Jia Dao (779-843)

Written On The Dwelling Of A Recluse

Even though you have a brushwood door,
it hasn't been shut for a long time;
A few clouds, a few trees
have been your only companions.
Still, I suspect if you stay longer,
people will learn of this spot;
We'll see you moving
higher on the mountain.
Brushed on a Hermit's Hut
Although you brushwood door is hardly ever shut,
And a slice of clouds one solitary tree
help you idle away your time.
Yet I suspect if you stay here longer people will find you,
Then you'll move even deeper in the mountains!

 

Jia Dao :

Tao Qian (365-427)

"Returning to the Farm to Dwell" 

I

 From early days I have been at odds with world;

My instinctive love is hills and mountains.

By mischance I fell into the dusty net

And was thirteen years away from home.

The migrant bird longs for its native grove.

The fish in the pond recalls the former depths.

Now I have cleared some land to the south of town,

Simplicity intact, I have returned to farm.

The land I own amounts to a couple of acres

The thatched-roof house has four or five rooms.

Elms and willows shade the eaves in back,

Peach and plum stretch out before the hall.

Distant villages are lost in haze,

Above the houses smoke hangs in the air.

A dog is barking somewhere in the hidden lane,

A cock crow from the top of a mulberry tree.

My home remains unsoiled by worldly dust

Within bare rooms I have my peach of mind.

For long I was a prisoner in a cage

And now I have my freedom back again.

Wang Bo (650-676)

Wang Bo (650-676): In the Mountains

languid, long as the river, steeped in sorrow am I,

A myriad miles from home----to return, but when? I sigh.

And now as darkness nears, high are the autumn winds that   

On each and every mountain, how the yellow leaves fly!

                                   

Translated by Andrew W.F. Wong (Huang Hongfa)     譯者: 黃宏發

Du Fu (712-770)

Spring View

Even though a state is crushed
Its hills and streams remain;
Now inside the walls of Chang’an
Grasses rise high among un-pruned trees;
Seeing flowers come, a flood
Of sadness overwhelms me; cut off
As I am, songs of birds stir
My heart; third month and still
Beacon fires flare as they did
Last year; to get news
From home would be worth a full
Thousand pieces of gold;
Trying to knot up my hair
I find it grey, too thin
For my pin to hold it together.

Mei Yaochen (1002-1060)

Writing of My Sorrow

Heaven’s already taken my wife,
Now it’s also taken my son.
My two eyes are still not dry,
My heart desires only death.
Rain falls and soaks into the earth,
A pearl sinks into the ocean’s depths.
Dive in the sea and you can seek the pearl,
Dig in the earth and you can see the water.
Only people return to the source below.
For all of time. This we know.
I hold my chest; to whom now can I turn?
Emaciated, a ghost in the mirror.

Tao Qian (132-194)

Returning to Live in the South 3

(translated by William P. Coleman)

I sow my beans below the southern hills,
but grass flourishes, while bean seedlings are scarce.
Mornings I rise to clear tangled waste space,
then, under the moon, carry my hoe coming home.
The path is narrow, through tall grass under trees;
its evening dew dampens my clothes.
But wet clothes don’t worry me —
not enough to separate me from my dream.

Chuang Tzu (370-270BC)

There was Lieh-tsze, who rode on the wind and pursued his way, with an admirable indifference (to all external things), returning, however, after fifteen days, (to his place). In regard to the things that (are supposed to) contribute to happiness, he was free from all endeavours to obtain them; but though he had not to walk, there was still something for which he had to wait. But suppose one who mounts on (the ether of) heaven and earth in its normal operation, and drives along the six elemental energies of the changing (seasons), thus enjoying himself in the illimitable,- what has he to wait for? Therefore it is said, "The Perfect man has no (thought of) self; the Spirit-like man, none of merit; the Sagely-minded man, none of fame."

