But
drinking
makes us one with life and death,
The Myriad Things we can barely fathom.
The Myriad Things we can barely fathom.
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? 276
? Ho Chih-chang
When we met the first time at Chi? ang-an He called me the e? Lost Immortali? .
Then he loved the Way of Forgetting. Now under the pine-trees he is dust.
His golden keepsake bought us wine. Remembering, the tears run down my cheeks.
? 490? ? ? 4? ? ,8? ,? 17? 03/? ,3/? ? 4:79? 411? . ? ,? ? ? ? 4? 709? 70/? 94? -0. 420? ,? %,4? 89? 243? ? ? %? 0? ? 489? ? 22479,? 8? -,3? 8? 0/? 1742? ? 0,;03? 147? 2? 8-0? ,;? 4:7? ,550,70/? 43? 0,79? ? ,8? 0? 97,47/? 3,7? ? ? 3/? ;? /:,? 8? ?
? 277
? Three Poems on Wine I.
Among the flowers a drink of wine.
I sit alone without a friend.
So I invite the moon,
Then see my shadow, make us three. The moon cani? t know how to drink, Since just my shadow drinks with me. The moon brought shadow along
To keep me silent company.
Joy should reflect the season.
I sing. That makes the Moon reel.
Get up. Make my shadow sway.
While Ii? m here leti? s celebrate.
When Ii? m drunk each seek the Way, Tie ourselves to Eternal Journeys, Swear to meet again in the Milky Way.
? ? 278
? II
If the heavens were not in love with wine, Therei? d be no Wine Star in the sky.
And if earth wasni? t always drinking, Therei? d be nowhere called Wine Spring. Ii? ve heard that pure wine makes the Sage. Even the cloudy makes us wise.
If even the wise get there through drink, Whati? s the point of True Religions?
Three times and I understand the Way,
Six and Ii? m one again with Nature.
Only the things we know when wei? re drunk Can never be expressed when wei? re sober.
? 279
? III
Third month in Chi? ang-an city,
Knee-deep in a thousand fallen flowers. Alone in Spring who can stand this sadness? Or sober see transient things like these? Long life or short, rich or poor,
Our destinyi? s determined by the world.
But drinking makes us one with life and death,
The Myriad Things we can barely fathom. Drunk, Heaven and Earth are gone. Stilled, I clutch my lonely pillow. Forgetting that the Self exists,
That is the mindi? s greatest joy.
? 280
? Lament for Mr Tai
Wine-maker there by Yellow Fountains, e? Eternal Springi? thati? s still your vintage. Without Li Po on Nighti? s Terrace
Who can there be to bring you custom?
? 490? ? %? 0? ? :,3? 6:,3? ? 9? 0? ? 0? ? 4? ? ? 4:39,? 38? ? ,3/? ? ? ? ? 9? 8? %077,. 0? ? ,70? 3,208? 147? 9? 0? ? ? 442? ? 70,? 2? 41? 9? 0? /0,/? -0? 4? ? 9? 0? 0,79? ? ? 3? ,-? 90/? -? ? 85? 7? 9:,? ? ,3/? 09? 070,? ? -0? 3? 8?
? 281
? Waking from Drunken Sleep on a Spring Day.
Life is a dream. No need to stir. Remembering this Ii? m drunk all day. Lying helpless beside the porch, Waking to see the deep garden.
One bird calls among the flowers. Ask myself whati? s the season? Song of the oriole in Spring breezes, Voice of beauty sadly moves me.
Is there wine? Ah, fill the cup.
Sing and watch the white moon rise, until songi? s end and sense is gone.
? 282
? Drinking in the Mountains.
Mountain flowers open in our faces.
You and I are triply lost in wine.
Ii? m drunk, my friend, sleepy. Rise and go. With your dawn lute, return, if you wish, and
? stay.
283
? Old Poem
Did Chuang Chou dream he was the butterfly? Or the butterfly dream he was Chuang Chou? In the single bodyi? s transformations
See the vortex of the Myriad Creatures.
No mystery then that the Magic Seas Shrank again to crystal streams,
Or down by Chi? ang-ani? s Green Gate The gardener was Marquis of Tung-Ling. If this is the fate of fame and power, What is it for- this endless striving?
? 490? ? %? 0? ? ? 7? ,/? ? 70,9:708? ,70? 9? 0? 2,3? 1089,9? 438? 41? 9? 0? %,4? ? ,8? /? 89? 3. 9? 1742? 9? 0? %,4? ? 980? 1? ? %? 0? ? ? 9? ? . ,? ? ? 8? ,3/8? 41? 9? 0? ? 22479,? 8? ? 3? 9? 0? ? ,89? ? 070? ? 4. ,90/? ? 3? 9? 0? ? ,? ? . ? $0,8? ? ? ? ? . ? ? ? 3? ,?
