Hanshan

thumb|Among a thousand clouds and ten thousand streams,Here lives an idle man,In the daytime wandering over green mountains,At night coming home to sleep by the cliff.Swiftly springs and autumns pass,But my mind is at peace, clear and free.By now I need nothing to lean on,To be still as the waters of the autumn river! Hanshan (c.730? – c.850?) was a legendary figure associated with a collection of poems from the Chinese Tang Dynasty in the Taoist and Chan tradition. No one knows who he was, or when he lived and died. In the Buddhist tradition, Hanshan and his sidekick Shide are honored as emanations of the bodhisattvas Mañjuśrī and Samantabhadra, respectively. In Japanese and Chinese paintings, Hanshan is often depicted together with Shide or with Fenggan, another monk with legendary attributes. Quotes Once, my back wedded to the solid cliff, I sat silently, bathed in the full moon's light. I counted there ten thousand shapes, None with substance save the moon's own glow. The pristine mind is empty as the moon, I thought, and like the moon, freely shines. By what I knew of moon I knew the mind, Each mirror to each, profound as stone. Encounters With Cold Mountain, tr. Peter Stambler (Foreign Languages Press, Beijing, 1996) All the people in the Kuo-ch'ing monastery— They say, "Han-shan is an idiot." "Am I really an idiot:" I reflect. But my reflections fail to solve the question: for I myself do not know who the self is, And how can others know who I am? Translated by D. T. Suzuki Note: This poem, translated by D. T. Suzuki, is not a complete Han-shan poem. It is lines 3–8 of a 14 line poem, numbered 271 by Red Pine. Cold Mountain Transcendental Poetry Cold Mountain Transcendental Poetry by the T'ang Zen poet, Han-shan (2005, 2011), tr. Wandering Poet, 978-0-6151-6006-1 0615160069 LOC Number 2007937840 There is a Precious MountainEven the Seven Treasures cannot compareA cold moon rises through the pinesLayer upon layer of bright cloudsHow many towering peaks?How many wandering miles?The valley streams run clearHappiness forever! Among a thousand clouds and ten thousand streamsHere lives an idle manIn the daytime wandering over green mountainsAt night coming home to sleep by the cliffSwiftly springs and autumns passBut my mind is at peace, clear and freeBy now I need nothing to lean onTo be still as the waters of the autumn river I dreamed a place where I have come to dwellCold Mountain says it allMonkeys scream, the valley fog is coldMy door blends with the color of the peaksI gather leaves and thatch a hut among the pinesDig a pond and lead a trickle from the brookLong ago I left the world behindEating ferns I pass the years in peace Cold Mountain is hidden in white cloudsIt's peaceful to be cut off from the busy worldI use dry grass for cushions in my mountain homeMy only light is the round moonMy bed is the rock beside the green poolTigers and deer are my companionsI delight in this happy peaceful lifeForever beyond the world of men I settled at Cold Mountain long agoAlready it seems like agesWandering free I roam the woods and streamsLingering to watch things be themselvesMen don't come this far into the mountainsWhere white clouds gather and billowDry grass makes a comfortable mattressThe blue sky is a fine quiltHappy to pillow my head on the rockI leave heaven and earth to endless change Today I sat before the cliffUntil the mist and rainbows disappearedI followed the emerald streamExplored a thousand tiers of green cliffsIn the morning my spirit rests among white cloudsAt night a bright moon floats in the skyI am free of the busy worldThere is not a doubt in my heart or a worry to disturb my mind When you live on Cold Mountain long enough the autumns pass quicklyWhen you live alone you have no worriesWhen you leave the doors open no one bothers youThe bubbling stream runs foreverIn the cave a clay pot boils over a fire on the groundA wandering breeze stirs the fragrant pinesWhen hungry I eat one simple mealAnd lean against the rock in complete harmony I'm happy in the every day WayAmong the mist and vines and cavesThe wilderness is boundlessMy companions are lazy white cloudsThere are roads but they do not reach the worldMy mind has come to rest and nothing can stir my thoughtOn a bed of rock I sit alone in