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SITTING ALONE ON AN AUTUMN NIGHT
Alone, grieving over my graying hair.
In the empty hall, nearly nine o'clock.
Mountain fruit fall in heavy rain.
Grasshoppers sing in my lamplight.
Hair gone white can never go back.
Nothing can change to yellow gold.
Want to cast off age and illness?
You need to study not being born.
Alone, grieving over my graying hair.
In the empty hall, nearly nine o'clock.
Mountain fruit fall in heavy rain.
Grasshoppers sing in my lamplight.
Hair gone white can never go back.
Nothing can change to yellow gold.
Want to cast off age and illness?
You need to study not being born.
--Wang Wei
Some translators have "no rebirth" in the last line for what is most literally "no-birth." But I think that with Wang Wei's Buddhism being the Dao-tinged Buddhism of Zen, he wouldn't have been so concerned with reincarnation. Perhaps the the reference would have been more to the illusion of self, of ego, of something that came into being at a certain time and persisted in its essence all through one's life. To not hang on to that illusion.
PASSING THE TEMPLE OF TEEMING FRAGRANCE
The Temple of Teeming Fragrance,
measureless miles in summit clouds.
Ancient forest, a pathless way.
Deep mountains, directionless bell.
Spring water over jagged rocks.
Yellow sun on cool green pines.
Twilight, winding pool. Quiet sitting
uncoils the poison dragon of the heart.
--Wang Wei
DEER FENCE
Empty Mountain.
Seeing no one.
Hearing someone's
echoing voice.
The late day sun
enters again
the deep forest,
shining once more
on the green moss.
Seeing no one.
Hearing someone's
echoing voice.
The late day sun
enters again
the deep forest,
shining once more
on the green moss.
--Wang Wei
In my old age, I want only peace.
The ten thousand things are not my concern.
I've no plans for the rest of my life
but to come back to this, my ancient woods.
Piney wind blows my girdle open.
Mountain moon lights upon the lute I play.
So where's the warp and weft of the world?
Fishermen's songs come far up the inlet.
--Wang Wei
A BUDDHIST RETREAT BEHIND BROKEN MOUNTAIN TEMPLE
Clear, quiet dawn enters the old temple.
Early sun brightens the forest heights.
Crooked path comes to a secluded space.
A monk's cottage deep in flowers and trees.
Light through the mountains plays over bird flight.
A deep pool mirrors both sky and heart.
Ten thousand sounds of nature are suffused
with the one tone of the temple bell.
--Chang Jian
Alt: Ten thousand sounds of nature are resolved
in the one tone of the temple bell.
TO A JAPANESE MONK RETURNING HOME
Destined to come seeking the source in China.
Your voyage here was like a dream of distance,
floating between heaven and the vast green sea.
Now, the vessel goes lightly that carries the Way.
Water and moon are solitary as your Zen.
Fish and dragons absorb the sound of your chanting.
The single lamp of your compassion, its light
returns to watchers at the heart of the world.
--Qian Qi
TO SOUTH CREEK SEEKING DAO MAN CHANG IN HIS SECRET PLACE
All along the single path,
footprints in strawberry moss.
White clouds over quiet islands.
Spring grass latching an idle gate.
After rain, the look of the pines.
Up the mountain, the river’s source.
Sitting Zen in flowers by the creek.
Face to face, I forget what to say.
--Liu Changqing
