A Drifting boatAn Anthology of Chinese Zen Poetr y Edited by Jerome P. Seaton & Dennis Maloney Translated by Tony Barnstone, Richard B . Clark, James M . Cryer , Sam Hamill, Paul Hansen, Chris Laughrun, Joseph Lisowski ,Chou Ping, James H . Sanford, Jerome P . Seaton, Arthur Tobias , and Jan W . Walls WHITE PINE PRESS FREDONIA, NY
Huai Su / 7 5 Liao Hsing / 14 7 Ching Yun / 7 6 Ma Chih-yuan / 14 8 Kuan Hsiu / 7 7 Chang Yang-hao / 14 9 Tzu Lan / 8 0 Ching Kung / 15 0 Yun Piao / 8 1 Chih Hsuan / 8 2 Yin Luan / 8 3 Ming Shu-shan Kuang-jen / 8 4 Hsu Hsuan / 8 5 Tai An/ 15 3 Miao Hui / 15 4 Tao Yuan / 15 5Sung Han Shan Te-ching / 15 6 Ta Hsiang / 16 3 Lin Ho-ching / 8 9 Chih Yuan / 96 Hsi Chou / 9 8 Ching & Republican Era Pao Tan / 100 Wen Chao / 10 2 Heng Chao / 10 4 Shih Shu / 16 7 Chien Chang / 10 5 Yuan Mei / 16 8 Wei Feng / 10 7 Hsu Ku / 17 8 Hui Chung / 10 9 Chan Cheng / 17 9 Yu Chao / 11 0 Ching An / 18 0 Wei Ye/ 11 2 Po Ching (Su Man-shu)/ 185 Wang An-shih / 12 2 Hsu Yun / 19 0 Pao-chueh Tsu-hsin / 12 7 Su Tung-po (Shih Su) / 12 8 The Translators / 19 5 Shou Chuan / 13 4 Ts an Liao Tzu / 13 5 Suggested Reading / 199 Chih-tu Chueh / 13 9 Ko Chen / 14 0 Shei-an Liao Yen / 14 1 Tao Kai / 14 2Yuan Ta Kuei / 14 5 Po-tzu T ing / 146
A DRIFTING QOAT
Scholar translators of holy Sanskrit texts, ragged mountain wild -men, nuns and monks, retired civil servants, scholar-officials of th eEmperor of China, residents of humble mountain monasteries ,Buddhist prelates whose prestige and moral force often made themrivals in secular power to those officials themselves : poets of everycentury from the sixth to the twentieth are to be found here, clarify-ing in bright and vibrant poetic lines the transmission of a singl eideal . At the same time they demonstrate clearly the multiplicity o fmanners, the diversity of techniques, and the creative freedom of thehuman spirit that is the truest embodiment of Chan, a brand o fBuddhist practice that, born in China, evolved to spread and thrive i nEast Asia for over fifteen hundred years. A lively and often humorou sWay to, and from, spiritual salvation, and a Way of living peacefull yand forcefully in the everyday world, better known in the West by it sJapanese pronunciation as Zen, it remains full of life in the twentiet hcentury West, continuing to grow and change, and boding well t obecome as important a feature of the world culture of the tomorrow sof the twenty-first century as it has been of a thousand years of Asia nyesterdays . The poetry in this anthology is presented in as close to chronologi-cal order as modern scholarship allows . Thus it may offer a littl einsight into the nature of the evolution of the Ch an sect, originally asect fairly narrowly devoted to the path of enlightenment throug hdeep mind meditation, into that living entity that Zen is today . Thespiritual passion that supports myriad pathways, both monastic an dlay, in the present world, can already be seen in the earliest poetry .The expansion of the Chan vision begins in the Tang Dynasty ,maybe not just coincidentally also known as both the Golden Age o fChan and the Golden Age of Chinese poetry . It can be seen in work sas various as the rough colloquial harangues of the legendary moun-tain monk Han Shan and the refined meditations of the Tang schol-ar-official and renowned painter-poet Wang Wei . Between them thesetwo, with the help of the great monk-poets Chiao-jan, Ling-yi, Kua nHsiu, and the nine monks of the Sung, and of lay poets like Li Po, P oChu-yi, Lin Ho-ching and Su Shih, began the confluence of the reli-gious verse of early Ch an into the great stream with traditiona lChinese poetry . There, in addition to deepening the stream bed, thi sgreat coming together invigorated Chan itself, permitting its interac-
Lion with the almost incredible communicative power of the Chines e Mahayana in its concern for salvation . It is the Buddhas big cart, bi g written language and its great ensemble of poetic techniques an d enough to haul every single sentient being off to that release from suf- devices . The Chan, a school that had learned from Taoism a health y fering called nirvana . In its most native form, Zen shows little driv e distrust for words, found a new source of power in the classic poeti c for bigger temples, little drive for stricter doctrinal lines or "greater " language, precisely because that language had been formed on th e institutional organization : the edifice complex that plague s principle of " no ideas but in things . " Christianity is replaced in Ch an with a good humored, freespirite d The coexistence from Tang on of both a monastic and a lay tradi- drive to find more Ways to load on pilgrims of the Way, to find mor e tion of Chan poetry served to keep both sets of poets (often friends ) places for sentient beings to "sit," or to stand or lie down if they must , on their toes, stretching to match and to complement each other s on the Way to release from illusion . Finally, maybe, it is just this fre e accomplishments . The rough shock-poetry of Han Shan and Shih Te , spirit, this humane consciousness alive in the world that is the tru e a poetry that mocks pretension and hypocrisy, that slaps the face o f embodiment, the emblem, the being, the making, of Zen . the lazy meditator or the foolish follower of convention, runs side by If Chan is, as many claim, not a religion — because it has few insti - side for a thousand years with an ever developing lay tradition tha t tutional and doctrinal structures and strictures — it may not be wron g emphasizes attention and tranquility, self-knowledge and compas- to say that poetry, in China and in Japan, has been the re-ligion, th e sionate action in the world . Both remind us of the beauty and th e binder together, of Chan. It is the poetry, with its shared goal of com - evanescence of life in the world . They remind us also of the ultimat e munication of the Way, that ties the monastic community to the la y triviality of most of what drags so many humans into the pit of suffer - community, that ties the so many pasts to so many new presents , ing . Both admit and accept weakness while they quietly suggest th e striving to make a sangha of the whole of human culture in the world . possibility of a spiritual strength that awaits only the inward turnin g The poetry in this anthology is the poetry of humans, not divin e eye. beings or even of divines . A few of the poets are known to history as Living Buddhism today includes institutions that differ very little i n Zen Masters, all are clearly seekers of release for themselves and fo r constitution and function from the sects and churches of the othe r others . For all them the poems are, as maybe poems should alway s great spiritual and religious traditions of the modern world . In Zen , be, purified expressions of a consciousness that any, having seen, wil l Buddhism also possesses an ecumenical school that is not a school, a be led toward . It appears, nonetheless — and the paradox is a hall - community of monastic and lay participants in an eclectic and eve n mark of Zen — also very much a poetry of the human condition, a an experimental practice that remains open to influences from out - poetry by and for everyone . There is sorrow as well as joy . There is side its recognized boundaries . This group, one that includes a n desire as well as acceptance . increasing number of Western poets and artists, follows the oldes t The purity, a purity beyond the reach of pride, of the religiou s pathways of Chan, making its goal as much the exploration of th e insight of the monk-translator Hui Yuan and the nun Miao Yin i s means of salvation as it is the liberation of all sentient beings . Th e stunning. The Hsin Hsin Ming (Verses on the Faith-Mind) of Sengtsan , exploration of means is after all a means itself. a treatise in verse that was a seminal force in the creation of Chan a s Though Zen has long been identified in the West with its histori- we know it, shows clearly the role of specifically poetic sensitivity i n cally most persistent and peculiar traits, particularly with sitting medi - the creation of the Zen world view . It is also perhaps the closest o f tation, (tso chan or zazen) and the koan method, it has in fact been the poems presented here to what would be properly called religious precisely its liveliness, its zest for life, its eclecticism, its spiritual utili- poetry in the West . The joy, the sorrow, the laughter and the roug h tarianism that has always marked Zen as Zen from its earliest mani- camaraderie for the road that Han Shan and so many of his incarna- festation in China . Though it is strongly influenced by the no non - tions show us in the plainest of plain words is, as Gary Snyder ha s sense naturalism of Chinese Taoism, Ch an is quintescentially said, as refreshing as a cool drink of water for the dusty traveler . Th e keen eyes of Chiao Jan and Po Chu-i invite the reader to see . Th e -a+ 1 4 r- -a+ 15 re,
open heart of Wang An-shih, controversial social reformer of th eSung Dynasty, may challenge the modern democrat to discover th esource of compassion . The irony of Yuan Mei shines a clear ligh tthrough the illusions of self-importance that may block the path t oself-knowledge and release . The self-mockery of Ching-an is th eemblem of a humility so deep and yet so lightly put that it invites thereader to see and maybe to lightly mock his or her own spiritual pre -tensions . All these and more are presented in language that never fail sto engage and to delight. The American translators responsible fo rbringing these voices to life again here are briefly introduced at th eend of the anthology . If they had not heard the music of Chan, indi-vidually and together, these poems would still be available only to th eChinese reader . It is not wrong to say that Ch an poetry contains no metaphor : it is PRE-TAN Gthe song of phenomena. The mountain is the mountain ; the river isthe river . A rock in Han Shan, a rock in Yuan Mei, is a rock in the 4th to 7th Centuryworld . Bite it at your peril . Sit in its shade when the sun shines hot o nthe mountain top . Yet, in a properly paradoxial Way, all Zen poetry,each and all Zen poems taken together, become a single metaphor .Nature, remade real (for your convenience the cart takes anothe rshape) in the words of the poem, encompassed in the purified con-sciousness, is metaphor for our natures, which are not separate . Themoon that shines from all waters is one moon . So many bright moon s ias the clouds clear away : a single light. Set your boat adrift here, inthe midst of it . —J . P . Seato n 16 eg,
Hui Yung (332-414 )Translating Sutra sWe go on unwinding the wooffrom the web of their meaning :words of the Sutrasday by day leap forth .Head on wev echased the miracl eof Dharma :here are no mere scholars .Moon SittingHigh mountain cascades froth .This wild temple owns few lamps .Sit facing the glitte rof the moon : out of seaso nheart of ice .JPs
IN) Yin (ft 376-380) Hui Ko (4th-5th Century) No me : Dharmas allWind and Water empty .a steady wind scours the autumn moo n Death, Life, smal lfrom a stagnant pool, from the crystal sprin g difference .every place pure now . . . just as it is . Heart of mystery swhy, then, does karma yet coil and bind ? transformation : know, and see . The Truth cries ou t where the arrow strikes the target .JPs JP s The Absolut e selfless dharmas are all empt y life and death about alik e the transformed heart knows it all at a glanc e truth is in the middle of things . JHS I 20 ra 21 re,
The more you talk and think about it , Seng Tsan (d 606) the further astray you wander from the truth . Stop talking and thinking , and there is nothing you will not be able to know . Verses on the Faith-Min d To return to the root is to find the meaning , but to pursue appearances is to miss the source . The Great Way is not difficul t At the moment of inner enlightenmen t for those who have no preferences . there is a going beyond appearance and emptiness . When love and hate are both absen t The changes that appear to occur in the empty worl d everything becomes clear and undisguised . we call real only because of our ignorance . Make the smallest distinction, however , Do not search for the truth ; and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart . only cease to cherish opinions . If you wish to see the trut h then hold no opinions for or against anything . Do not remain in the dualistic state ; To set up what you like against what you dislik e avoid such pursuits carefully . is the disease of the mind . If there is even a trace When the deep meaning of things is not understoo d of this and that, of right and wrong , the mind s essential peace is disturbed to no avail . the Mind-essence will be lost in confusion . Although all dualities come from the One , The Way is perfect like vast spac e do not be attached even to this One . where nothing is lacking and nothing is in excess . When the mind exists undisturbed in the Way , Indeed, it is due to our choosing to accept or rejec t nothing in the world can offend , that we do not see the true nature of things . and when a thing can no longer offend , Live neither in the entanglements of outer things , it ceases to exist in the old way . nor in inner feelings of emptiness . Be serene in the oneness of thing s When no discriminating thoughts arise , and such erroneous views will disappear by themselves . the old mind ceases to exist . When you try to stop activity to achieve passivity When thought objects vanish , your very effort fills you with activity . the thinking-subject vanishes, As long as you remain in one extreme or the othe r as when the mind vanishes, objects vanish . you will never know Oneness . Things are objects because of the subject [mind] ; the mind [subject] is such because of things [objects] . Those who do not live in the single Wa y Understand the relativity of these tw o fail in both activity and passivity , and the basic reality : the unity of emptiness . assertion and denial. In this Emptiness the two are indistinguishabl e To deny the reality of thing s and each contains in itself the whole world . is to miss their reality ; If you do not discriminate between coarse and fine to assert the emptiness of things you will not be tempted to prejudice and opinion . is to miss their reality . 22 rc.. 23 m,
