
When you’ve just come of age, reading these poems seems like gnawing on withered wood. But reading them after long experience in the world, it seems the decisions of your life were all made in ignorance.
T’ao gained quasi-mythic status for his commitment to life as a recluse-farmer, despite poverty and hardship, and his poetry mirrors that life. Its unassuming surface reveals a rich philosophical depth. Virtually all major Chinese poets recognized in T’ao a depth and clarity of wisdom that seemed beyond them, a wisdom which also made him a figure honored in the Ch’an (Zen) Buddhist tradition. Huang T’ing-chien, the Sung Dynasty poet, said of T’ao: “When you’ve just come of age, reading these poems seems like gnawing on withered wood. But reading them after long experience in the world, it seems the decisions of your life were all made in ignorance.”
I Stop DrinkingMy home is where the town stops.
Drinking AloneWhen It Rains Day After Day Tony Barnstone |
Reading the Classic of Mountains and SeasIt’s early summer. Everything’s lush. David Hinton After the AncientsSpring’s second moon brings timely rain; Since you and I were parted, I have J.P. Seaton Moving houseOnce upon a time: I wanted to go live in South Village, J.P. Seaton |
Drinking Wine #2The Way`s been in ruins a thousand away: so busy scrambling for esteemed But whatever makes living precious life never lasts. It’s startling, years offer all abundance: Take it! David Hinton Drinking Wine #3I live in town without all that racket how that could be. Wherever the mind Picking chrysanthemums at my east fence, air lovely at dusk, birds in Bight something absolute. Whenever I start David Hinton
Drinking Wine #5I built my hut in the midst men, Wendy Swartz
Drinking Wine #7Fall chrysanthemums have beautiful colors: Burton Watson
Drinking Wine #9Early this morning I heard someone knock, Tony Barnstone
Drinking Wine #17The orchid, hidden, growing, in the court J.P. Seaton |
Returning to the Fields and Gardens (II)I plant beans below the southern hill: Now the path is narrow, grasses and bushes are high Arthur Sze
The Unmoving ClientI II III It is not that there are no other men Ezra Pound
My Home HereMy home here Cid Corman Begging FoodThe pangs of hunger drove me from my home; The owner understood my need We played and sang till sunset, I remember the story of the washerwoman. * Mike Farm |