              he brings her vegetables and a small 

              sea bass after school. Late blooming love 

              is like the rusty oil in a wok.

Confucius said: “At sixty, a man’s ears are an                           obedient organ for Truth.”

He lost his hearing at sixty: a loud world was reduced               to expressions.

Confucius said: “At seventy, a man does as he                           pleases without crossing the line.”

Confucius died at seventy-three, an immortal age.

© Xi  Chuan,

Excerpt from “Misfortune”.

Translated from the Chinese 

by Wang Ping and Alex Lemon

Statue of Confucius,

Shanghai China.