If the eye never sleeps ,To live in the Great Way all dreams will naturally cease .is neither easy nor difficult , If the mind makes no discriminations ,but those with limited view s the ten thousand thingsare fearful and irresolute : are as they are, of single essence .the faster they hurry, the slower they go , To understand the mystery of this One-essenc eand clinging [attachment] cannot be limited ; is to be released from all entanglements .even to be attached to the idea of enlightenmen t When all things are seen equallyis to go astray . the timeless Self-essence is reached .Just let things be in their own way , No comparisons or analogies are possibl eand there will be neither coming nor going . in this causeless, relationless state.Obey the nature of things [your own nature ] Consider movement stationaryand you will walk freely and undisturbed .When thought is in bondage the truth is hidden , and the stationary in motion , both movement and rest disappear .for everything is murky and unclear, When such dualities cease to exis tand the burdensome practice of judging Oneness itself cannot exist.brings annoyance and weariness . To this ultimate finalityWhat benefit can be derive d no law or description applies .from distinctions and separations ? For the unified mnd in accord with the Wa yIf you wish to move in the One Way all self-centered striving ceases .do not dislike even the world of senses and ideas . Doubts and irresolutions vanis hIndeed, to accept them full y and life in true faith is possible .is identical with true Enlightenment . With a single stroke we are freed from bondage ;The wise man strives to no goal s nothing clings to us and we hold to nothing .but the foolish man fetters himself. All is empty, clear, self-illuminatin gThere is one Dharma, not many ; with no exertion of the minds power.distinctions aris efrom the clinging needs of the ignorant; Here thought, feeling, knowledge, and imaginatio nto seek Mind with the [discriminating] min d are of no value . In this world of Suchnes sis the greatest of all mistakes . there is neither self nor other-than-self .Rest and unrest derive from illusion ; To come directly into harmony with this realit ywith enlightenment there is no liking and disliking . just simply say when doubt arises, `Not two . All dualities come from ignorant inference . In this `not two nothing is separate ,They are like dreams or flowers in air : nothing is excluded .foolish to try to grasp them . No matter when or where ,Gain and loss, right and wrong : enlightenment means entering this truth .such thoughts must finally be abolished at once . ra, 24 ea, ~a+ 25 R-
And this truth is beyond extension ordiminution in time or space ;in it a single thought is ten thousand years .Emptiness here, Emptiness there ,but the infinite universe stand salways before your eyes .Infinitely large and infinitely small :no difference, for definitions have vanishedand no boundaries are seen.So too with Being and non-Being .Dont waste time in doubts and argumentsthat have nothing to do with this . Tang 616-905One thing, all things :move among and intermingle ,without distinction .To live in this realizationis to be without anxiety about non-perfection .To live in this faith is the road to non-duality ,Because the non-dual is one with the trusting mind .words !The Way is beyond languagefor in it there is no yesterday no tomorrow no today .RBC
Han Shan (Legendarv, c . 730 )Divination showed my place among these bunched cliff swhere faint trails cut off the traces of men and wome nwhats beyond the yar dwhite clouds embracing hidden rocksliving here still after how many year sover and over Ive seen spring and winter chang eget the word to families with bells and cauldronsempty fame has no valu eEveryone who reads my poemsmust protect the purity of their hearts hear tcut down your craving continue your days modestl ycoax the crooked and the bent then youll be uprigh tdrive out and chase away your evil karm areturn home and follow your true natur eon that day youll get the Buddhabod yas swiftly as Lu-ling run sLooking for a place to settle ou tCold Mountain will do i tfine wind among thick pine sthe closer you listen the better the soun dunder them a man his hair turning whit emumbling mumbling Taoist text shes been here ten years unable to retur ncompletely forgotten the way by which he came
I like my home being well hidde n a dwelling place cut off from the worlds noise and dus t trampling the grass has made three path s looking up at the clouds makes neighbors in the four direction sMy heart is like the autumn moo n there are birds to help with the sound of the singin gperfectly bright in the deep green poo l but there isn t anyone to ask about the words of the Dharm anothing can compare with it today among these withered tree syou tell me how it can be explained how many years make one sprin gWanting to go to the eastern cliff People ask the way to Cold Mountai nsetting out now after how many year s Cold Mountain the road doesnt go throughyesterday I used the vines to pull myself u p by summer the ice still hasnt meltedbut halfway there wind and mist made the going toug h sunrise is a blur beyond the fo gthe narrow path grabbed at my clothe s imitating me how can you get her ethe moss so slippery I couldnt procee d if your heart was like min eso I stopped right here beneath this cinnamon tre e youd return to the very cente rused a cloud as a pillow and went to sleep I live beneath a green cliffSitting alone in peace before these cliffs the weeds I dont mow flourish in the yar dthe full moon is heavens beaco n new vines hang down all twisted togethe rthe ten thousand things are all reflection s old rocks rise up straight in precipitous slope sthe moon originally has no ligh t monkeys pick the mountain frui twide open the spirit of itself is pure egrets catch the pond fishhold fast to the void realize its subtle myster y with one or two of the immortals book slook at the moon like thi s beneath the trees I mumble reading aloudthis moon that is the heart s pivot
When the year passes its exchanged for a year of worrie s In the green creek spring water is clea rbut when spring arrives the colors of things are fresh and new at Cold Mountain the moons corona is whitemountain flowers laugh in green wate r silence your understanding and the spirit of itself is enlightene dcliff trees dance in bluegreen mis t view all things as the Void and this world is even more stil lthe bees and butterflies express their joythe birds and fish are even more lovabl emy desire for a friend to wander with still unsatisfie dI struggled all night but could not slee p My resting place is in the deep woods now but I was born a farmer growing up simple and hones t speaking plainly without flatter yYour essays are pretty goo d what nourished me wasn t studying for jade badges of offic eyour body is big and strong but believing that a man of virtue would then get the pear lbut birth provides you with a limited bod y how can we be like those floating beautie sand death makes you a nameless ghos t wild ducks drifting on the waves as far as the eye can se eits been like this since antiquitywhat good will come of your present strivin gif you could come here among the white cloud sId teach you the purple mushroom son g Clouds and mountains all tangled together up to the blue sky a rough road and deep woods without any traveller s far away the lone moon a bright glistening whit e nearby a flock of birds sobbing like childre nIf you re always silent and say nothin g one old man sitting alone perched in these green mountain swhat stories will the younger generation have to tel l a small shack the retired life letting my hair grow whit eif you hide yourself away in the thickest wood s pleased with the years gone by happy with toda yhow will your wisdom s light shine through mindless this life is like water flowing eas ta bag of bones is not a sturdy vesse lthe wind and frost do their work soon enoug hplow a stone field with a clay o xand the harvest day will never com e In my house there is a cav e in the cave theres nothing at al l pure emptiness really wonderfu l glorious and splendid bright as the su n a+ 32 et, -a+ 33 te,
vegetarian fare nourishes this old body Me Im happy with the everyday wa ycotton and hides cover this illusory for m like the mist and vines in these rockstrewn ravine slet a thousand saints appear before m e this wilderness is so free and vas tI have the Dharmakaya for my very ow n my old friends the white clouds drift idly of f there is a road but it doesnt reach the worl d mindless who can be disturbed by thoughts at night I sit alone on a stone be d while the round moon climbs the face of Cold Mountai nDespite the obstacles I pursued the great monkthe misty mountains a million layers hig hhe pointed to the road back hom eone round moon lantern of the sk y Amidst a thousand clouds and ten thousand stream s there lives one ex-scholar m e by day wandering these green mountain s at night coming home to sleep beneath a clif f suddenly spring and fall have already passed byAhead the green creek sparkles as it flow s and no dust has piled up to disturb this stillnes stoward the cliff a huge rock with a good edge for sittin g such happiness what do I depend o nmy heart is like a lone cloud with nothing to depend o n here its as tranquil as autumn river wate rso far away from the worlds affair s what need is there to search for anythin g I see people chanting a sutra who depend on its words for their ability to spea k their mouths move but their hearts do no tWhen this generation sees Han-sha n their hearts and mouths oppose each othe rthey all say Im a crazy ma n yet the hearts true nature is without conflic tunworthy of a second loo k so don t get all tangled up in the word sthis body wrapped only in cotton and hide s learn to know your own bodily sel fthey don t understand what I sa y dont look for something else to take its plac eI dont speak their kind of jabber then you ll become the boss of your mouthI want to tell all of you passing by knowing full well theres no inside or ou tyou can come up and face Cold Mountai n AT -a+ 34 te.. a+ 35 ee,
Shill Te (Legendarv, c . 730) if you want to catch a ra t you dont need a fancy ca t it you want to learn the Principle s dont study fine bound booksSince I came to this T ien T ai temple the True Pearls in a hemp sac khow many Winters and Springs have passe d the Buddha nature rests in hut sthe mountains and the waters are unchange d many grasp the sackthe mans grown olde r but few open it.how many other men will watch those mountains stan d I laugh at myself, old man, with no strength lef tsee the moons bright blaze of ligh t inclined to piney peaks, in love with lonely path sa shining lamp, above the worl d oh well, Ive wandered down the years to no wfull glistening and hanging in vast voi d free in the flow; and floated home the samethat brilliant jewel, its brightness, through the mis t a drifting boat .some people say it waxes, wane stheirs may but mine remain sas steady as the Mani Pear lthis light knows neither day or nigh t not going, not comin g rooted, deep and still not reaching out, not reaching i n just resting, at the cente r a single jewel, the flawless crystal dro psermons there are, must be a million in the blaze of its brilliancetoo many to read in a hurry the way beyon dif you want a friend just come to Tien Tai mountainsit deep among the cragswell talk about the Principle sand chat about dark Mysterie sif you dont come to my mountai nyour view will be blocke d a long way off, I see men in the dir tby the others enjoying whatever it is that they find in the dir t when I look at them there in the dir t my heart wells full of sadness 36 me, 37
why sympathize with men like these ? there waiting, stil l I can remember the taste of that dirt . the coming of the solitary cran e Idle, I visited the high monk scloudy mountains, fold on fold , green mountain, white cloud s how many thousands of them ? next door crying childre nshady valley road runs deep, all trace of man is gon e on the other side a boisterous crow dgreen torrents, pure clear flow, no place more full of beaut y the Five-Peaks touch the Milky Wa yand time, and time, birds sing the cobalt sky is clear as wate r my own hearts harmony . true, they pointed my way hom e pool of lamplight beneath the moon . if you want to be happ y JHS, JPS theres no other way than the hermit s flowers in the grove, endless brocad e every single seasons colors ne wjust sit beside the chas m turn your head, as the moon rolls b yyet though I ought to be at joyous eas eI cant stop thinking of the others . far, far, the mountain path is stee pthousands of feet up, the pass is dangerous and narro won the stone bridge the moss and lichen gree nfrom time to time, a sliver of cloud flyingcascades hang like skeins of sil kimage of the moon from the deep pool shinin gonce more to the top of Flowering Peak
Pei Ti & Wang Wei (700-761 ) Deer Park Morning and night I see cold mountai nMeng Wall Cov e Then to be alone, an unattended guest . Not knowing the way of pine groves , I only follow the tracks of deer and doe .Below the ancient citys wall lie sMy thatched hut. In time Ill clim bThose old walls in disrepai r On the empty mountain no one is seen .Where others now merely pass by. There s only the sound of voices . Light enters dazzling the deep grov eBy this new home near the old city wal l And again the moss is brilliant green .Ancient trees fringe weeping willows .Here anyone can begin again, but firs tThe heart must be empty of sorrow . Magnolia Enclosure Bright green mists at sunset ,Hua-tzu Hil l Birds chirp wildly against the swift stream . Its green current runs dee pA dappled sunset, and the pine wind rises . Then dark a long, long time .Turning to home, I notice the grass thin, spare ,Above, clouds patch like footprint s Autumn mountains compress the bursting light .The dazzling mountain, dampening our robes . Flying birds press close to one another . Bright clouds, blue flashing bright —Birds ride the currents endlessl y The evening mist stops nowhere .Against the autumn-splashed mountain .Up and down Hua-tzu Hill they soar —What sadness my heart bears!
