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233
? Drinking the Wine
I built my house near where others live.
Still therei? s no sound of wheels or voices. Youi? ll ask me e? How can that be? i?
When the mind is remote the place is distant. Cutting Chrysanthemums by the Eastern Hedge, I look out towards the Southern Hills.
Mountain air is fine at end of day.
The flights of birds make for home.
In these things there is a hint of Truth,
but trying to tell it therei? s no mind, no words.
? 234
? Ninth Day, Ninth Month
Slowly autumn comes to an end.
Painfully cold a dawn wind thicks the dew. Grass round here will not be green again, Trees and leaves are already suffering.
The clear air is drained and purified
And the high white skyi? s a mystery. Nothingi? s left of the cicadai? s sound.
Flying geese break the heavensi? silence. The Myriad Creatures rise and return.
How can life and death not be hard?
From the beginning all things have to die. Thinking of it can bruise the heart.
What can I do to lighten my thoughts? Solace myself drinking the last of this wine. Who understands the next thousand years? Leti? s just make this morning last forever.
? 235
? Peach Blossom Spring
(an adaptation of Ti? ao Chi? ieni? s Story)
A fisherman journeying along a stream reached a place where the banks were filled with Peach Blossom. There were fallen petals everywhere and a deep fragrance. The peach groves ended at the source of the stream where a spring came out of the hillside. There he saw a narrow opening out of which light shone. He left his boat and went inside. He reached a land where everyone seemed happy. The people all came to see him and question him. They said their ancestors had travelled there to escape from the empire of Chi? in and that no one had ever wished to return. They knew nothing of the dynasties of Han and Wei and were amazed at what he told them. He stayed for a while and before leaving they told him that nothing would be gained by revealing their existence to anyone else.
When he emerged from the hill he took to his boat and retraced his journey noting every turning.
When he returned home he told about his adventure. He was sent back with others to show
236
? ? ? them the route but it was lost. And no one ever found their way there again.
237
? ? ,3? ? ? 0? ? (699-759 AD) Letter to Pi? ei Ti
This month the weather has been bright and clear, and I could have crossed the mountains. But I was reluctant to trouble you, knowing you were deep in the Classics. So I wandered around the mountain, stayed at Kan-pi? ei Temple, ate with the monks, and wandered home again. Then I went north over the Y ? an-pa, under a clear moon. At night I climbed Hua-tzu Hill, and watched the moonlight on the Yang Riveri? s ripples. Far-off, lights on the cold mountain glittered then vanished. A dog in the deep lanes barked like a leopard. The pounding of grain in the night sounded between strokes of a distant bell. Now I am sitting alone listening to the silence. I think a lot about the old days, when we made poems together, climbing the steep tracks by clear streams. We must wait till the trees and grass grow green again, and, idling in spring hills, we can see fish leap in the light, the gulls soar, the white dew on green moss. At dawn
238
? ? ? we will hear the birds call in the fields. It is not long till then, when you could come wandering with me. If I did not know your natural sensibility, I would hold back from making even this indirect invitation. I speak from a deep impulse, but it is not pressing.
? 742? ? ,3? ? ? 0? ? ? 9? 0? 24:39,? 3? 2,3?
239
? Green-Water Stream
To reach the Yellow-Flowered River
Go by the Green-Water Stream.
A thousand twists and turns of mountain But the way there cani? t be many miles. The sound of water falling over rocks And deep colour among pines.
Gently green floating water-plants. Bright the mirrored reeds and rushes.
I am a lover of true quietness.
Watching the flow of clear water
I dream of sitting on the uncarved rock casting a line on the endless stream.
? 490? ? %? 0? :3. ,7;0/? 74. ? ? ? 8? 9? 0? %,4? %? 0? 03/? 088? 8970,2? ? 8? 9? 0? %,4?
? 240
? In Answer
In these quiet years growing calmer, Lacking knowledge of the worldi? s affairs, I stop worrying how things will turn out. My quiet mind makes no subtle plans. Returning to the woods I love
A pine-tree breeze rustles in my robes. Mountain moonlight fills the lutei? s bowl, Shows up what learning I have left.
If you ask what makes us rich or poor Hear the Fishermani? s voice float to shore.
? 490? ? ? 3? 9? 0? 4? /? 9,? 0? 9? 0? 2088,? 0? 41? 9? 0? ? ? 8? 072,3? ? 8? 9? ,9? 9? 0? %,4? 89? 2:89? /? 5? ? ? 8? 1009? ? 3? 9? 0? 2://? ? ? ,907? ? 41? 9? 0? ? 47? /? ? -:9? 8? 4:? /? ? ,8? ? ? ? 8? ? ,9 ? 897? 3? 8? ? 3? 9? 0? . ? 0,7? ? ,907? ? 41? 9? 0? %,4? ?
? 241
? Peach Blossom Spring
A fisherman floated on, enjoying Spring. The shores, he found, were covered in Peach
Blossom.
Watched reddening trees, uncertain where he was. Seeing no one reached green water springs.
There a way led through the hill.
Twisting, turning to a vast plain.
Distant trees rose to the clouds.
Houses stretched among bamboo and flowers. Woodmen had names from times of Chou, Clothes they wore were those of Chi? in,
Once had lived near Wu-ling River,
Now they lived outside the world.
Bright moon in pines. By their doors peace. Sunrise. From clouds the wild birds call.
Amazed, they want to see this stranger,
Invite him; ask questions of his country.
At first light they sweep flowers from the gate.
At dusk fishermen, woodmen ride the stream. They had sought refuge there from the world,
242
? ? Became Immortals, never returned.
Who in those hills can know the world of men, Who, gazing out, sees only clouds and hills? He forgot Paradise is hard to find.
His spirit turned again to his own home.
