Painted beams aren’t for me
the forest is my home
a lifetime suddenly passes by
don’t think your cares will wait
those who build no raft to cross
drown while gathering flowers
unless you plant good roots today
you’ll never see a bud
translated by Red Pine
When will the treadmill of life and death stop
each rebirth gets more confusing
until we discover the jewel of our mind
we’re like blind mules following our feet
translated by Red Pine
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
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
Beyond barred windows,
shadows cover the garden,
shadows slide over the curtain
as I play my lute in silence.
Distant mountains stretch the sunset,
breezes bring clouds and rain.
The pear blossoms fade and die,
and I can’t keep them from falling.
translated by Sam Hamill
Hair whiter still, I ache to see those long-ago northlands,
but keep to this refuge: goosefoot staff, windblown trees.
Pity the poor moon: all that bright beauty, and for whom?
It’s dusk. Countless mountains face each other in sorrow.
translated by David Hinton
Knowing lifetimes are like dream, I search for nothing now.
Searching for nothing, a mind is perfectly empty, perfectly
quiet, and so deep in dream it traces borderlands of dream
clear through river and shoreline sands to the end of dream.
translated by David Hinton
Faint shadow, a house, and traces of rain.
In courtyard depths, the gate’s still closed
past noon. That lazy, I gaze at moss until
its green-azure comes seeping into robes.
translated by David Hinton
Getting this old isn’t much fun,
and it’s worse stuck in bed, sick.
I draw water and arrange flowers,
comforted by their scents adrift,
scents adrift, gone in a moment.
And how much longer for me?
Cut flowers and this long-ago I:
it’s so easy forgetting each other.
translated by David Hinton
Far off in the clouds stand the walls of Han-yang,
Another day’s journey for my lone sail . . .
Though a river merchant ought to sleep in this calm weather,
I listen to the tide at night and voices of the boatman.
. . . My thin hair grows wintry, like the triple Hsiang streams,
Three thousand miles my heart goes, homesick with the moon;
But the war has left me nothing of my heritage—
And oh, the pangs of hearing these drums along the river!
translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual speakeasy of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 