Lakeside Pavilio n Lake YiFrom the window a rippling of waves , Such immense emptiness, the lakes without limit .The solitary moon drifts back and forth. Dazzling blue water and sky alike .From the gorge shoot gibbons cries . Anchor the boat with one long whistle .The wind carries them to where I sit . From every direction, good winds blow .A light barge for the welcome guest s Flute music sounds from beyond the shore .Comes from far up the lake . Sunset accompanies my honored guest .Before the windows, they toast with wine . On the lake, I turn my hea dEverywhere hibiscus begin to open . To green mountains, whitle curling clouds . Rill of the House of LuansSouth Hilloc k The rivers voice with whispers to the distant shor e Along a path to South FerryA lone boat moors leeward . Ducks floating, sea gulls flying across .At South Hillock, lake waters lap the bank . Time and again they drift close to men .The sun sets behind Mount Yen Tzu .Clear ripples against the immense watery main . A gust suddenly rises in the autumn rain . The shallow stream breaks against the rocks .A light boat sails to South Hillock . Waves ripple, dashing into each other .From North Hillock, theres a panic of water . A white heron shrieks then dives .At shore, a man looks toward hom eSo distant, so far, he can hardly remember.
White Rock Rapids Bamboo GroveStanding on the rocks, gazing at the water below , I come humbly to the bamboo grov eWatching the play of ripples is endless pleasure . Each day hoping to embrace the Way .At sunset, it s cold on the river . Going and coming, there are only mountain birds .Clouds drift by, ordinary, without color . In the profound dark, there is no one .White Rock Rapids are clear but shallow . Alone I sit within the dark bambo oGreen rushes bunch rustling nearby . Strumming my lute, whistling alon gHouses stretch east and west of the water . In the deep grove no one know sWomen wash gauze under a bright moon . The bright moon, how we shine together. Hsin-yi VillageNorth Hillock On a green knoll covered with spring grass , The princely lord loiters alone .On North Hillock of South Mountain Among the Hsin-yi flower sA thatched cottage overlooks Lake Yi . The red hibiscus vibrate .Everyone leaves to gather firewood .A flat boat drifts from the rushes . From the end of its branch, the hibiscus flowers . From the mountains depth, red stems push .At North Hillock, north of the lake , Along a mountain stream, a vacant cabin stand sBrilliant trees are reflected ; a red railing Amidst the hibiscus endless bloom and fall .Winds along the south rivers edgeBright like fire against the green grove . ra+ 44 -ad 45 re .
Lacquer-Tree Garde n Li Po (701-762 )Love of leisure is as natural as morning sun .I accept the fruits born of my past . Zazen on the Mountai nToday, I amble through the lacquer-tree garde nAnd return to the joy Chuang Tzu felt . The birds have vanished down the sky. Now the last cloud drains away .The ancient sage was no proud official .He avoided the warp and weave of the world We sit together, the mountain and me ,And held only a trifling position, casually regarded , until only the mountain remains.Like an old woman sauntering among twigs of trees .JL Old Dus t We live our lives as wanderer s until, dead, we finally come home . One quick trip between heaven and earth , then the dust of ten thousand generations . The Moon-Rabbit mixes elixirs for nothing . The Tree of Long Life is kindling . Dead, our white bones lie silent when pine trees lean toward spring . Remembering, I sigh ; looking ahead, I sigh once more : This life is mist . What fame? What glory?
I Make My Home in the Mountains r Ling Yi (d 762 )You ask why I livealone in the mountain forest , Riverbank Epiphanyand I smile and am silen t these evenings the hills are green agai nuntil even my soul grows quiet : the streams in the woods clear again . I know nothing about taming oxe nit lives in the other world , or of deep grottos, endlessly wide .one that no one owns . above a rustic bank, mists begin to gathe rThe peach trees blossom . calm waters, but no moon aboveThe water continues to flow . a solitary boat might lose its way . just listen to the rushing autumn springs .SH Keepsake for the Old Man of Chung-chou a lifetime of no place to res t thousands of miles, overwhelmed and alon e lost my way among the sweet grasse s tear-streaked after the flow of spring currents . how many seasons of innkeeper s meals ? how many nights in brookside hamlets ? I long for the pains lovers know; in the empty hills gibbons sing down a setting sun . JHS -a+ 49 ea-
Letter to a wandering husband : Go Home. Tu Fu (712-770 )Tear drop frozento its heart Visiting the Monastery at Lung-me nthe letter will com e I explored the grounds with monks this evening ,to tell you of the woman waiting and now the night has passed .in the willow garden . Heavy silence rises all around usFeelings, knowing while late moonlight spills through the forest .theyre hard to guard a schastity, alone . The mountain rises almost into heaven . Sleeping in the clouds is cold .Again, here, and there the sun sfirst rays of Spring . A single stroke of the early prayer-bell awakens one , but does it also waken the soul ?JPS SH
Chico Jan (730?-799? ) At Gus u The ancient terrace now invisible :Inscribed on the Wall of the Hut by the Lak e Autumn grasses wither, there where once the King of Wu stoo d proud and strong . A thousan dIf you want to be a mountain dweller . . . years of moonlight on the grass :no need to trek to India to find one . how many times did he gaze down upon it ?Ive got a thousand peak s Now the moon will rise again, but h eto pick from, right here in the lake . will not. A world of men hav eFragrant grasses, white clouds , gazed, will gaze, upon grea tto hold me here . Gusu Mountain . Here dwells a placid spirit.What holds you there , Deer herd to blur mens footprints .world-dweller ? Here too Hsi-tzu s fair simplicity, seductiv e lips brought an Empire crashing down : now, that all is change is clear : at Cold Peak, a little heap of dirt .To be Shown to the Monks at a Certain Templ eNot yet to the shore of non-doing , Metaphorits silly to be sad youre not moored yet . . .Eastmounts white clouds say My Tao : at the root, theres no me .to keep on moving, eve n yet I dont despise worldly men .it it s evening, even if it s Fall . Just now Ive been into the city. . . so I know I really mean that . 52 e 53 ev-
Human Life Cold Night, I Heard the Sounding of the Watch , and Wrote This Letter to a Friend Human life, a hundred years ? Ive passed a half of them . Leaning on my pillow , The talents I was born wit h I heard the watch-drum, cold . can t be changed . Cold that changes, cold that stays . I angled for big turtles in the Eastern Sea One night, a thousand, ten thousand soundings . but the turtles wouldnt bite . How many did you hear there ? I sat with the stones at South Mountain till they were way past ripe . Goodbye s Gazing at Tien-chu and Ling yin Temple s Ive heard that even "men of feeling " hate the feeling of parting . On the mountain, East and West, a temple . . . Frosty sky drips a chill In the river, sunrise and sunset, the flow . on the cold city wall . A heart for home, but no way to get there . . . The long night spreads A road through the pine s like water overflowing. and the blue-green mist . Theres the sound of the watch-horn, too . The Zen mans heart is empty, yes , of all but this.
