Sunday, February 17, 2008
Poem by Han-Shan
(image from source)
My Son Reading Han-Shan
A frog squatting on a pond rock, my son
reads thousand year old eight line poems.
He reads and laughs, turns the page
and reads and laughs, shoulders rolling.
Han-shan, my old friend, now his too!
When the wind awakens the voice in pines
and sends mink scurrying toward shore,
he reads and laughs, teeth white as waves.
James Lenfestey
One of the delights of reading ancient sacred poetry is to discover the very early writers who were skilled poets and deeply in touch with their own spiritual currents. Not much is known about Han-Shan, who may have lived in China in early times. He may have been a mythical figure, his poems written by various hands. Or he may have been an actual Taoist monk who resided in seclusion in the mountains, disdaining city life and communal existence.
Here is one of the poems attributed to him:
Poem 26:
Since I came to Cold Mountain
how many thousand years have passed?
Accepting my fate I fled to the woods,
to dwell and gaze in freedom.
No one visits the cliffs
forever hidden by clouds.
Soft grass serves as a mattress,
my quilt is the dark blue sky.
A boulder makes a fine pillow;
Heaven and Earth can crumble and change.
(by Han-Shan, translated by Red Pine)
