23 SEPTEMBER 1989, Page 40

Remembrance

Nothing deliberate. Still, ten years should see The ties of the dead to the living grow less tight. That lonely grave a thousand miles away. Who now can talk my chilling worries right? You wouldn't know me, even if we met, This face year-dustied and this hair rime-white.

In last night's dream I found myself back home.

Through the small room's window, white, the moonlight shines.

You turn as you comb your hair. You look at me.

Down silent cheeks tears trace their silver lines.

For how many years must my heart continue breaking?

That moonlit grave, its ring of stubby pines. Su Tung-po (1036-1101) Translated from the Vietnamese and Chinese by Graeme Wilson