Sending Off a Frien d Chang Chi (768-830 )Amidst the Cries of Gibbon sYou go ten thousand mile s Lamentbeyond those Western Mountains . . .Three gibbons cries , We carved our names in a courtyard near the rive ra chasm full of moonlight . . . when you were youngest of all our guests .How long s this road been here ?How many traveler s But you will never see bright spring again ,have wet their sleeves beside it ? nor the beautiful apricot blossom sA broken wall divides the drooping shadows .Rushing rapids sing a bitter song . that flutter silently pas tIn the cold, after we part , the open temple door .it will be all the more wounding to hear . SHGazing at the Moon from South Towe rMoon tonight, and everyones moon-gazing ,but Im alone, and in love with this tower .Threads of cloud are shattered in the stream :trailing willow is the picture of late Fall.As it brightens, you can see a thousand peaks .Far off, the veins of ridges flow .Mountain passes . . .will I ever climb again ?I stand alone ,and let the border sadness rise .JPS
Han Yu (768-824) Liu Tsuny-vuan (773-819 ) Mountain Rocks ] River Sno w Ragged mountain rocks efface the path . A thousand mountains . Flying birds vanish . Twilight comes to the temple and bats hover . Ten thousand paths . Human traces erased . Outside the hall I sit on steps and gaze at torrential new rain . One boat, bamboo hat, bark cape — an old man . Banana leaves are wide, the cape jasmine is fat . Alone with his hook. Cold river. Snow . A monk tells me the ancient Buddhist frescos are goo d and holds a torch to show me, but I can barely see . I lie quiet in night so deep even insects are silent . From behind a rise the clear moon enters my door . TB & C P In the dawn I am alone and lose myself , wandering up and down in mountain mist . Then colors dazzle me : mountain red, green stream , and a pine so big, ten people linking hands cant encircle it . Bare feet on slick rock as I wade upstream . Water sounds shhhh, shhhh . Wind inflates my shirt. A life like this is the best. Why put your teeth on the bit and let people rein you in ? O friends, my party of gentlemen , how can we grow old without returning here ? TB & CP -a+ 58 mt. --Au 59 re .
Quatrai n Wu Pen (Chia Tao, 779-MI ) At the bottom of the ocean : moon , bright moon, round as the wheel After Finishing a Poe m of the sky . Just get a single han d full of this glory . . . Those two lines cost me three years : and you could buy a thousand miles of Spring . I chant them once, and get two more, of tears . Friend, if you dont like them . . . Ill go home, and lie down , in the ancient mountain autumn . JP S Overnight at a Mountain Templ e Flock of peaks hunched u p and colored cold . Path fork s here, toward the temple . A falling star flares behind bare trees , A Letter Sen t and the moon breasts the current of the clouds . To the very top, few men come ; The familys living up Brocade Creek , one tall pine wont hold a flock of cranes . while Ive struggled off to this distant sea . One monk here, at eighty, Of ten letters sent, maybe one gets through , has never heard tell and when it does it say s of the "world " down below . another year s gone by .
Parting with the Monk Ho-la n Extempore Midnight, heartWild monk, come to make a parting startled ,with me . We sit a while on the san d I rise ,beside the welling source . . . to take the path to Long Cascade :A far way youll g o groves trees swallowed in white dew, a dipperon an empty alms bowl , of stars, in the clear dark sky .deep among mountains ,treading fallen flowers .Masterless Chan, ou rown understanding . . . JP sWhen you ve got it, theres no plac efor it but a poem . This partings nothingfated : orphan clouds just never settle down .The Swordsma nTen long years Ive honed this sword :frost white blade as yet untried .Today, like any other gentleman ,its looking for injustice . -a+ 62 rc. a+ 63 rG
Autumns Col d~S+ Po Chu -i (772-M6) heres my snowy crown time s tinted decrepitud eStaying at Bamboo Lodge theres the frost in the courtyard autumn s glittery breat han evening sitting unde r now Im sick and just watching my wif e the eaves of the pine s pick cure-allsat night sleepin g then Im frozen waiting for the maid in Bamboo Lodg e to comb my hairthe sky so clear youd sa y without the body it was drugs what use fame ?meditation so deep, though t worldly things Id gone home to the hill s Ive put asid e but Clever can t bea t tranquilly Stupi d I delve my hear t and Quick wont match determined now Quie t to learn from Empty Boats !Untoiling-ness! (you just cant pave the Way )thats it! the Gate of Mystery! Above the Pon d mountain monks over their chess game si t over a board wher e bamboo shadows plainly sho w and though through sunset s glar e no bamboo can be see n sometimes I hear a soun d like chess men falling
Pondside May : The Ponds Ful lIve finished the pavillio n May and the ponds full of wate r on the ponds west ban k wandering turtles, dancing fishcleared out the trees I love it so much Ive across to the east started a house thereand this despite the tribal disparities of men and fis h no one understands . . for what makes both happy, makes both on ebut I just wanted a place fact is, Ive become a disciple an d to wait on the moo n transcendentally together we pass the day s they, given up on the Vast Oceans II have taken charge of cattails and the duckwee d I, quit from the Blue Sky Bureaucracyknife in hand I am pleased to crawl amongst the bean row s chop the thick bambo o but though were of a kin dfor the less the bambo o were not River Dragon type s the more the win d and when cloud and rain com eand thi s its just us pond critters here ! no one comprehends . . .but all I want i s to make waves on the pond Crane though everyone possesse s some skil l all creatures at heart lack constanc y some say youre a dancer . . . best stick to standing on fences
Lute r-ad Tung-shan Liang Chich (807-869) my lute set aside on the little tabl e Green Mountains father white clouds : lazily I meditat e white clouds are the children of mountains . on cherishing feelings White clouds hang around all day . the reason I dont bother Mostly the mountain doesnt mind . to strum and pluck? ther e s a breeze over the string s and it plays itself JP S JMC
Hsueh-feng Yi Tsun (821-906) Shen Ying (fl 86O-874) Ten thousand miles without on e Old Mon k blade of grass . Far, far, colors lost in smoke and haze . Kalpa s Sun shines bac k so long . . . Whats the use from West Mounts snows: of shaving your head and leaving home? old monks gate s not open yet. Water pitchers frozen JPs to the pillars plinth : banked night fire almos t lost in the stoves ashes . His boy is sick , gone home . Cold fawn nuzzle s at his door . Temple bell, and knowin g grows nearer : bird from the branc h will drop in to shar e of the mendicants meal . JPs
Chih Liang (<_ .850) Liang Yi (C . 850 )Singing of Cloud Mountai n Answering Lu YeI. I heard wind and waterfall in a dream : I have nothin gPeople may talk about a ladder to heaven . else to send you .Ten million rungs, and each an illusion . . . The wheel outside the door is just the moon .Better the old ma n Those objects hanging from the eaves ,sitting, on the cliff just Autumn clouds .Breeze clear, moon bright ,and his heart ,the same .II . JPsCloud Mountain s to pand the white clouds, level.Climb to the top and then youll knowjust how low the world is .Strange herbs, rar eblossoms people wouldnt recognize ,and a spring that runs dow nin nine separate streams.JPS
rad Hsiu Nu (Late 9lh Cenfurv) Huai Su (Late 9th Century ) Longing for an Old Garden Written on Mr. Changs Painting of the Drunken Mon k I remember a garden I used to visit ; just thinking about it leaves me heartsick . Everybody sends him wine . . . I sit alone in the weeds along the ban k Hes no need to beg or barter . as the river flows away into a long spring day . Trailing his days away beneath the pine s propped against the winepo t JHS The Master of the Brush when he seeks True Accomplishmen t drinks himself mad for starters, and threatens to paint himsel f into the picture. JPs
Ching Yun (Late 9th Cenrurv ) Kum Hsiu (832-912 )Painting a Pine Moonlit NightThis time I think as I wander aimlessly under a frozen moo nI got it : one pine real a flute pours its beauty from a nearby tower .as the real . then morning breezes begin to rise and gust — the river already a carpet of scattered white blossoms .Think about it :search in memory, is itreal, or not? JH SGuess Ill have to goback up the mountain . . .South past Stonebridge ,the third one on the right . . .JPS Letter to the Wild Mon k Other than the birds , who loves you ? Lordly peaks, you r neighbors. White head cold pillowe d on a stone . Grey robe ragge d but not soiled . Chestnuts pile up on your path . Monkeys circle where you sit . If you ever set up another Zendo , I swear 111 be the one who sweeps the floors .
Moored on Fall Rive r To an Old Monk on Mount Tien Ta iBanks like Lake Tung-ting, bu t Living alone where none other dwells ,the hills too steep . shrine among the pines where mountain tints encroach , old mans been ninety years a monk :Boat floats the clear stream, bu t heart beyond the clouds a lifetime long .the cold climbs in my berth . White hair hangs down, his heads unshaven : clear black pupils smile deep mysteries .White moon rides a high wind , He can still point to the orphan moo nand I can t sleep. for me alone, relaxes his discipline, this moment .Among the withered reed sthe fisherman sa nightmare . Thinking of the Old Mountains Toward the End of Autum nSpending the Night in a Little Villag e Used to live north of Square Hut . . . Nobody knew my name .Hard traveling, and then Up through the clouds to harvest my grain ,a little village, for the night : climbing like an ant into the tree to pick the oranges .a year of plenty, chickens, dogs , Saw a tiger wander by that lonesome village . . .its raucous as a market town . Anyone could grow white haire dCome out to meet the stranger in the dusk: living a life like that .whole families, laughing, happy :beneath the moon ,seining up fish from the pool. JPs
Tzu Lan (c.890 ) Yun Piao (9th-10th Century) Cold Food Festival DaySno wdense, soundless, falling through azure emptines s The Day of Cold Food, sadly lookin gswirling clouds sing and dance in the soft breeze . on the Spring outside the city wall :as the recluse hums a line in praise of hidden place s no place in the wild fields that doesnt somehowvagrant flakes drift in and stain his inkstone black . wound my spirit . The Broad Plains already scarred with grave mounds : now well add a few, and half of the m were mourners here, last year .JHS JPS
Chih Hsuan (fl 874-889 ) Yin Nan (9th-10th Centtirv )In Praise of Flower s Lut eblossoms opened and turned the forest re d its seven strings call forth strange, deep thought sthen fell and left ten-thousand empty branche s swirling waters and evergreen winds wait beneath my finger sonly one remnant flower lingers o n I need a listener to draw out these subtle current scrimson sun, hanging in the wind . I would teach , but who will listen?JHS Meeting an Old Man on the road I met an old ma n both our heads white as snow . we walked one mile, then tw o taking four rests, then five . JHS
Shu Shan Kuany jen (9th-10th Century ) Hsu Hsua nMy road s beyond blue emptiness . . . Lung-men Village, AutumnTher e s no place the white clouds cant go .Here, theres a trunkless tree : Refusing worldly worries ,the wind gives all of its yellow leaves back . I stroll among village strollers . Pine winds sing, the evening villag e smells of grass, autumn in the air .JPs A lone bird roams down the sky . Clouds roll across the river . You want to know my name ? — a hill, a tree . An empty drifting boat . SH
Lin Ho-thing (965-1026 )Mountain Valley Templ eJust gettingInto the Zen Grove ,Im still less inclined to leave .Massed peaks and deep gorge sCircle a lofty cliff.Tower and terrac ePierce into the col dPast cloud and vegetation .Bell and chim eRap clearlyAlong creeks and rock ,Lifting tea-trays ,A boy takes them to clean .Leaning on his staff,The old monk relaxes .A solitary chamber —I read inscriptions here ,Nearly make a title out ,Brush the dappled moss .
Monastery on Hsiu-chi Self-Portrait at a Little Hermitage Down below Bamboo and tree s By the district tow n Wind round my hut : Mountain cliffs Pure, deep , Reveal hinting at more . A monastery gate . Idle cranes Across the Huai delt a Prolong their watergazing. An occasional bell tolling . Lazy bees sip flowers . One path enter s Hungover , The root of a cloud . I can t open a book , Bamboos so ol d Go hoeing The wind drones through . In spring shade . Pool so pure , Its ancient sourc e And sympathize Appears . With the old-time painters , Drawing woodcutters A lofty monk And fishermen . Dusts the sutra stand : Tea and talk Till dark .
