Tired of my writing brush, I gazed out the window:
bamboo and pine were perfectly still.

At moonrise, a slight breeze came up,
like on those long-ago nights in the hills.

As though dreaming, I returned to the Hsien-yu Temple
near my home in the southern mountains.

When that palace water clock awakened me,
I thought it was the laughter of mountain streams.

translated by Sam Hamill

“One who speaks does not know; one who knows does not speak.”
Thus I have been instructed by the Old Master.

If you tell me the Old Master was one who knew, I ask,
Why did he write five thousand words to explain it.

translated by Sam Hamill

Downriver, someone plays
a bamboo flute at midnight.

Note by note, I’m transported
back into my youth at home.

Listening, I feel my thin hair
quickly turning white:

still growing old, still
sleepless, still alone.

translated by Sam Hamill