Bamboo and Plum Blossom

Bamboo and Plum Blossom

Bamboo and Plum Blossom

Bamboo and Plum Blossom
Bamboo and Plum Blossom

Monday, November 30, 2015

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 :

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Tao Qian (365-427)

"Returning to the Farm to Dwell" 
 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.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

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

Friday, November 27, 2015

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.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

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.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

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.

Monday, November 23, 2015

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."

Sunday, November 22, 2015

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 :

Saturday, November 21, 2015

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.

Friday, November 20, 2015

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.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Liu Zongyuan (773-819)

Liuzhou Banyan Trees Disrobed
        Liu Zongyuan 773-819

My career stymied
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.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

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 ?

Monday, November 16, 2015

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?

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Liu Yu-Hsi (772-842)



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.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

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

Friday, November 13, 2015

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.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Zhang Jiuling (678-740)

Zhang Jiuling
Thoughts III
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?

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

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.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

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.

Monday, November 9, 2015

Li Shangyin (813-858)

Li Shangyin
Wind and Rain
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.

Friday, November 6, 2015

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.