Ripening Big Fool
Plough with a clay ox in a field of stone
- Han Shan
How thick the fog to lose my gait may get
Droopingly with bent shoulders and hopeless hang of head and a hoarse feeling I began to dress, and get into mental processes, dreamy and young at heart. There would be no more aching nights of lagging, weird cries for a change. Buying the pistol like a man abroad in a strange place could be well. And very simple incantations, a shining gift, like panting and simple good things first. I did not smile at the thought of a broken pudding for work-out. I was clenching it somehow (for gladness of might), deeply hoarsely, in the middle of speaking.
To the Broken Back
Draw deep breaths and smile at the knowledge,
Have a new, comfortable thing if you can.
If rested by normal sleep
Your Onerous Dreams
Confronting your onerous dreams
In My Bedroom
A bed piled high with books
Autumn winds blow
An old man
I studied arts in my youth.
At noon, sitting and facing a wall, I sometimes wake up
Fragments are taken from:
Pine, Red [Bill Porter], tr. 2000. The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain. Port Townsend, WA: Copper Canyon Press.
Watson, Burton, tr. 1970. Cold Mountain: 100 Poems by the T'ang Poet Han-shan. Reissue ed. New York: Columbia University Press.
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