Saturday, January 28, 2017
Once when young . . .
Once when young I lay and listened
To the rain falling on the roof
Of a brothel. The candle light
Gleamed on silk and silky flesh.
Then I heard it on the
Cabin roof of a small boat
On the Great River, under
Low clouds, where wild geese cried out
On the Autumn storm. Now I
Hear it again on the monastery
Roof. My hair has turned white.
Joy — sorrow — parting — meeting —
Are all as though they had
Never been. Only the rain
Is the same, falling in streams
On the tiles all through the night.
- Chiang Chieh, 1300 C. E.
(translated by Kenneth Rexroth)