? 276
? Ho Chih-chang
When we met the first time at Chi? ang-an He called me the e? Lost Immortali? .
Then he loved the Way of Forgetting. Now under the pine-trees he is dust.
His golden keepsake bought us wine. Remembering, the tears run down my cheeks.
? 490? ? ? 4? ? ,8? ,? 17? 03/? ,3/? ? 4:79? 411? . ? ,? ? ? ? 4? 709? 70/? 94? -0. 420? ,? %,4? 89? 243? ? ? %? 0? ? 489? ? 22479,? 8? -,3? 8? 0/? 1742? ? 0,;03? 147? 2? 8-0? ,;? 4:7? ,550,70/? 43? 0,79? ? ,8? 0? 97,47/? 3,7? ? ? 3/? ;? /:,? 8? ?
? 277
? Three Poems on Wine I.
Among the flowers a drink of wine.
I sit alone without a friend.
So I invite the moon,
Then see my shadow, make us three. The moon cani? t know how to drink, Since just my shadow drinks with me. The moon brought shadow along
To keep me silent company.
Joy should reflect the season.
I sing. That makes the Moon reel.
Get up. Make my shadow sway.
While Ii? m here leti? s celebrate.
When Ii? m drunk each seek the Way, Tie ourselves to Eternal Journeys, Swear to meet again in the Milky Way.
? ? 278
? II
If the heavens were not in love with wine, Therei? d be no Wine Star in the sky.
And if earth wasni? t always drinking, Therei? d be nowhere called Wine Spring. Ii? ve heard that pure wine makes the Sage. Even the cloudy makes us wise.
If even the wise get there through drink, Whati? s the point of True Religions?
Three times and I understand the Way,
Six and Ii? m one again with Nature.
Only the things we know when wei? re drunk Can never be expressed when wei? re sober.
? 279
? III
Third month in Chi? ang-an city,
Knee-deep in a thousand fallen flowers. Alone in Spring who can stand this sadness? Or sober see transient things like these? Long life or short, rich or poor,
Our destinyi? s determined by the world.
But drinking makes us one with life and death,
The Myriad Things we can barely fathom. Drunk, Heaven and Earth are gone. Stilled, I clutch my lonely pillow. Forgetting that the Self exists,
That is the mindi? s greatest joy.
? 280
? Lament for Mr Tai
Wine-maker there by Yellow Fountains, e? Eternal Springi? thati? s still your vintage. Without Li Po on Nighti? s Terrace
Who can there be to bring you custom?
? 490? ? %? 0? ? :,3? 6:,3? ? 9? 0? ? 0? ? 4? ? ? 4:39,? 38? ? ,3/? ? ? ? ? 9? 8? %077,. 0? ? ,70? 3,208? 147? 9? 0? ? ? 442? ? 70,? 2? 41? 9? 0? /0,/? -0? 4? ? 9? 0? 0,79? ? ? 3? ,-? 90/? -? ? 85? 7? 9:,? ? ,3/? 09? 070,? ? -0? 3? 8?
? 281
? Waking from Drunken Sleep on a Spring Day.
Life is a dream. No need to stir. Remembering this Ii? m drunk all day. Lying helpless beside the porch, Waking to see the deep garden.
One bird calls among the flowers. Ask myself whati? s the season? Song of the oriole in Spring breezes, Voice of beauty sadly moves me.
Is there wine? Ah, fill the cup.
Sing and watch the white moon rise, until songi? s end and sense is gone.
? 282
? Drinking in the Mountains.
Mountain flowers open in our faces.
You and I are triply lost in wine.
Ii? m drunk, my friend, sleepy. Rise and go. With your dawn lute, return, if you wish, and
? stay.
283
? Old Poem
Did Chuang Chou dream he was the butterfly? Or the butterfly dream he was Chuang Chou? In the single bodyi? s transformations
See the vortex of the Myriad Creatures.
No mystery then that the Magic Seas Shrank again to crystal streams,
Or down by Chi? ang-ani? s Green Gate The gardener was Marquis of Tung-Ling. If this is the fate of fame and power, What is it for- this endless striving?
? 490? ? %? 0? ? ? 7? ,/? ? 70,9:708? ,70? 9? 0? 2,3? 1089,9? 438? 41? 9? 0? %,4? ? ,8? /? 89? 3. 9? 1742? 9? 0? %,4? ? 980? 1? ? %? 0? ? ? 9? ? . ,? ? ? 8? ,3/8? 41? 9? 0? ? 22479,? 8? ? 3? 9? 0? ? ,89? ? 070? ? 4. ,90/? ? 3? 9? 0? ? ,? ? . ? $0,8? ? ? ? ? . ? ? ? 3? ,?
