from Han-shan 2

Men these days search for a way through the clouds,
But the cloud way is dark and without sign.
The mountains are high and often steep and rocky;
In the broadest valleys the sun seldom shines.
Green crests before you and behind,
White clouds to east and west–
Do you want to know where the cloud way lies?
There it is, in the midst of the Void!

translated by Burton Watson

from Han-shan

A man lives on rose-colored clouds
shunned the usual haunts for a home
every season is equally dead
summer is just like fall
a dark stream always babbles
a towering pine wind sighs
sitting here less than one day
he forgets a whole lifetime of sorrow

translated by Red Pine

on what it means to be an essayist by E.B. White

The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest. He is a fellow who thoroughly enjoys his work, just as people who take bird walks enjoy theirs. Each new excursion of the essayist, each new “attempt,” differs from the last and takes him into new country. This delights him. Only a person who is congenitally self-centered has the effrontery and the stamina to write essays.

? by Orhan Veli Kanık

Why when I say harbour
Do cranes come to mind
And sails when I say open sea?

Cats when I say March
Workers when  I say rights
And why does the old miller
Blindly believe in God?

And why does rain fall slanted
In windy weather?

translated by George Messo