Su Tung-po (1037-1101)

Shui Lung Yin

Like a flower, but not a flower
No one cares when it falls
And lies discarded at the roadside
But though
Unmoved, I think about
The tangle of wounded tendrils
Lovely eyes full of sleep
About to open,yet
Still in dreams, following the wind ten thousand miles
In search of love
Startled, time and again, by the oriole's cry

Do not pity the flower that flies off
Grieve for the western garden
Its fallen red already beyond mending --
Now, after morning rain
What's left?
A pond full of broken duckweed
If the three parts of spring
Two turn to dust
One to flowing water
Look --
These are not catkins
But drop after drop of parted lover's tears

 

Su Tung-po :

Niu Hsi-Chi (?)

SUNG TO THE TUNE OF
"THE UNRIPE HAWTHORN BERRY"

BY NIU HSI-CHI

MIST is trying to hide the Spring-coloured hills,
The sky is pale, the stars are scattered and few.
The moon is broken and fading, yet there is light on your face,
These are the tears of separation, for now it is bright dawn.
We have said many words,
But our passion is not assuaged.
Turn your head, I have still something to say:
Remember my skirt of green open-work silk,
The sweet-scented grasses everywhere will prevent your forgetting.

Hsieh Ling-yun (385-433)

Climbing Green-Cliff Mountain in Yung-chia

 

 

Taking a little food, a light walking-stick,

I wander up to my home in quiet mystery,

 

the path along streams winding far away

onto ridgetops, no end to this wonder at

 

slow waters silent in their frozen beauty

and bamboo glistening at heart with frost,

 

cascades scattering a confusion of spray

and broad forests crowding distant cliffs.

 

Thinking it's moonrise I see in the west

and sunset I'm watching blaze in the east,

 

I hike on until dark, then linger out night

sheltered away in deep expanses of shadow.

 

Immune to high importance: that's renown.

Walk humbly and it's all promise in beauty,

 

for in quiet mystery the way runs smooth,

ascending remote heights beyond compare.

 

Utter tranquillity, the distinction between

yes this and no that lost, I embrace primal

 

unity, thought and silence woven together,

that deep healing where we venture forth.

Liu Zongyuan (773-819)

Liuzhou Banyan Trees Disrobed

Liu Zongyuan 773-819 My career stymied         pathetic...pitiful, Mid spring feels like chill fall         so much is lost. In this mountain city after squall         a hundred flowers battered, Banyan leaves scattered in the yard         an oriole's chaotic keen.

Han Yu (768-824)

Mountain Rocks

Ragged mountain rocks efface the path .
Twilight comes to the temple and bats hover .
Outside the hall I sit on steps and gaze at torrential new rain .
Banana leaves are wide, the cape jasmine is fat .
A monk tells me the ancient Buddhist frescos are good
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 .
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 can’t 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 ?

Meng Chiao (751-814)

Wanderer’s Song

 

The thread in the hand of a kind mother
Is the coat on the wanderer’s back.
Before he left she stitched it close
In secret fear that he would be slow to return.
Who will say that the inch of grass in his heart
Is gratitude enough for all the sunshine of spring?

Liu Yu-Hsi (772-842)

THE CITY OF STONES. (NANKING)

BY LIU YÜ-HSI

HILLS surround the ancient kingdom; they never change.
The tide beats against the empty city, and silently, silently, returns.
To the East, over the Huai River – the ancient moon.
Through the long, quiet night it moves, crossing the battlemented wall.

Wei Ying-wu (737-792)

On Leave and Watching the Rain: To My Colleagues in the County Government

 

With feet like Ch’ueh K’o’s I get nothing but laughs
unemployed now I dream of Tuling
The last oriole knows little of summer
but a festival rain foretells a good harvest
my grain isn’t gone because I wasn’t looking
compiling records was something I couldn’t do
of course I worry about quitting my post
I’d better stop here and thank my friends

Wang An-shih (1021-1086)

Written on a Wall at

Samadhi-Forest Monastery

 

Samadhi-Forest has a host, the abbot,

and I’m the guest. Host and guest, we

 

each have our own mind, but they’re

both quiet as the same mountain peak.