the nightWhile a round moon climbs up Cold Mountain I love the joy of mountainsWandering free with no concernsEvery day I find food for this old bodyThere's leisure for thinking, nothing to doOften I carry an ancient bookSometimes I climb a rock pavilionTo look down a thousand foot precipiceOverhead are swirling cloudsA cold moon chilly coldMy body feels like a flying crane Tier on tier of beautiful mountains and streamsBlue green vistas locked in white cloudsThe mist makes my bandana wetDew coats my grass capeMy feet climb in straw sandalsMy hand holds an old wooden stickWhen I gaze down again on the dusty worldIt has become a land of phantoms and dreams to me How wonderful is Cold MountainClimbers are all afraidThe moon shines on clear water twinkle twinkleWind rustles the tall grassPlum trees flower in the snowBare twisted trees have clouds for foliageA touch of rain brings it all aliveUnless you see clearly do not approach Climb the steep Cold Mountain wayRoads to Cold Mountain are many and never endingThe valleys are long and deep, the peaks piled highThe streams are wide, the grass is thickThe moss is slippery though there is no rainThe pines sigh though there is no windWho can escape the snares of the worldAnd come to sit with me among the white clouds? Since I retired to Cold MountainI've lived by eating mountain fruitsWhat is there to worry about?Life passes according to karmaThe months pass like a flowing streamDays and nights like sparks from flintHeaven and earth endlessly changeWhile I sit happily among these cliffs People ask the way to Cold MountainRoads do not go throughSummer arrives yet the ice has not meltedThough the sun is out it's foggy and dimHow did I arrive here?My mind and yours are not the sameWhen our minds are oneYou will be here too When people look for the road in the cloudsThe cloud road disappearsThe mountains are tall and steepThe streams are wide and stillGreen mountains ahead and behindWhite clouds to east and westIf you want to find the cloud roadSeek it within Note: The following three poems are examples of Han-shan's three word per line poems. They are literal translations, word for word, and illustrate a simple childlike side of the old poet: Tiers of mountainsCold wind feetNot need fanIce cold throughMoon shines brightMist covers everythingSit all aloneOne old man Cold Mountain coldIce freezes rockMountains are greenSnow is whiteSun shines brightEvery thing meltEvery thing warmWarms old man Cold Mountain SonForever not changeI live aloneBeyond life death Note: The following two playful five word per line poems are also literal translations. Often sit alone happy happyThoughts somewhat far gone goneClouds circle mountain soft softWind through valley swish swishApe in tree bounce bounceBird in forest chirp chirpTime turns hair gray grayWinter is here sad sad Remote remote Cold Mountain roadCold cold ice cold cliffChirp chirp often many birdsLone lone no sign peopleSwish swish wind blow faceGentle gentle snow settle headDay day no see sunYear year no see spring Someone sits in a mountain valeA robe of clouds, rainbows for tasselsThe fragrant forest is the place to liveThe road has been long and difficultWith a heart full of doubt and regretA life has passed and nothing has been accomplishedOthers call it failureI stand alone devoted to this Cold Mountain life If you want a peaceful place to dwellCold Mountain is guaranteed foreverA light wind blows softly in the pinesThe sound is good when you are closeOne old man sits beneath the treesReading Lao Tzu and Huang Ti, mumblingI could not find the world if I searched ten yearsI've forgotten the road by which I came Variant, lines 5–8: Under a tree I'm reading Lao-tzu, quietly perusing. Ten years not returning, I forgot the way I had come. Translated by Katsuki Sekida The higher the trail the steeper it growsTen thousand tiers of dangerous cliffsThe stone bridge is slippery with green mossCloud after cloud keeps flying byWaterfalls hang like ribbons of silkThe moon shines down on the bright poolI climb the highest peak once moreTo wait where the lone crane flies I sit cross-legged on the rockThe valleys and streams are cold and dampSitting quietly is beautifulThe cliffs are lost in mist and fogI rest happily in this placeAt dusk the tree