I Could Really Use That Quiet Hut

Xu and Sun, near two thousand years ago,

Two friends about whom little now’s still known,

Both said to have set out, when young, to shun

Worldly ambitions of courtly careers—

Xu, apparently, did just so, while Sun,

The more gifted poet, perhaps, climbed up

By means of elegies and epitaphs

Elegantly praising late famous men

And suggesting his close friendships with them.

Neither is now included on the rolls

Of medieval China’s greatest poets,

Sages, martyrs, and cultural heroes,

But I wonder if Xu respected Sun

As genius of pragmatic rhetoric,

Making the argument it was the mind

And not the location—enlightenment

In the head, if not at elevation—

That defined the sage recluse—not mountains

Or a hut in principled seclusion,

But a calm mind in opportunity.

Or maybe Xu thought, good for you, Sun, but . . .