Living as a Recluse on the Lake On the Lake Returning Lat e Lying back,Lakewate rComes into the yard . Bulwark for a pillow ,Mountains Homebound thoughts so pur eWind round my hut . I mistake the view ahea dA recluse For Immortals Island .Should avoid the world . Through the bridge spa nNormally shut, Autumn has tinted trees and water.The unused doors turned blue with moss . Evening just clearing,Guests arrive , Temples leanFrightening white birds to flight . Into cloudy peaks.Selling herbs , Avoiding me on sight ,I almost hate to price them,Love watering the garden KingfishersAccording to nature . Make a wet takeoff . Scent of red lotusAnd how abou t Wafts in welcome .India Roa dThrough the woods , I gradually nearStill reaching deep autumn A vague clearing .In a distant , Through the wood sBlue dream? chickens and dogs Distantly squabble .
Spring Day on West Lake A Recluse on Orphan Mountai n (Written on a Wall)My talent Until deep into mountain and rive rWon t compareWith Tu Mu-chih s The gibbons and birds are few . This lifetime I still might move :But writing poem s Above the creek past India Village .Out on the lake Log for a bridge ,Is worth a try. Ill build a little hut .In spring mis tA monastery drumSounds the forenoon meal . PHIn evening ligh tRestaurant flag sCrown buildings and terraces .Thickly drifting ,Mingled scentsPerfume the cliffs .In wet flightTwo kingfisher sBrush the ripples .A good thin gPeople weaveGrass hats and raincoats ,Board boats ,Become fishermen .
Chih Yuan Ill ride my inspiration , (fl late 10th century ) Make a casual visit .Sent to Retired Scholar Lin Ho-chin g PHReflectingIn the lake ,Mountain tints fade .How can dus tFrom the world oppress ?Far, far ,Color of mist and wave .Green, green ,Shade of cloud and tree .Overgrown with moss,the rocky paths precarious .Deep past Peach Sprin gA dog barks .There a sage-kingFollows his idle mind.When flowers bloo mHe even toasts them alone.When they fall,Chants poetry alone .In the empty courtyar dPrecious grasses grow .Under dim tree sImmortal birds call .For three yearsI haven t seen yo uHumble regre tFills my empty heart .FinallyWhen the Autumn Moons bright, tea+ 96 R-.
Sending Off Ssu Tuan to Return East HSi ChoU (fl late 10th centurv) In distant thought sTheme on the Officials Rest Pavillion , Springs and rock take life : You are shutting dow nWu-Tang Prefectur e Business among people .This prefectural pavillio n Packing clothesIs called Officials Retreat ; her e While trees in tow nLeisure itself commissions, sir , Drop leaves, you seek temple sThe heart . In the far coastal range : Sails reflectio nRoll up the scree n Confuses freezing geese ; chan tYou know a guest has come ; Of sutras drownsBirds stay the night , Dusk tide .A dangling lamp shows where .Tea mist strikes a boulder , Befor eCut off. Go stones echo , We even planFlower deep. Another visit, frost s Will nipSince to meet waits the luck My hair .Of a south-bound sail ,Ill seize the autumn ,Mail offThese mumbles . PH
Written at Candidate Hsus Villa on the Ti Rive r MO Tan (fL late kith centurv) The distan t Ferry road blurs ;Old Mon k A traveler s hear t I can t let go .Down his temple sTumbles snowy hair . Half the sky ,No talk for visitors . Mountains far and near ; Icy day, a rive rPatched rob e East and west. Wave sHugged tight, sitting On the slough shrinkEnds the day . How few springs Fishing nets; in driven san dDoes a floating life Lines of gees eKnow? To board a gangwa y Dip low.Evokes dreams of Yŭeh ;To grip his staff Frosty win dRecalls Chin rambles . Raises deep night , Missing onlyMidnight , A gibbon s howl .The frozen halls shut .A chime sounds :He hears i tEverywhere. PH
Sedge-Crown Courtyard Wen Chao (ft late IOth century ) Invisibly trailing , Sedge clumps and spreads :Hidden Garde n Sharp chill, sudden Rain clears .Deep in sprin gWhen it rains , Spent autum nJust a distant bridg e Idles strangers stroll . DuskReaches the village . Jumbles chirping crickets . Straggling Up mossy steps nearby, sedge-clump sFragrant orchids ? Level, link bamboo path sNo ones picked them yet ; Far-off.Fallen flowers? ButterfliesKnow first . Thick grass seals Back and forthAn unused path; open woods Tracks from hiking sticksReveal a low hedge . And clawprint of cran e Naturally crisscross .Since I leftThe hoeing s long-neglected .Im old myself,Hate being away so long . PH
Heng Chao (FL late 10[h cenhirv) rad Chien Chang (fl late }Oth century)Mid-Autumn Moo n Written on Master Heng Chaos Wal lTwilight rai n A Zen pat hCrosses vast space . River sky The autumn moss grows over ;Just grey-green . Icy windows bear streak s Of rain .Treeline sMiss lingering shadows . Piling wate r The true min dRetains different light. Everywher e Mysteriously integrate sHidden insects call . Roosting bird s Itself, but who appreciate sStartle to sudden flight, Good poems? Dew chills ; Cricket noises muffle .As if the eternal evening A light wind fansWere utterly impartia l Shadows of foliage .Overlooking me, murmu rA pure passage . As if intent , All day in the window White clouds .PH
Sending Off a Monk to Wu-tai Mountain Wei Feng (fl late I0th century )Mount Wu-ta iCrosscuts the Milky Way ; Sent to Academician Che nAlcedine rock freeze s at the Institute for the Illumination of LiteratureToward azure darkness . Deep autumnDrifted snows dont hol d Beyond the wilds ,Defiling heat ; tall fir This stranger climbs a terrac eBlock shooting stars . You se e Facing the capitol .Rock appear out the eavesWhen clouds recede, hear My long-distance lette rBorder bugles blo w Wasnt sealed and sen tIn sitting meditation . When, by wing of wild geese , Another arrived from you .The night you arriv e Frozen earth stunt sTo dwell in Zen, Border trees ; the pure heavensRinse your jug alon e Break up sickly clouds .In waterfall foam . Over limitless distanc e Your heart watches ; at eas e In the South Palace, your lette rPH Brilliant as brocade .
Grieving for Zen Master Chien Chang Hul Chung (f1 late IOth MINN )A frosty bel lAnxiously overrides the waterclock ; Visiting Yang Yun-shihs Villa on the Huai Rive rGrieving together,Dense sorrow dawns . The place is close , We got there in a hurr yGuests from the coas t And, hand in hand, turne dExchange his enlightened poems ; Toward the wilderness pavillion .Monks from these woodsDescribe his bearing while ill . The river dividin gThe cleansing sprin g Breaks the hills contour;Floats a fallen leaf; Spring s coming quickgreen sOn rock concentration s Burned-over fields .Chirping crickets assemble . We looked around so long , The fishermen reeled in their lines ,Turning, I view Talked so much, the crane sCloud Gate Mountain : All took off.Dwindling Sun descend sThe distant peak. Dont fret its late For the walk back ; A bright Moons climbin g Islands ahead .PH PH
Staying at the Residence of Academician Ting Yu Chao (late K th centurv) Chu Yen and Hsi Chou Didnt ArriveOffered to Gentlemen-in-Attendance Chie n At our private meetin gat the Library of Assembled Sage s You didnt appear . Forlorn, I loo k Toward your noble feelings .Spiritual cultivatio n Ive sat so longImplies relinquishing office ; The poetic source is silent ,Your pure name crown s Talked so much ,The Library of Assembled Sages . The rippling well stilled. Touchin g Icy trees, the Moo nExcellently travele d Goes out. Crickets chir pIn the prefecture of letters , Ignoring the cold lamp .You laugh and chat, front-ranke dOn the carriage of imperial service . Empty, I listen .Court morning you drop A templ eCrane-feather Taoist robes , West of the canal ,Though in the sleeping plac e The night bel lMaps of mountains hang . Rings out Strict purity .When this river mon kIs free for a solitary call ,Then well talkOf woods,Of springs . PH
Writing the Events of a Winter Day Wei Ye (d. ION) This year the first month , The days arent warm ; On an Autumn Night I Write My Feelings Ou t When cold hits the villag e What do people do ? Nearly midnight I sit in the woods alone ; Idl y Leaves fall everywhere Hearing a woodpecker — Brush my worn robe . Is a monk at the doo r Begging? Lunar shadows slowly shift; Crossed with snow , Cricket rythms tense . The pine tint deepens ; Dew glimmers surface ; Carrying ice , Cranes sound aloft . A creek crashes harsh . The Four Seasons rush old age ; Autumn especially affects me . I chant a poe m Ten-thousand aim s And turn to silent sitting : Twist the min d Too lazy to answe r Night really wears . The kids question . Alone , I trus t The pure win d Knows what I think : Mostly sighing In the courtyard bamboo , It helps the melancholy .
Farewell to Taoist Scholar Hs u Delight at a Call by Principal Graduate `Big Su non his Way to the Imperial Palace Tao the same , We forget `honored and `humble ,To receive And when youre around ,The Emperor s summons You often visit this rustic lane .Alters everyday relationships ,Yet taking no official pos t In perso nHow could you entangle We just use nicknames ;Your essence ? Our poem titles dont not e Official positions .I know your nature In our crazy chantsIs empty as a gourd, There is n t any malice ,And suspect that zither And sitting quietlyIs heavier than you are . Leaves a good feeling .Resting ,Think of nearby clouds ; Ill hate i tWalking, wai t When yo u re back at your office ;For flocks of cranes . The garden and hous e Might be har dUp in the wood s To stay around .To bid farewell ,I slowly realiz eThe simple world . 114 me, ? 115 ■c.
White Chrysanthemums Ode to Myself at Fort yThick fog? Lots of frost ? Though the idle min dLike there isnt any . Remains unmoved ,A brilliant ligh t I realize my memoryLights courtyard steps . Is imperceptibly failing.Why wait more Shrinking from go ,For fireflies or snow ? Its hard to amuse guests ;Beside a patch of chrysanthemums When lute-playing comes up,Its fine to read I call for my kid .At night. Too lazy to work ? The farm tools believe it . A scattered person ? My Taoist robes know . In times ahead How will I us e Brush and inkstone ? In the shade , Revising old poems .
Late Autumn Cherishing Thoughts of Master Jun Writing the Events of a Summer Day Wind s pure, Moon white : Normally The season of red trees . I hate going ou t No cur e The more so in a steaming swelter . For walls of mountai n Between me and Master Jun . Disincline d To slip a short smock on , I still love How can I drag long skirts around ? The deep night, The pine wind scoffs The creek racing past the step s At the present of a fan . Into White Lotus Pond . And a stone walls bette r Than imperial ice . Only this poverty And nothing to do , Constant melancholy Not easy to better .