shadows are lowI look into my mindA white lotus emerges from the dark mud Old and sick, more than one hundred yearsFace haggard, hair white, I'm happy to still live in the mountainsA cloth covered phantom watching the years flow byWhy envy people with clever ways of living? Do I have a body? Or have I none?Am I who I am? Or am I not?Pondering these questions, I sitLeaning against the cliff while the years go byAnd the green grass grows up between my feetAnd the red dust settles on my headThen men of the world come and thinking me deadBring offerings of wine and fruit If your house has Cold Mountain poemsThey are better for you than sutrasHang them up where you can see themRead them and read them again Cold Mountain: 100 Poems by the T'ang Poet Han-shan Cold Mountain: 100 Poems by the T'ang Poet Han-shan (1970), tr. Burton Watson, Columbia University Press, 0-231-03450-4. I divined and chose a distant place to dwellT'ien T'ai: what more is there to say?Monkeys cry where valley mists are coldMy grass gate blends with the color of the cragsI pick leaves to thatch a hut among the pinesScoop out a pond and lead a runnel from the springBy now I am used to doing without the worldPicking ferns I pass the years that are left As for me, I delight in the every day WayAmong mist-wrapped vines and rocky cavesHere in the wilderness I am completely freeWith my friends, the white clouds, idling foreverThere are roads, but they do not reach the worldSince I am mindless, who can rouse my thoughtsOn a bed of stone I sit, alone in the nightWhile a round moon climbs up Cold Mountain Story on Story of wonderful hills and streamsTheir blue-green haze locked in clouds!Mists brush my thin cap with moistureDew wets my coat of plaited strawOn my feet I wear pilgrim's sandalsMy hand holds a stick of old rattanThough I look down again on the dusty worldWhat is that land of dreams to me? People ask the way to Cold Mountain. Cold Mountain? There is no road that goes through. Even in summer the ice doesn't melt; Though the sun comes out, the fog is blinding. How can you hope to get there by aping me? Your heart and mine are not alike. If your heart were the same as mine, Then you could journey to the very center! I brewed potions in a vain search for life everlasting, I read books, I sang songs of history, And today I've come home to Cold Mountain To pillow my head on the stream and wash my ears. If you're looking for a place to restCold Mountain is good for a long stayThe breeze blowing through the dark pinesSounds better the closer you comeAnd under the trees a white haired manMumbles over his Taoist textsTen years now he hasn't gone homeHe's even forgotten the road he came by Do you have the poems of Han-shan in your house?They're better for you than sutra reading!Write them out and paste them on a screenWhere you can glance over them from time to time Disputed Worry for others— it does no good in the end. The great Dao, all amid joy, is reborn. In a joyous state, ruler and subject accord, In a joyous home, father and son get along. If brothers increase their joy, the world will flourish. If husband and wife have joy, it's worthy of song. What guest and host can bear a lack of joy? Both high and low, in joy, lose their woe before long. Ha ha ha. Translated by Mary Jacob Note: It is unlikely that this poem, translated by Mary Jacob, is authored by Han-shan. In comparing it with every poem in the corpus it will be found that there is not a close match. Moreover, neither the language nor the content of this poem is that of Han-shan. Most importantly, this poem does not have the appropriate number of lines for a Han-shan poem. Jacob's poem has 9 lines; there is not a single example of a 9 line poem in all of Han-shan's poetry. All of Han-shan's poems are 4, 8, 10 or 14 lines, with a few that have more than 14. Further, Jacob's poem has an odd number of lines; there is not a single example of a poem with an odd number of lines in all of Han-shan's poetry. Finally, the 9th and final line in Jacob's poem has the words “ha ha ha.” Not a single Han-shan poem has those words as a final line. Perhaps someone is having a joke? External links Hanshan (poet) Category:9th century deaths Category:Poets from China Category:Chán Buddhist monks Category:Buddhists from China