233
? Drinking the Wine
I built my house near where others live.
Still therei? s no sound of wheels or voices. Youi? ll ask me e? How can that be? i?
When the mind is remote the place is distant. Cutting Chrysanthemums by the Eastern Hedge, I look out towards the Southern Hills.
Mountain air is fine at end of day.
The flights of birds make for home.
In these things there is a hint of Truth,
but trying to tell it therei? s no mind, no words.
? 234
? Ninth Day, Ninth Month
Slowly autumn comes to an end.
Painfully cold a dawn wind thicks the dew. Grass round here will not be green again, Trees and leaves are already suffering.
The clear air is drained and purified
And the high white skyi? s a mystery. Nothingi? s left of the cicadai? s sound.
Flying geese break the heavensi? silence. The Myriad Creatures rise and return.
How can life and death not be hard?
From the beginning all things have to die. Thinking of it can bruise the heart.
What can I do to lighten my thoughts? Solace myself drinking the last of this wine. Who understands the next thousand years? Leti? s just make this morning last forever.
? 235
? Peach Blossom Spring
(an adaptation of Ti? ao Chi? ieni? s Story)
A fisherman journeying along a stream reached a place where the banks were filled with Peach Blossom. There were fallen petals everywhere and a deep fragrance. The peach groves ended at the source of the stream where a spring came out of the hillside. There he saw a narrow opening out of which light shone. He left his boat and went inside. He reached a land where everyone seemed happy. The people all came to see him and question him. They said their ancestors had travelled there to escape from the empire of Chi? in and that no one had ever wished to return. They knew nothing of the dynasties of Han and Wei and were amazed at what he told them. He stayed for a while and before leaving they told him that nothing would be gained by revealing their existence to anyone else.
When he emerged from the hill he took to his boat and retraced his journey noting every turning.
When he returned home he told about his adventure. He was sent back with others to show
236
? ? ? them the route but it was lost. And no one ever found their way there again.
237
? ? ,3? ? ? 0? ? (699-759 AD) Letter to Pi? ei Ti
This month the weather has been bright and clear, and I could have crossed the mountains. But I was reluctant to trouble you, knowing you were deep in the Classics. So I wandered around the mountain, stayed at Kan-pi? ei Temple, ate with the monks, and wandered home again. Then I went north over the Y ? an-pa, under a clear moon. At night I climbed Hua-tzu Hill, and watched the moonlight on the Yang Riveri? s ripples. Far-off, lights on the cold mountain glittered then vanished. A dog in the deep lanes barked like a leopard. The pounding of grain in the night sounded between strokes of a distant bell. Now I am sitting alone listening to the silence. I think a lot about the old days, when we made poems together, climbing the steep tracks by clear streams. We must wait till the trees and grass grow green again, and, idling in spring hills, we can see fish leap in the light, the gulls soar, the white dew on green moss. At dawn
238
? ? ? we will hear the birds call in the fields. It is not long till then, when you could come wandering with me. If I did not know your natural sensibility, I would hold back from making even this indirect invitation. I speak from a deep impulse, but it is not pressing.
? 742? ? ,3? ? ? 0? ? ? 9? 0? 24:39,? 3? 2,3?
239
? Green-Water Stream
To reach the Yellow-Flowered River
Go by the Green-Water Stream.
A thousand twists and turns of mountain But the way there cani? t be many miles. The sound of water falling over rocks And deep colour among pines.
Gently green floating water-plants. Bright the mirrored reeds and rushes.
I am a lover of true quietness.
Watching the flow of clear water
I dream of sitting on the uncarved rock casting a line on the endless stream.
? 490? ? %? 0? :3. ,7;0/? 74. ? ? ? 8? 9? 0? %,4? %? 0? 03/? 088? 8970,2? ? 8? 9? 0? %,4?
? 240
? In Answer
In these quiet years growing calmer, Lacking knowledge of the worldi? s affairs, I stop worrying how things will turn out. My quiet mind makes no subtle plans. Returning to the woods I love
A pine-tree breeze rustles in my robes. Mountain moonlight fills the lutei? s bowl, Shows up what learning I have left.
If you ask what makes us rich or poor Hear the Fishermani? s voice float to shore.
? 490? ? ? 3? 9? 0? 4? /? 9,? 0? 9? 0? 2088,? 0? 41? 9? 0? ? ? 8? 072,3? ? 8? 9? ,9? 9? 0? %,4? 89? 2:89? /? 5? ? ? 8? 1009? ? 3? 9? 0? 2://? ? ? ,907? ? 41? 9? 0? ? 47? /? ? -:9? 8? 4:? /? ? ,8? ? ? ? 8? ? ,9 ? 897? 3? 8? ? 3? 9? 0? . ? 0,7? ? ,907? ? 41? 9? 0? %,4? ?
? 241
? Peach Blossom Spring
A fisherman floated on, enjoying Spring. The shores, he found, were covered in Peach
Blossom.
Watched reddening trees, uncertain where he was. Seeing no one reached green water springs.
There a way led through the hill.
Twisting, turning to a vast plain.
Distant trees rose to the clouds.
Houses stretched among bamboo and flowers. Woodmen had names from times of Chou, Clothes they wore were those of Chi? in,
Once had lived near Wu-ling River,
Now they lived outside the world.
Bright moon in pines. By their doors peace. Sunrise. From clouds the wild birds call.
Amazed, they want to see this stranger,
Invite him; ask questions of his country.
At first light they sweep flowers from the gate.
At dusk fishermen, woodmen ride the stream. They had sought refuge there from the world,
242
? ? Became Immortals, never returned.
Who in those hills can know the world of men, Who, gazing out, sees only clouds and hills? He forgot Paradise is hard to find.
His spirit turned again to his own home.
