Thursday, December 29, 2016
Saturday, December 24, 2016
Cai Yen (162-239CE)
Cai Yen (162 – 239 CE)
The daughter of writer Cai Yi, himself a friend of the legendary Cao Cao, Cai Yen is considered the first great Chinese woman poet. Far from leading a scholastic life, she was captured by a Hun chieftain, to whom she bore two sons, before Cao Cao ransomed her and married her to one of his officers.
From 18 Verses Sung to a Tatar Reed Whistle
I was born in a time of peace,
But later the mandate of Heaven
Was withdrawn from the Han Dynasty.
Heaven was pitiless.
It sent down confusion and separation.
Earth was pitiless.
It brought me to birth in such a time.
War was everywhere. Every road was dangerous.
Soldiers and civilians everywhere
Fleeing death and suffering.
Smoke and dust clouds obscured the land
Overrun by the ruthless Tatar bands.
Our people lost their will power and integrity.
I can never learn the ways of the barbarians.
I am daily subject to violence and insult.
I sing one stanza to my lute and a Tatar horn.
But no one knows my agony and grief.
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Meng Haoran (d.740)
To Buddhist Priest Yuan From Chang'an
Meng Haoran
I'd often like to lie atop a hill,
Instead I suffer hardship, lacking money.
This northern land was never what I wished,
Instead I think of my teacher in the eastern forest.
Golden flecks in the ash of cassia wood,
My great ideals decline more year by year.
As the sun goes down, a chilling wind appears,
To hear cicadas makes me sorrow more.
Meng Haoran
I'd often like to lie atop a hill,
Instead I suffer hardship, lacking money.
This northern land was never what I wished,
Instead I think of my teacher in the eastern forest.
Golden flecks in the ash of cassia wood,
My great ideals decline more year by year.
As the sun goes down, a chilling wind appears,
To hear cicadas makes me sorrow more.
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Du Fu (712-770)
Climbing High
Du Fu
Swift wind, heaven high, an ape's cry of grief,
At the islet of clear white sand, birds circle round.
Endlessly, trees shed leaves, rustling, rustling down,
Without cease, the great river surges, surges on.
Ten thousand miles in sorrowful autumn, always someone's guest,
A hundred years full of sickness, I climb the terrace alone.
Suffering troubles, I bitterly regret my whitening temples,
Frustratingly I've had to abandon my cup of cloudy wine.
Du Fu
Swift wind, heaven high, an ape's cry of grief,
At the islet of clear white sand, birds circle round.
Endlessly, trees shed leaves, rustling, rustling down,
Without cease, the great river surges, surges on.
Ten thousand miles in sorrowful autumn, always someone's guest,
A hundred years full of sickness, I climb the terrace alone.
Suffering troubles, I bitterly regret my whitening temples,
Frustratingly I've had to abandon my cup of cloudy wine.
Friday, December 9, 2016
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Sunday, December 4, 2016
Thursday, December 1, 2016
Huang Po (d.850)
On Fear:
Ordinary people look to their surroundings, while followers of the Way look to Mind, but the true Dharma is to forget them both. The former is easy enough, the latter very difficult. Men are afraid to forget their minds, fearing to fall through the Void with nothing to stay their fall. They do not know that the Void is not really void, but the realm of the real Dharma.
- Huang Po
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)