Farewell to the Reverend Wu Yun g Farewell to the Reverend Huai K uReturning to the Chung-Ciao Mountains Going Roaming around Hangcho uLofty and fa r Just the day The leaves fall ,A temple in the Chung-Ciao Range . You remember a skyExploring it in autumn That bends toward the river .You forget the sheer,Steep road . Gibbon s Sneak acros sOverlooking a river. The roads you travel .Sandal tracks appear . SeagullsEntering the clouds , Glide asternA staffs shadow vanishes . Into the boat .From the Gallery of Statue s LoadedYou can spot trees in Chin . With books of poems ,See Shun s capito l Your sleeves are heavy .From a library window . Bowl and bag Dangling at the end ,The spot on the wal lWhere I wrote a poem , The staff you shoulde rTake an idle glance there , Slants .I think you ll start pacin gBack and forth. Lets set a dat e for a temple on West Lake . Well look into joinin g The White Lotus Order . PH
Wang An-shih o02I-10W Puppets are gadgets and nothing more , None of their kind has roots to tend .Selections from Twenty Poem s i I have been behind their stagein the Style of Han Shan and Shih Te And seen with my own eyes. Then I discovered the audience , All their excitement completely controlled , I. Fooled by the puppets the livelong day , Tricked into tossing their wealth away .If I were an ox or a hors eI d rejoice over grass and beans .If, on the other hand, I were a woman ,Id be pleased at the sight of men .But as long as I can be true to mysel fI ll always settle for being me . IV .If taste and distaste keep you upset ,Surely you are being deceived : Luck is hard to find when youre down and out ,Gentlemen, with your heads in the stars , And easy to lose once youve got it .Dont confuse what you have with what you are ! Pleasure is what we need after pain , But pleasure, then, gives birth to greed . I know neither pleasure nor pain , I am neither enlightened nor dim . I am not attached to Future, Past, or Now , II . Nor do I try to transcend them .I have read a million book sSeeking to learn all there is to know ,But the wise always seem to keep it to themselves ,And who would listen to the other fools !How wonderful, to be one of the Idle Way ,Who leaps clear of each restraining clause ,Who knows that " Truth " lies deep inside the sel fAnd never can come from someplace else .
Allegory On the RiverNothing in the universe can be figured out . North of the River, autumns wet umbr aLeaves drop, while pine branches scoff at age . clears halfway ,Still, a blossoming peach makes me feel like a sage —Here we are, without a doubt, still having doubts! But evening clouds, full of rain , still remain . In a tangle of green mountains the Way seems to disappear , Then, all of a sudden, a thousand other sails , now there, now here .Miscellaneous PoemClouds appear free of car eAnd carefree drift away .But the carefree mind is not to be "found" —To find it, first stop looking around .
Hui-chu Temple, Mount Kun Pao-chuch Tsu-hsin (1025-M Mountaintops emerge and then vanish , lakes and rivers ebb and flood . Ninety fragrant days of Sprin g the wandering bee delves the flowers . Trees and gardens almost float , When all of that fragrance is safe in the hive , temples and towers swarm across the hill . where do the petals fall ? A hundred miles of fishing boats, a thousand hidden homes . JPS Visitors seldom come . Bittersweet, sitting zazen with the monks . SH
Tien-ho Templ e Su Tung-po su Shah, 1037-10D Green tiles, red railings from a long way off this temples a delight .Presented to Liu Ching-we n Take the time to take it in , then you wont need to look back, turningLotus withered, no more umbrellas to the rai n your head a hundred times .A single branch, chrysanthemum stands against the fros t Rivers low : rocks jut .The good sights of the year : remember thos e Towers hide in whirling mist .and now too : citrons yellow, tangerines still green . Dont roar, dont rail against it . The sound would just fade in that distance . Song to the tune nan ho tz uA Harmony to Ching Hui-shus Rhyme s rapt in wine against the mountain rain s dressed I dozed in evening brightnes sBells and drums from the south bank of the river . and woke to hear the watch drum striking daw nHome? Startled, I wake from the dream . in dreams I was a butterflyClouds drift : so also this world . my joyful body ligh tOne moon: this is my minds light .Rain comes as if from an overturned tub . I grow old, my talents are used u pPoems too, like water spilling . but still I plot toward the retur nThe two rivers compete to see me off; to find a field and take a cottag eIn the treetops the slanting line of a bridge . where I can laugh at heroe s and pick my way among the muddy puddle s on a lake side path
To the tune of huan chi sh a Drinking with Liu Tzu-yu at Gold Mountain Templ e "I wandered along the Chi-shui to Clea r (I got very drunk, and lay down on Pao Chueh s Spring Monastery . The monastery faces Orchi d meditation platform . Towards midnight I rallied and wrote this o n Creek, and the creek flows to the West . " his wall: ) below the hill the lily shoot s Bad wine is like bad men , are yet to break the surface of the strea m their assault as fierce as swords and arrows . the sandy path among the pines is dr y Limply ascend the meditation platform though cuckoos cry, in mournful rai n and overcome it by not struggling . who says that youth will never come agai n The old poet gets his second wind , before the gate the waters still run Wes t the Zen master s speech pure and gentle . dont let your few white hairs Im drunk, almost senseles s make you mimic Pos yellow coc k aware only of red and green swirls . too early crying, When I sober, the moon sinks in the river , morning. the sound of the wind changed . Only one altar lam p the two heroes both out of sight . JPS CL a+ 130 131 ea,
Reversible Vers e(Poem read forward ) (Poem read in reverse )Inscription For Gold Mountain Temple (I ) Inscription For Gold Mountain Temple (II)Tides follow hidden waves . The snow mountain tilts. Gulls are weightless, a few dots . A thousand peaks are blue .Distant fishing boats are hooking the moonlight. Water joins the clouds edges in four distant views .Bridge facing the temple gate . The pine path is narrow . Bright day . Sea glows with scarlet clouds on clouds .Doorsill by the fountains eye where stone ripples transparently . Dawning sky and river trees are green, and far, far .Far, far green trees — the river sky is dawning . Transparent ripples from the stone eye : fountain by the doorsill.Cloudy, cloudy scarlet afterglow . The sea is sun bright . A narrow path and pine gate where the temple faces the bridge .Viewing the distance : four horizons of clouds joining the water . A bright moon hooks boats . Fishing waters are distant.Blue peaks are a thousand dots . A few weightless gulls . A tilted mountain is a snow wave, secretly following tides . TB&CP
ShOU Chuan (late Ilth century) Tsan Liao Tzu (Tao chien, c. 1077 ) Returning Alone Summer Nigh t under a declining sun, as cicadas cry A pine fragrance I return alone to the temple in the woods Fresh from meditatio n whose rough pine doors are never pulled shu t Raise the slivered moon edging along beside me . the curtain Receive evenings cool grassy forms crystallize amidst mist-shrouded force s Exquisite, nestled i n the scent of blossoms saturates the air with pungent mystery . green bamboo , The moo n now and then I hear dogs barking , Wordles s once again press my way between green creepers . Crossing the eastern wall . JHS Morning Awakening Dark crane trills daybrea k Temple bell stirs the hillsid e Clear moo n slips into the maple grove Shadows sully my robe . -a, 1 34 me- ra, 135 es,
The Little Hu t Autumn Night on the Rive rOne hut holds it al l Rain obscures the green river Evening not yet calmSo where s the sense in great and small ?Precious it is, hermit ! At the well, phoenix-leave sAn empty vault without a speck of dust . stir up autumn s music Rooftops cut the sigh of midnight breezes The moonlight, there, in floating cloud shallow places bright .Hut Mountai nTall pines squeeze the roadSunset brightBreeze hugs the leave s Seventeenth Night of the Eighth Month ,Locusts long, faint droneEncouraging traveler s Written in a Dreamto linger a while . . .Outside the mountain s Midnightthere is nothing so pure . Fall Rive r No one aroun d Green lotus lifts fro m the dew in fresh flower . River gods and water sprite s come together to drink . One handful and I forge t My birth My life My spirit -ad 136 ev e, -a+ 137 R-
Chih- u Chueh On the Huai River I (lth- 12 th Centurv ) I. My family lives on Orphan Peak, Reed tips face the daw n all year long, the gate half shut . shivering in the autumn win d I sigh that my body has aged , At P u-k ou the winter tid e has not yet com e but Ill hand on my Way to my childre n Sunrise on the sandy ban k pocked with narrow cave s Pale frogs and dark crab s creep without end . JPS II . Tonight on the sandy hill the moon rises late Fireflies swarm like rain around my boa t Pity their brilliance, thoug h it is boundles s Does it match one inch of the moons glow ? Sky broad, dark cloud s bow and embrace the tree s Sand frozen, terns and egrets want human kindnes s A small boat anchored . . . whose house is that ? With tall bamboo and far off flowers . . . It seems like Spring. CL
1 1o Chen (Ith-I2th centurv?) Ski-an Liao Yen (Ith Century) Night in Mid-Autum n All that falls none other tha n all that is, not dirt . . . Mountains, rivers, the great broad eart h Swift waters ; soft, quie t like gently rustling locust s or in the dew, is manifest : I sit in an empty pavilion Body of the Buddha . alone but for the jagged peak s the coupled ranges gone white with sno w moonlight has captured the black night JP S JHS - 140 rc~ 141 re-
Tao Kai (d l )End of the Roa dhere I am, seventy-si xa lifes worth of karma just about gone .alive, I don t lust for Heaven;dead, I wont worry about Hell .Ill loose my grip and lie down beyond the worl dgiven in to fate, freely, without constraint . YuanJHS 1280-1341
rao Id kUCi (13th Centurv )Lone Mon kUnder the pines, dark essenc edwells.One monk sits, orlies down, alone .When hes hungry, hel lfind fallen fruit, thirsty,tip the gourd .JPs
Po-tzu Ting (13th-14th centurv?) Liao Hsing (d 1317 ) Inscription for a Painting Exhorting Others the withered tree stands tall, craggy a pair of white birds soars into the sky like an old monk. they never miss the moments of change . on every side green hills encircle azure water s windblown, rain-bedraggled: straight is the Way, beyond this orb . simpleminde d spring comes ; autumn goes, soundless, invisible ; its solitary branches reach up, unbent by the world . Watching the Flowers some prefer peach blossoms— swollen, lush ; others the handsome plum-flower, gorged with sap . Self-Exhortation my heart too is concentrated on nothing else . I see these hills, hear the streams — and all grief fade s is this allowed? amidst coiled mountains, I cross endless flooded brook s am lost among steep crags and raging torrents . and by whom? timeless and unchanging, each and every twist and turn . JHS JHS
riad Na Chih-vuan (1260-1325) Chang Yang-hao (d c . 1340) Evening Bells Near a Templ e Tung Pass Under the thin smoke of winter , Masses of mountain peaks, the old temple is quiet . waves as if in a rage — After sundown , the road to Tung Pas s all the visitors are gone . winds among mountains and rivers . On the west wind, three , Looking west to the capital , four chimes of the evening bell . my heart sinks . How can the old mon k Where the thousand armie s concentrate on zazen? of Chin and Han once passed , I grieve : ten thousand palace s ground into dust for nothing . SH Dynasties rise, people suffer ; dynasties fall, people die . SH
