Autumn Comes Anew, a poem sent to Magistrate Lu

 

The ancients studied the past

Hoping to gain perspective

And moderate their passions

To sit beside smoke and fire

Controlling their breath

So my good friend as you look

Upon the clear autumn scene

Up to the empty sky's origin

Where mountains loom as guests

Make no complaint at all and

 Still the sound of string and bow

Only behold the sunset and

The cicadas' rising call 

In the blue green clouds of twilight

Yearning to be reborn

Meditation Poem (by JiaoRan)

Written in the 8th century by the poet and Buddhist monk JiaoRan, this poem has a very contemporary ring to it.  Or maybe it's just that the essence of Buddhist practice hasn't changed too much over the 1300 intervening years.  It's all about standing (or sitting) alone under heaven and earth, studying without movement ...

Ten thousand dharmas

Stream forth from no-gate

One after another until

Wisdom grows faint

Disciples weigh the choices

Open to the novitiate

But standing alone under

Heaven and earth

Is the starting place

Practice is about what exists

Things from the outset

That in stillness persist

The key is to study

Without movement and

Behold the light shining forth

On the origin of all

Ten thousand things 

Speaking About Chan (by Bai JuYi)

Here is a poem by Bai JuYi that I translated today. This will likely be one of the poems that will be included in The Poetry of Awakening, an anthology of Chinese poems about the search for enlightenment that I am preparing for publication later this year. 

Full of paradox and word play, this poem is something of a departure from Bai JuYi's usual plainspoken style.  It was written late in life, as Bai JuYi immersed himself more deeply in the study of Chan Buddhism.  When it comes to enlightenment, being plainspoken will only get you so far.

Speaking About Meditation

 

What you must know is

Nothing is as it seems

What appears lacking  

Overflows in abundance

 

Words soon forgotten

Words clearly understood

In a dream to speak of dreaming

Is profound and void of meaning

 

How does emptiness blossom

To provide a double blessing

How does a searing flame

Transform into a fish

 

Disturbance comes amidst

Meditation’s stillness

Meditation is movement

Not meditating

Not moving

Such as it is

 谈禅境 

 

须知诸相皆非相  若住无余却有余

 言下忘言一时了  梦中说梦两重虚 

 空花岂得兼求果  阳焰如何更觅鱼

摄动是禅禅是动  不禅不动即如如

A Paroxysm of Green Delight

 In front of the Weesuck

Long in the tooth clinic

There's this hearty patch

Of milkweed thriving

In a sunny spot from which

My wife brought home a sprig

The other day so pretty

On our windowsill and

There to our surprise

We noticed three small caterpillars

Affixed to the velvety

Underside of the leaf

And the next thing I know

She spoke to our neighborhood

Shaman who advised us to put

It in a large mason jar

Cover it with gauze

Affixed with a rubber band

And wait for a week or two

To behold the holy liquefaction

And paroxysm of green delight

From which a Monarch is born

You don't really know

Why the basil failed to thrive

This year while the milk weed

Has thus transformed

But at least we have all winter 

To try and figure it out

Summer on the Brink

Whether you’re one of 

Those ultra-fit  gentlemen 

Who are more like the hydrangea

Or day lily preferring to stay

In the background blooming

All summer long

Not the greatest blossom

Not the least

 

Or more like the hibiscus

You own two weeks

At the height of summer

In their entirety

Throwing all your glory

At the sun without

Rival in your peak

 

Or like the snow ball

Pointing longingly

Westward at sunset

So well intentioned

Summer brings us all

In various ways

Right to the brink

Photo by Carrie Welch

Magpie Bridge

There's a beautiful and mind-bending article in Sunday's New York Times about galactic walls.  Vast as the Milky Way is and hard as it is for us to comprehend space in such magnitude, it is really just a small bounded enclosure; and like a garden fence, it obscures us from the view of much vaster domains beyond.  If we could only peak over or around the Milky Way, we would glimpse all these other galaxies strung out like jewels on an endless necklace.  Here's a link to the article in case you haven't read it yet.

The article reminded me of the Chinese legend of the Cowherd and Weaver, which is basically the Chinese version of Pyramus and Thisbe set against the backdrop of the Milky Way.  When the Chinese looked skyward on a summer evening, they saw Vega and Altair positioned on either side of the great Milky Way as the celestial embodiment of these star-crossed lovers.  Magpie Bridge is how they described the band of darkness that spans the celestial river of light flowing between them.  Much as I admire the explanatory powers of modern astronomy, I find the ancient legend equally compelling in providing a way to comprehend the boundlessness of the summer sky at night.

As companion to the NY Times' article, here's my translation of Magpie Bridge, by the Song poet Qin Guan:

Magpie Bridge of the Immortals

A filigree of cloud drifts by chance

A star sends its regrets as it shoots across

The luminous flow of the Milky Way

In the vast skies of autumn

Cowherd and Weaver meet

For their brief rendezvous

Equal to ten thousand trysts

In the earthly domain below

Supple and yielding as water

The fleeting ecstasy of a dream

To stand and mutely gaze across

The span of Magpie Bridge

The route of eternal return

When two hearts unite forever

A day or night together is of no concern

鵲橋仙

纖雲弄巧

飛星傳恨

銀漢迢迢暗渡

金風玉露一相逢

便勝卻人間無數

柔情似水

佳期如夢

忍顧鵲橋歸路

兩情若是久長時

又豈在朝朝暮暮

  

A Dream of Death

Death comes to me in the guise

Of an old friend who long ago

Traveled beyond but now

Has returned seeking

A means of ingress

It's his apartment really

That we have barricaded

Ourselves inside

Plushly furnished yet

Fearfully we hide

By the service entrance

By what right I wonder

Having renounced

Our friendship besides

Such intimacy we can't abide

So it is we have drawn  

These false boundary lines 

Hoping to segregate

Those of us still clinging to life

From all those who have died