 

Zhang Jiuling (678-740)

Zhang Jiuling
Thoughts III

	何 所 慰 吾 誠	飛 沈 理 自 隔	人 誰 感 至 精	日 夕 懷 空 意	因 之 傳 遠 情	持 此 謝 高 鳥	滯 慮 洗 孤 清	幽 人 歸 獨 臥	感 遇 其 三

感遇其三
幽人歸獨臥， 滯慮洗孤清，
持此謝高鳥， 因之傳遠情。
日夕懷空意， 人誰感至精？
飛沈理自隔， 何所慰吾誠？

原文 3

The hermit in his lone abode
Nurses his thoughts cleansed of care,
Them he projects to the wild goose
For it to his distant Sovereign to bear.
Who will be moved by the sincerity
Of my vain day-and-night prayer?
What comfort is for my loyalty
When fliers and sinkers can compare?

 

Han Shan (fl.9th cent.)

Untitled (9)

(Cold Mountain: 7th-9th c.)

 

People ask for the Cold Mountain Way.

Cold Mountain Road gives out where

 

confusions of ice outlast summer heat

and sun can't thin mists of blindness.

 

So how did someone like me get here?

My mind's just not the same as yours:

 

if that mind of yours were like mine,

you'd be right here in the midst of it.

Tao Yuanming (365-427)

Unsettled, a bird lost from the flock

Unsettled, a bird lost from the flock
Keeps flying by itself in the dusk.
Back and forth, it has no resting place,
Night after night, more anguished its cries.
Its shrill sound yearns for the pure and distant
Coming from afar, how anxiously it flutters!
It chances to find a pine tree growing all apart;
Folding its wings, it has come home at last.
In the gusty wind there is no dense growth;
This canopy alone does not decay.
Having found a perch to roost on,
In a thousand years it will not depart.

Li Shangyin (813-858)

Li Shangyin
Wind and Rain

	銷 愁 斗 幾 千	心 斷 新 豐 酒	舊 好 隔 良 緣	新 知 遭 薄 俗	青 樓 自 管 絃	黃 葉 仍 風 雨	羈 泊 欲 窮 年	淒 涼 寶 劍 篇	風 雨

風雨
淒涼寶劍篇， 羈泊欲窮年。
黃葉仍風雨， 青樓自管絃。
新知遭薄俗， 舊好隔良緣。
心斷新豐酒， 銷愁斗幾千。

原文 157

I ponder on the poem of The Precious Dagger.
My road has wound through many years.
...Now yellow leaves are shaken with a gale;
Yet piping and fiddling keep the Blue Houses merry.
On the surface, I seem to be glad of new people;
But doomed to leave old friends behind me,
I cry out from my heart for Xinfeng wine
To melt away my thousand woes.

Xinxin Ming (529-606)

Obey the nature of things [your own nature],
and you will walk freely and undisturbed.
When thought is in bondage the truth is hidden,
for everything is murky and unclear,
and the burdensome practice of judging
brings annoyance and weariness.
What benefits can be derived
from distinctions and separations?
If you wish to move in the One Way,
do not dislike even the world of senses and ideas.
Indeed, to accept them fully
is identical with true Enlightenment.
The wise man strives to no goals
but the foolish man fetters himself.
There is one Dharma, not many;
distinctions arise
from the clinging needs of the ignorant.
To seek Mind with the mind
is the greatest of all mistakes.

Li Bai (Li Po-699-762)

Lines For A Taoist Adept

My friend lives high on East Mountain.
His nature is to love the hills and gorges.
In green spring he sleeps in empty woodland,
Still there when the noon sun brightens.
Pine-tree winds to dust his hair.
Rock-filled streams to cleanse his senses.
Free of all sound and stress,
Resting on a wedge of cloud and mist.