A clean sheet of paper
Every day
made whole
Not for the
love of fame
But only so
old words may be
Continuously
transformed
There’s no
harm thus done
In pleasing
one’s nature
Keeping
watch over the countryside
Or unconsciously remounting
The
city’s walls
Merely to
undertake
These
imagined journeys
Upon rivers
and lakes
Chanting in
rhythm on
Our passage through life
Our passage through life
* * * * * * * *
诗解
新篇日日成 不是爱声名
旧句时时改 无妨悦性情
但令长守郡 不觉却归城
但令长守郡 不觉却归城
只拟江湖上 吟哦过一生
How often do we question why it is we write our poems? Here
is an answer from the great Tang poet Bai Juyi, all the more remarkable in its
clarity because it was written more than 1300 years ago. This poem is a
beautiful testament to the Dao of Poetry - providing a solution to our constant
questioning that enables us to feel restored in the power of our songs.
Poignant and so apt!
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