Ching Kung (d 1352 )End of the Roa dthe green hills dont ask for bodies and bone sand once youre dead, who needs a grave anyway ?no "flames of Nirvana" for m emy only issue a few sticks of unlit tinder . fling 1368-IG44Mountain Dwellingthings of the past are already long gon eand things to be, distant beyond imagining .The Tao is just this moment, these words :plum blossoms fallen ; gardenia just opening .JHS -ad 150 ee,
Tai An (d 1403 )Calling out to Buddh acalling out to Amida is calling your own hear tthe heart is Buddha no place else .look to the forests, the pools, the pond slet day and night sing Dharmas song .JHS
Miao Hui (15th Century ) To Yuan (fl 1404-1425) Early Plum sTrained Flowers : Wild Grasseswhen the mouth smiles, ten thousand cold, colorless treesthe heart had better smile too . only their south-facing buds have started to ope nwhere Buddha-nature flourishes , trailing faint perfume above the half-thawed curren tcan dreams be less than rich ? shadows : closing above my rustic hut .garden flowers and wild grasses are just the same .others speak out ; JH S not me .JHS a+ 154 ewe, ra+ 155 ee,
and I smile up at i t Han Shan Tc-ching (1546-1623 ) above the dirty suffering worl dMountain Living: Twenty Poem s IV . I. it only took a single flake to freeze my mind in the snowy nightdown beneath the pines a few clangs to smash my dream s a few thatched huts among the frosted bell sbefore my eyes and the stoves night fire fragranc e everywhere blue mountain s too is melted awayand where the sun and moo n yet at my window the moo n restless rise and fal l climbs a solitary pea kthis old white cloud idly comes and goes V. II . through a face full of clear frostiness raw cold bite swhen plum petals among the snow s through a head overstuffed with white hai r first spring fre e a gale whistle sfrom the ends of night and over the world from flowers of emptines s a dark fragrance flie s shadows fal lto the cold lantern but from my eyes the spells of darknes s where I sit alon e have completely melte dand suddenly storms my nostrils wide VI . in the sh sh murmur of the sprin g I hearthrough a few splinters o f moon clear the primal Buddha pulse white cloud motionless come from the Wes tthe Buddha wheel bright moo n with motionless tongu e comes flying eternally spea kto accompany me how can I be sad again? in my mountain stillness how strange -ad 156 re, -so 157 ev e-
VII . I should pity these weak bone sin the dark valley th e but look! my consciousness is rebor n orchid scent is overwhelming my mind strengthen sand at midnight the moons for m day and night my back so gracefully sways b y is like an iron ro dlike a sudden flick of th e constant and pervasive is my meditatio n stag tail whisk like an evenings fros treasonless i t smashes my meditatio n XI . VIII . in the empty valley all filth is wiped awayin its Buddha flash Id forgot all but this bit of lazy cloud reason quieted in contemplatio n stays o nwhen an orphan brilliance glared o n for company I have the pine branches my meditation, startling me twitching stag tail whisk sand I saw off through the voi d which is almost enough dee r lightning strik e to make a her dbut it wasnt the same as that firefly beneath my eye s XII . IX . words an enchanted film across the eyesclouds scatter the length of the sky chan rain passes ove r floating dust on the mindthe snow melts in the chill valley yet all ins and outs become on e as Spring is born with one twirl of the lotu sand though I feel my bodys lik e and the chilocos m the rushing wate r whole in my bodyI know my minds no t as clear as the ice XIII . a quiet nigh t X. but the bell toll will not stop and on my stone bed dreams and thought sIm so rotted out alike seem unrea l opening my eyes -so 158 re. -a+ 159 re.
I dont know where I a m XVII .until the pine wind sound s fill my ears what a pity the blue mountain s go on foreve r this old white hair is petrifie d XIV . of the time to come and plans to burn himself ou tlike some pure clarity amongst the inns down in the dus t distilled out of a jeweled mirro r anyway who ever hear dthe Spring waters of a lazy transcendental ? fill the many lake sreflect up into my eye s here on Mt . Lu XVIII .and the moon above my forehea d becomes a bright pear l on the mountainside mournfully sipping the night rai n to the pine sound s XV . throat choking on clear fros t gone to beg foo dsix on the lotus clock? this Buddhas priest is a tired bird the stick s too shor t until the moth brow crescen tand on the incense piece moon arises new made u p where s the century mark?day and night are truly constan t and stop nowhere X1X.to know immortality in the mornin g hold in your hand the womb of the flower to be the world shine s like a watery moo n my body and mind XVL glisten like porcelai n though I see the ice mel tthough a slice of clou d the torrents descen d seals the valley mouth I will not knowa thousand peaks the flowers of Sprin g scratch open its emptines sand in the middl e are a few thatched hut s XX .where hidden deep i s outside my door this white haired mountain man blue mountains bouquet
before the windo w yellow leaves rustle To Hsiang (d. k336 )I sit in meditation without the least word Poets Ze nand look back to se e my illusions completely gon e no hiding the pain I feel as twilight darken s incense from India may not be ritual enough . every day, after chanting the Heart three times , I give in, again, to the seductions of poets Zen .JMC JHS
Ching IG44-1908 gLRepublican Era 1911-present
Shih Shu (c . 1703 )the human body is a little univers eits chill tears, so much windblown slee tbeneath our skins, mountains bulge, brooks flow ,within our chests lurk lost cities, hidden tribes . wisdom quarters itself in our tiny hearts .liver and gall peer out, scrutinize a thousand miles .follow the path back to its source, or else b ea house vacant save for swallows in the eaves .as flowing waters disappear into the mis twe lose all track of their passage .every heart is its own Buddha ;to become a saint, do nothing.enlightenment : the world is a mote of dust ,you can look right through heavens round mirro rslip past all form, all shapeand sit side by side with nothing, save Tao .JHS
Monks Plac e Yuan Nei (17K-798 ) Monks plac e Rolling up the Curtai n lean the painted rail . Rolled up the curtain on the window, North , Eyes play wind blows, Springs colors, cold . gazin g One monk, one sprig of cloud, on the plain . together at Green Mountains peak . A little rain beyond a thousand miles . An evenings sun red s half the village . Breeze cool , a sense of flower s gathering . The hall is small the Buddhas incense mild . There, where, last nigh t we playe d at chess . . . On mossy step a fallen man lies still .
Late Gazing (Looking for an Omen as the Sun Goes) By Accident Here, Ive seen every temple , asking naught, as the Buddha knows .Windows dark, roll back the curtains waves :whats to be done about sunsets ? But the moon cameClimb up and stand, in some high place , as if to rendezvous ,lusting, for a little more last light . and the clouds went off without goodbyes .II In the inns a decent bite to ea t was hard to come by ,From a thousand houses cook fires fumes, But in my carriagethe Changes weave a single roll of silk . poems came easy .Whose house, the fire still unlit, so late ?Old crow knows whose, and why . Going back the baggage will be heavier : Two or three seedlings of pine .II IGolden tiles crowd, row on row :men call this place the Filial Tombs .Across that vastness, let eyes wander :grand pagoda : one wind-flickering flame .
Late, Walking Alone to a Temple in the Mountains Clef t Just Don eFour sides green peaks A month alone behind closed door s wind, make a wall . forgotten books, remembered, clear again .Though the eaves drip rain, Poems come, like water to the pool in the hall, theres sunlight . Welling,Look hard, but cant make ou t up and out , the way I came . from perfect silence .I turn, and ask the monk how he got here to greet me .Temple of the Bamboo GroveLate, passed the Temple of the Bamboo Grove . Gone Again to Gaze on the Cascad eIn slanting sun, the corners of the wallssunk deep in shade . A whole life without speaking,Windy lamp, the red unsteady . "a thunderous silence "Misty willows, green, held deep and still . that was Wei-mas Way .Monks few, stone chimes are often silent : And here is a place where no monk can preach .trees many, sunlight, and shade too . I understand now what Tao Chien, enlightened ,Ears catch a hint of Buddhist chanting : said, he couldn t say .my horses bells have a pure clear tone . It s so clear, here, this water my teacher .
Pu-to Templ e MottoA temple, hidden, treasure d When I meet a mon k in the mountains cleft I do bow politely .Pines, bamboo When I see a Buddh a such a subtle flavor : I dont .The ancient Buddha sits there, wordles s If I bow to a Buddh aThe welling source speaks for him . the Buddha wont know, But I honor a monk: hes apparently here now .Mornings Aris eMornings aris eto find ten thousand kind s Just Doneof pleasures . Possessed of but a dwelling plac eEvenings sleep : the singl e the heart may rest in quiet .mantra (now, the heart) i s The flavor of disirelessnes snothingness lasts longest . So a boy runs offNo knowing in this worl d to snatch atwhich, of these ten thousand things, i s floating willow silks :me . If he didnt capture them how could he let them go?
Mad Word s Laughing at Myself for Lazing Around at West Lak e (having started the year with poems planning to g oTo learn to be without desir e to Tien-tai with Liu Chih-ping) you must desire that.Better to do as you please : It takes a lot of bamboo strips to make a little sail , sing idleness . it only took a few to make these sandals .Floating clouds, and water idly runnin g But to get from sailing on West Lak e Wheres their source ? to walking up Tien T ai mountain . . .In all the vastness of the sea and sky , You could say that in my thousand mile trek to find a Zen Maste ryoull never find it . I stopped off first down in the country, to gab with my good ol d friends. JP sNearing Hao-p a(I saw in the mist a little village of a few tilled roof sand joyfully admired it . )Theres a stream, and theres bamboo , theres mulberry and hemp .Mist-hid, clouded hamlet ,a mild, tranquil place .Just a few tilled acres .Just a few tiled roofs .How many lives would Ihave to live, to ge tthat simple .
Hsu Ku 09th Century) Chan Cheng 09th centurv? ) i Poem of Thanks Before My Eye s while my body s at home, my heart takes a little tri p The fragrance comes i n right or wrong, good or bad, who can tell ? at the window : a light breeze , the only valuable thing in life is enlightenmen t sun not yet setting . a tree full of blossoms : a sliver of sunset clouds . Awake, after I slep t through the midday session : Spring , a pair of swallows drop in take a sip from the flower . JHS JPs
Returning Cloud s Ching An (134H92I) Misty trees hide in crinkled hills blue green . Night Sitting The man of the Way s stayed long at this cottage in the bamboo grove . White clouds too know the flavo rThe hermit doesnt sleep at night : of this mountain life ; in love with the blue of the vacant moon .The cool of the breez e they have n t waited for the Vesper Bell to come on home again .that rustles the tree srustles him too .Written on the Painting "Cold River Snow "Dropped a hook, east of Plankbridge .Now snow weighs down his straw rain gear . Over King Yu Mountain With a Frien dIts freezing .The Rivers so cold the waters stopped running : Sun sets, bell sounds, the mist .fish nibble the shadows of plum blossoms . Headwind on the road : the going hard . Evening sun at Cold Mountain . Horses tread mens shadows .
