Demented Singing in the Mountains

Lofty Bai Juyi,
I’ll never be you,

But this thing of ours,
This folie-à-deux,

The mountain of poems
Is my weakness, too.

Anything prompts me—
Stray thoughts, a nice view,

A good translation,
A phrase, something new—

And I’m off, madly
Composing. It’s true.

I read that you sang
Songs into the blue

But also made sure
That everyone knew

The poem the mountain
Was shouting was you.