A Single Spring (by Han Shan)

Today I translated this poem by Han Shan, the hermit-poet of Cold Mountain.  It's the last line of this poem that takes my breath away.  How many years lie within a single spring?  This for me captures the essence of early spring - a time filled by infinite possibility -- when all of life is crammed into a handful of days as the worms first begin turning the soil.

My home is spare

And well hidden

Dwelling far from

The earth's clamor

I tread on the grass

To make three paths

And gaze upon the clouds

Who are my nearest neighbors

The birds join me in song

There's no else to discuss

Any matters of Dharma

Each day bears the fruit

Of Karma's great tree

How many years I wonder 

Lie within a single spring 

    

The Dream Machine

It comes without instructions

Nor are any needed really

The design is intuitive

You just plug it in 

And close your eyes

Tightly or ever so slightly

It matters not a bit

The pillow rises and falls

As if breathing on its own

Part of a larger apparatus 

Which delivers dreams

Directly to your head

All of which are recorded

On a flash memory card

Retrievable periodically

Subject to overwriting and error

In accordance with an algorithm

First inscribed in the Book of the Dead

 

 

Spring Scene (by Du Fu)

This Du Fu poem (written in the mid 8th century) captures the mood of the moment for me -- the return of spring in a world that has not yet emerged from a period of disruption and ruin.  Why write poetry at a time of seeming social collapse?  Is it a sympathetic fallacy to suppose that a millennium or so hence someone may understand that much better how they are feeling?  

Spring Scene

The country lies broken though

Mountains and rivers remain

As spring returns to the city

Grasses and trees regain

The depth of green

But in the mood 

Of these days

Dew sprinkles the flowers

Like tears on the cheek

And the heart knows only regret

Watching the sparrow take flight

For three months 

The beacon fires have flared

Making a letter from home

More precious than gold

And my white hair grown

Thin from constant scratching

Won't even hold a pin

 

Ode to My Tinnitus

Oh tinnitus

Boon companion

Through all these years

Harbinger of headache

Sentinel of joy

How you dissipate

When I meditate

How you follow me

Walking along the shore

One of life's constants

Yet only a figment of

My perceptual apparatus

No less barometer of my soul

Coeval and coequally formed

An auditory shadow

That can never be ignored

Persistent and cloying

No one celebrates your arrival

Or will mourn when you're gone

Much as self-awareness itself

The atman and anatman

Together entwined 

Being an effect undeniable  

Still without discernible cause  

So pleased at last to encounter

Your mercurial nature

In slightly more fixed form

Marcelo Zissu's Brain

Singing Alone in the Mountains (by Bai Juyi)

Everyone has their habits

Mine is composing verse

Everything else has faded away

But this weakness alone 

Has stayed with me

Whenever I come across

A beautiful scene

I want to do right

As I would with friend or kin

To sing aloud or make note

About this encounter

With divine mystery

Whether I'm floating down river

Or resting half way up the mountain

When a new poem

Presents itself

Or alone on the path

Hiking up the eastern cliff

Resting my body

Against the white rock

That overlooks the precipice

And clinging to the branches

Of a laurel tree

My wild song

Shatters the peace

Of the ravine below

The birds and apes

All cry in response

Whether they're

Scared or laughing

I can't be sure

And the suddenly

The world seems

Uninhabited

As if I'm the last man

On the face of the earth

 

Four Poems by Rose Ausländer

 Plum Blossoms

Why do my people love the plum blossom?

My people are plum blossoms themselves

When winter storms with snow and ice

It brings forth the pink and white blossoms

When winter rages and road is forsaken

Undaunted, the blossoms forge ahead

Their tender leaves drunk with courage

Dance quietly to the wind that howls

It's more than luck, amidst the storm,

To show pluck against such mighty power

Seven told tales of the common folk

Sing praise of the plum blossom's quiet power

And wisely teach all seven tales

With iron fight but love gently

Or by the wisdom of the Chinese sages

From strength comes tenderness and

And from tenderness strength

When terror descends upon the earth

Such that all other blossoms hide in fright

Then you bloom in your still and quiet light

Bringing confidence to the world anew

Mother Tongue

I have myself

Transformed into myself

From moment to moment

Into pieces splintered

Along the way of words

Mother tongue

Put me back together

A human mosaic

*******

Love (vi)

We will find ourselves

again in the lake

you as water

me as a lotus blossom

You will carry me

I will drink of you

We will belong to each other

for all to see

Even the stars

will be filled with wonder

how two here have been

transformed back

into a dream

of their choosing

*******

The Heart Unheard

I hear the heart unheard

In my breath

A clock made of air

The melody in the music box

Alive inside the temple

With muted tones

Like spinning spheres

Standing Alone (by Du Fu)

High above a hawk soars

On the river a pair of white gulls

Windswept, squabble over their prey

So easy it seems to roam far away

The grass heavy laden with dew

Beaded still on the spider webs too

Heaven's mysteries feel close at hand

Amidst ten thousand worries

Alone I stand