On a Painting Crossing the Yang-chia Bridge Once More A pine or two , The face reflected in the stream s three or four bamboo , lost half its youthful color . the hut on the cliff is quiet . Spring wind Only the clouds come to visit . is as it was before, so too, the thousand willow boughs . Crows perch to punctuat e the lines of slanting sunset . Its hard to writ e as I pass this place once more . Moored at Maple Bridge Frost white across the rive r waters reaching toward the sky . At Hu-hou, Mourning for Kao Po-tz u All Id hoped for s los t in Autumns darkening . Though he was young, Ka o I cannot sleep, a ma n was the crown of Su-chou and Hu-kou . adrift, a thousand mile s It was only to see if he was still her e alone, among the reed flowers ; that I came today to this place . . . but the moonlight fills the boat. found a chaos of mountain s no word this evening su n this loneliness .
Laughing at Myself Po Ching (Su Ma,-shu, lam-1918) Cold cliff withered tre e The sea, the sky this knobby pated monk . . . where dragons were, I g o thinks there s nothing better than a poem . to war . Laughs at himself for striving so Blood in a bowl is water, black, mysterious , to write in the dust of the world , and earth, yellow. and scolds old Tsang K o for inventing writing, Hair wild, song long and and leading so many astray . steady, as you gaze ou t on the ocean s vastness . JP S Yi Shui, The River of Changes, sighin g soughing, when the ancient Ching K o set out toward a hero s death : Now, then, one sky, on e moon, all white , an emptiness as pur e as frost .
Written at White Cloud Chan Hall Beside West Lak e Passing Rushfields Where white clouds are dee p Where the willow shade is dee p Thunder Peak lies hidden . the water chestnut flourishes. A few chill-plums, a sprinkle of red rain . Endless, silver sand s After the fas t where the tides retreated . oh so slowly Thatched booths with wine flags flapping: the mud in my mind settled out . know, there s a market near . The image in the pool before the hut : A whole mountain of red leaves: fallen from that far off bell . a girl child carries kindling .Passing Pine Bank, I Was Moved Passing the Birthplace of Cheng Cheng-kung Last Loyal Defender of the MingOrphan lamp drew ou t a dream, a memory A passer-by points far off, and says ,a moonlit and shadowy confusio n " That s Lord Cheng s Rock . "then wind, and rain . White sand, green pines, beside the setting su nFrom the next door hut th e As far as you can se emidnight bell . how many sons of China left ?When I came again, youd gone . Monks robe, and tear sAll that crossing of rivers, tha t bow downplucking hibiscus, for whom? before the memorial stone . Ad 186 ec.. -a+ 187 rc_.
To Mei-wen in Kuangchou From Japa nJust now : heart flagged to hea r Spring rain on the pagoda roof, the neighbors girl so sweetly singing , and the shakuhachis sound . and I though t Will I ever see the Chekiang tidal bore again ?whats that "Southern Poet" up to now ? Grass sandals, broken bowl, and no one knows . . . So I wrote a couple of line s Treading on the cherry blossoms I will trudg ejust to ask news of you . across yet one more bridge .Here the flowers fall like rain :so much sadness in all this chaos . Headed East, Goodbye to an Elder Brothe r Rivertowns a pictur e run from our overturned cups . Together just a moment, this time: how many times harder to part ?Having Hope, or Holding O n From here the lone boat, the night , bright moon .In this life, to become a Buddh a Parting the clouds, wholl gaze outHow could I hope . . . upon the tower .Hermit dreams are undependabl eand my desires unconquered .Many thanks, my frien dfor all your kind inquiries ,but I suspect my fate s JPsto be just a poet-monk .
Hsu Yun Arent the same yet . (1■340-195~ ) Its just the pine wind Whistles another tune . Deep night white moon ,Sound of the Wind in the Pine s Drizzling already .an Afternoon and Night on Mount Lu Iv.1. The mountain is empty ; flute still .Courtyard-covering white de w Thought uninvolved.Moistens hidden orchids . A pine wind circling the cabi nLeaves fade ; a few flower s Calls right through the ear.Half retain their scent . Here s a monk with a talking habit ;The cold Moon hangs alone ; Midnight, the eternal teachin gNothing happening with people. Preaching `No Birth .Pine wind blows right through :Night waves cold .II .Swell after swell of pinewin dComb like waves at sea :Beat after beat of heavenly musi cStrummed on cloudy strings .Midnight, Tao fol kPurify their hearingAnd rise alone to burn incense :Moon ful lJust overhead .Zen heart peaceful and stil lInside white clouds .Autumn floods and spring mountains
Written for the Zen Man Te-jun At a Thatched Hut on the Flower Peak of Mount Tien-ta iat the Great Assembly at Fo-ye n Sitting with Dharma Master Jung Ching During a Long Rai nDays long ago do you remembe r Hard rain, our gathered firewood scant;Making circuits of the Buddha halls ? Lamp frozen, glimmers not at night .How could we know the age of Earth , In the cave, wind blows stones and mud .The Boundless steppes of Heaven ? Moss engravings weatherstrip rickety door .Chariots of wind I have ridde nAnd caught tigers on cloud-sprung feet . Brooks in torrent untiring ;Undersea I snared a dragon , Peoples words more and more rare .Moonlight streaming through the window . Where schemes calm heart ? Sitting in the lotus,Outside of time, flowers of wonder bloom , Wrapped in robes of Zen .Stamens touching space .At skys edge moon treesBreathe laurel perfume .Again I walk the pure, cool, earth ;Form-taking life thrives in the web ,Upholding the Dharma-king.
Feelings on Remembering the Day I First Produced the Min d Drawn some sixty years ago by karm a I turned life upside dow n And climbed straight on to lofty summits . Between my eyes a hanging sword , The Triple World is pure. Translators Empty-handed, I hold a hoe, clearing a galaxy . The As the `Ocean of Knowing-mind dries up , Pearls shine forth by themselves ; Space smashed to dust, a moon hangs independent. I threw my net through Heaven , Caught the dragon and the phoenix ; Alone I walk through the cosmos , Connecting the past and its people . PH , 194R-
TONY BARNSTONE has published many translations of Chines epoetry in literary magazines and is the co-author of Laughing Lost i nthe Mountains, Selected Poems of Wang Wei (Wesleyan Universit yPress) . His most recent book, Out of the Howling Storm, also fro mWesleyan, is an anthology of contemporary Chinese poetry .RICHARD B . CLARK, translator of the Hsin hsin ming, or verses o nthe faith-mind, by Seng Tsan, is resident teacher at the Living Dharm aCenter in Amherst, Massachusetts .JAMES M . CRYER, winner of a translators grant from the Nationa l Endowment for the Arts, is the author of Plum Blossoms, the complet e poems of China s greatest woman poet, Li Ch ing-chao, and translator of the poems of Li Po in Bright Moon/Perching Bird (Wesleya n University Press) . He is presently completing a book of translation s by Po Chu-yi .SAM HAMILLs translations from Chinese include Banished Immortal :Visions of Li Tai-po, Facing the Snow : Visions of Tu Fu, The Art ofWriting (by Lu Chi)< Endless River, and Midnight Flute . He has alsopublished two dozen other books including translations fro mJapanese, ancient Greek, Latin, and Estonian, and ten volumes o foriginal poetry and essays . He is Founding Editor at Copper CanyonPress .PAUL HANSEN, also an NEA grant winner, makes his living as apainter and printmaker . Hansen s poems have appeared in numerou sliterary magazines . Among his books are The Nine Monks and Lin He-jing : Recluse-Poet from Orphan Mountain from Brooding Heron Pres s and Before Ten Thousand Parks from Copper Canyon Press .CHRIS LAUGHRUN is presently studying Chinese at the Universit yof California, Berkeley.JOSEPH LISOWSKI is presently Professor of English at the Universit yof the Virgin Islands . His poems and translations have appeared i nnumerous magazines, including Negative Capability and The LiteraryReview . A selection of the poems of Wang Wei, The Brushwood Gate,
was published in 1984 by Black Buzzard Press . Suggested Readin g CHOU PING, who is presented here as co-translator with Ton y Barnstone, is a contemporary Chinese poet who writes mainly i n English . His poetry has appeared in many literary magazines, and a Robert Aitken, Taking the Path of Zen, North Point Press, Sa n large selection is featured in the anthology Out of the Howling Storm . Francisco, 1982 .JAMES H . SANFORD is the author of Zen-Man Ikkyu and editor of th e Robert Aitken, The Mind of Clover, North Point Press, San Francisco ,acclaimed volume of essays on Buddhist esthetics Flowing Trace s 1984 .(Princeton University Press) . His recently co-authored (with J . P .Seaton) translation of the complete poems of Shih Te, with harmon y Robert E . Buswell, Jr ., The Zen Monastic Experience, Princeto npoems by Chu Shih and Shih Shu, Shadowed Pines and Twiste d University Press, Princeton, 1992 .Boulders, will be published by Broken Moon Press . He teaches Asia nreligions at the University of North Carolina . Heinrich Duoulin, Zen Buddhism : A History, 2 Vols ., MacMillan, New York, 1990 .JEROME P . SEATON, professor of Chinese at the University of Nort hCarolina, Chapel Hill, has authored and co-authored several books o f Jan Fontein and Money L . Hickman, Zen Painting and Calligraphy,Chinese poetry in translation, including Wine of Endless Life (White Boston Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1970 .Pine Press), Bright Moon/Perching Bird (Wesleyan University Press )and Love and Time (Copper Canyon Press) . He is an advisory edito r Thich Nhat Hanh, Being Peace, Parallax Press, Berkeley, 1988 .of The Literary Review . Thich Nhat Hanh, Call Me By My True Names : The Collected Poems ,ARTHUR TOBIAS is the translator of the poems of Han-shan i n Parallax Press, Berkeley, 1993 .White Pine Press The View from Cold Mountain . Jack Kornfield, A Path With Heart, Bantam Books, New York, 1993 .JAN W . WALLS is presently completing a book of translations of th epoetry of Wang An-shih . His translations have previously appeared i n w Kenneth Kraft, ed ., Zen Tradition and Transition, Grove Press, NeSunflower Splendor and The Literary Review . He is the director of th e York, 1988 .David Lam Centre for International Communications of Simon Frase rUniversity in Vancouver . , David Pollack, Zen Poems of the Five Mountains, Scholars Press Decatur, Georgia, 1985 . y Bill Porter, Road to Heaven : Encounters with Chinese Hermits, Mercur House, San Francisco, 1992 . . Red Pine, The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma, North Point Press, 1987 Gary Snyder, Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems, Grey Fox Press, Sa n ea, 198 R . -s+ 199
Francisco, 1958 .D . T . Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, Princeton University Press ,Princeton, 1973 .Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginners Mind, Weatherhill, New York ,1970 .Burton Watson, trans ., The Zen Teaching of Master Lin-chi, Shambala ,Boston, 1993 .Alan W . Watts, The Way of Zen, Vintage Books, New York, 1957 .