By J.P. Seaton (Editor), Dennis Maloney (Editor)
This anthology gathers over 1500 years if chinese language Zen (Ch'an) poetry, from the earliest writing -- together with the Hsin Hsin Ming written via the 3rd Patriarch -- to the poetry of clergymen residing during this century. Drawn jointly by means of the Zen thread, this ragged line of poet-hermits types a profound lineage for plenty of modern poets.
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Extra info for A Drifting Boat: Chinese Zen Poetry
Today, like any other gentleman , it's looking for injustice . -a+ 62 rc. 'a+ 63 rG ~S+ Po Chu -i Autumn's Col d (772-M6) Staying at Bamboo Lodge an evening sitting unde r the eaves of the pine s at night sleepin g in Bamboo Lodg e the sky so clear you'd sa y it was drugs meditation so deep, though t I'd gone home to the hill s but Clever can' t bea t Stupi d and Quick won't match Quie t Untoiling-ness! (you just can't pave the Way ) that's it! the Gate of Mystery! here's my snowy crown time' s tinted decrepitud e there's the frost in the courtyard autumn ' s glittery breat h now I'm sick and just watching my wif e pick cure-alls then I'm frozen waiting for the maid to comb my hair without the body what use fame ?
Patched rob e Hugged tight, sitting Ends the day . How few springs Does a floating life Know? To board a gangwa y Evokes dreams of Yŭeh ; To grip his staff Recalls Ch'in rambles . Midnight , The frozen halls shut . A chime sounds : He hears i t Everywhere. Written at Candidate Hsu's Villa on the Ti Rive r The distan t Ferry road blurs ; A traveler ' s hear t I can ' t let go . Half the sky , Mountains far and near ; Icy day, a rive r East and west. Wave s On the slough shrink Fishing nets; in driven san d Lines of gees e Dip low.
II knife in hand I chop the thick bambo o for the less the bambo o the more the win d and thi s no one comprehends . . but all I want i s to make waves on the pond Crane though everyone possesse s some skil l all creatures at heart lack constanc y some say you're a dancer . . best stick to standing on fences Lute my lute set aside on the little tabl e lazily I meditat e on cherishing feelings the reason I don't bother to strum and pluck? ther e' s a breeze over the string s and it plays itself r-ad Green Mountains father white clouds : white clouds are the children of mountains .