STOPPING BY IN RAIN TO VISIT MASTER SHU

Bamboo scratches at the window-screen,

and rain clattering in bamboo clatters.

Shutters wide-open tranquillity, no dust,

mist rises from a table’s cold ink-stone.

You relish this solitude in quiet mystery,

and returned to origins, wanting nothing,

sit ch’ an stillness on sackcloth and mat,

stand listening to wind’s voice in a bowl.

Presence and absence blank here, in cold

cap and sandal, you sprinkle and sweep,

offer thick tea rinsing depths of night,

light incense drifting all worry away,

and on my way home, fireflies meander

north-hall darkness one by one by one.

This life tangled in sorrow and trouble

somehow offers such repose in idleness.

Roaming vultures regret former laughs,

earthworms lament their late awakening,

and I’m no T’ao Ch’ien for quiet integrity.

But where’s karma in all this idleness?