(8TH CENTURY)
Five Poems
YOU say, “If you want to be happy
there’s no way, but to be a hermit.
Flowers in the grove are better than brocade,
every single season’s colors new.
Just sit by a creek and turn your head
to watch the moon’s ball roll.”
And me? I ought to be at joyous ease,
but I can’t help thinking of the people in the world.
[J.P.S.]
WHEN I was young I studied books and swordsmanship,
and rode off with a shout to the Capital,
where, I heard, the barbarians had been driven off already . . .
there was no place left for heroes.
So I came back to these crested peaks,
lay down and listened to the clear stream flow.
Young men dream of glory:
monkeys riding on the ox’s back.
[J.P.S.]
I’VE always been Shih Te, the Foundling.
It’s not some accidental title.
Yet I’m not without a family.
Han Shan is my brother,
two men with hearts a lot alike.
No need for vulgar love.
If you want to know how old we are . . .
like the Yellow River, that’s unclear.
[J.P.S.]
YOU want to learn to catch a mouse?
Don’t try to learn from a pampered cat.
If you want to learn the nature of the world,
don’t study fine bound books.
The True Jewel’s in a coarse bag.
Buddha-nature stops at huts.
The whole herd of folks who clutch at looks of things
never seem to make the connection.
[J.P.S.]
MY poems are poems;
some people call them sermons.
Well, poems and sermons share one thing:
when you read them you’ve got to be careful.
Keep at it. Get into detail.
Don’t just claim they’re easy.
If you were to live your life like that,
a lot of funny things might happen.
[J.P.S.]