By J. P. Seaton, Han Shan
The incomparable poetry of Han Shan (Cold Mountain) and his sidekick Shih Te, the insurgent poets who turned icons of chinese language poetry and Zen, has lengthy captured the mind's eye of poetry fanatics and Zen aficionados. Popularized within the West via Beat new release writers Gary Snyder and Jack Kerouac, those mythical T'ang period (618–907) figures are portrayed because the guffawing, ragged pair who left their poetry on stones, timber, farmhouses, and the partitions of the monasteries they visited. Their poetry expressed within the least difficult verse yet in a very new tone, the voice of standard humans. right here most suitable translator J. P. Seaton takes a clean examine those fascinating poets, in addition to Wang Fan-chih, one other "outsider" poet who lived a pair centuries later and who captured the poverty and gritty daily fact of the typical humans of his time. Seaton's finished advent and notes all through supply a desirable context to this shiny assortment.
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Additional resources for Cold Mountain Poems: Zen Poems of Han Shan, Shih Te, and Wang Fan-chih
That’s my fancy hall. I’ve cleaned out the pool and channeled the spring. Sweet, to let the world go. Ferns, I’ll harvest, to live out the years left. Cold Mountain Poems 40 X X X III Green water in the stream in the pass, white water risen from the clear-welling spring . . Han Shan’s moon’s a flower, white as well . . So the darkest secret, the spirit by itself illumines: gaze into the emptiness: to the ends of the earth . . You’re alone, with all within. XX X IV I have all the vestment I will ever need, not gauzy silk nor twill, and if you ask about the color, neither red, nor purple .
Middle of the summer, and the ice still hasn’t melted. Sunrise, and the mist would blind a hidden dragon. So, how could a man like me get here? My heart is not the same as yours, dear sir . . If your heart were like mine, you’d be here already. X Parrots live in the Western Lands; forest huntsmen net them, bring them here. Courtesans love to play with them, and so they are well known at Court, in and out all day. They’re given golden cages to dwell in, but bolted in, their robes of plumes are ruined.
In the West I strove in battles for them, but all to no reward. Mastered the brush and mastered the sword . . Today? I’m old of a sudden . . What’s left of my life is not worth a word. Han Shan 27 IX People ask about the Cold Mountain way: plain roads don’t get through to Cold Mountain. Middle of the summer, and the ice still hasn’t melted. Sunrise, and the mist would blind a hidden dragon. So, how could a man like me get here? My heart is not the same as yours, dear sir . . If your heart were like mine, you’d be here already.