(779–843)
Parting with the Monk Ho-lan
WILD monk, come to make a parting with me.
We sit a while on the sand beside the welling source.
You’ll go a long way on that empty alms bowl,
deep among mountains, treading fallen flowers.
Masterless Ch’an, our own understanding?
When you’ve got it, there’s no place for it but a poem.
This parting’s nothing fated:
orphan clouds just never settle down.
[J.P.S.]
The Swordsman
TEN long years I’ve honed this sword:
its frost white blade is yet untried.
Today, like any other gentleman,
it’s looking for injustice.
[J.P.S.]