We present this work in honor of the 405th anniversary of the poet’s death.

 

As the sun is about to set,
An old woman is wailing in the ruins of a village.
Her disheveled hair looks as if blighted by frost,
And her eyes are shadowed as if by dusk.
Her husband is in a cold jail cell,
Because he cannot pay off the money he owes,
And her son has gone off with the royal army.
Her house has been burned down to the base of the pillars;
Hiding out in the woods she has lost even her hemp petticoat.
She has no work, she has no wish even to go on living,
Why is the petty clerk of the district calling for her at the gate?

Translation by Peter H. Lee