ZEN IRODALOM ZEN LITERATURE
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拾得 Shide (active 627-649)
(English:) "Pick-up or Foundling"
(Magyar:) Si-tö, „Lelenc”
Comparative List of Shide's Poems in Chinese and English
项楚 Xiang Chu. 寒山诗注 (附拾得诗注) Cold Mountain Poems and Notes, 中华书局出版 Zhonghua Book Company, Beijing, 1997, 2000, 2010. [313 Cold Mountain Poems, 57 Pick-up Poems, 6 Big-stick Poems]
Shide in English
寒山拾得 Hanshan & Shide stonerubbing > Hanshan
A Dialogue Between Han-Shan and Shih-tê
Translated by Saddhaloka Bhikkhu
Translated by R. H. Blyth
The Poems of Big Stick and Pickup: From Temple Walls, Translated by Red Pine (Bill Porter). Empty Bowl, Port Townsend, 1984
PDF: Hanshan, The collected songs of Cold Mountain, Translated by Red Pine (Bill Porter). Introduction by John Blofeld. Port Townsend, Washington, Copper Canyon Press, 1983; Revised and expanded edition, 2000. Text in Chinese and English, 272 p.
The Poems of Pickup (Shih-te), pp. 265-299.
The Poetry of Shih-te
Translations by James M. Hargett
The Foundling's Poems - Poems of Master Shih Te
Translated by J. P. Seaton
PDF: Cold Mountain Poems: Zen Poems of Han Shan, Shih Te, and Wang Fan-chih, Tr. J.P. Seaton, Shambhala, 2009, 136 p.
James Hugh Sanford – Jerome P. Seaton. „Four Poems by Shih-te.” White Pine Journal 24-25 (1980): pp. 9-10.
The View from Cold Mountain: Poems of Han-Shan and Shih-Te, Tr. by Arthur Tobias, James Sanford and J.P. Seaton; edited by Dennis Maloney, Buffalo, N.Y.: White Pine Press, 1982,  p.
PDF: A Drifting Boat: An Anthology of Chinese Zen Poetry edited by Jerome P. Seaton & Dennis Maloney, White Pine Press, Fredonia, New York, 1994, pp. 36-39.
James Hugh Sanford – Jerome P. Seaton. Translations of two poems by Shih-te and three sets of Shih-te harmony poems. The Literaly Review. Vol. 38, No. 3 (1995), pp. 376; 335-337.
Cold Mountain Transcendental Poetry by the T'ang Zen Poet Han-shan: 100 poems translated by “Wandering Poet, M.A.” (Kindle Edition)
The poems attributed to Pick-up
Han-shan and Shih-tê
Chapter XIV/26. In: The Golden Age of Zen
by John C. H. Wu
Taipei : The National War College in co-operation with The Committee on the Compilation of the Chinese Library, 1967, pp. 277-281.
PDF: Wandering Saints : Chan eccentrics in the Art and Culture of Song and Yuan China by Paramita Paul
Thesis/dissertation, Proefschrift Universiteit Leiden. 2009, 310 p.
The poetry of Hanshan (Cold Mountain), Shide, and Fenggan; edited by Christopher Nugent; translated by Paul Rouzer. Parallel text in Chinese and English. Boston; Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton, 2017, 403 p.
Open access (OA): https://www.degruyter.com/viewbooktoc/product/449925
PDF: The Cold Mountain Master Poetry Collection: Introduction
PDF: Record of Shide, pp. 341-351.
PDF: Shide's Poems, pp. 352-403.
—Attributed to Shide
Translation by James H. Sanford
Pacific World Journal, Third Series Number 8, Fall 2006
In a hidden lair, in these clouded woods
I lay my head beside a moonlit stream.
Pine boughs brush the great, flat stone
sweet springs reach up, gentle, chill.
I sit, motionless, before such beauty,
lost in the misted darkness of empty hills.
I am content in this desolate spot
pine shadow, stretching before a setting sun.
Translated by R. H. Blyth
Zen and Zen Classics , Volume 2: History of Zen. The Hokuseido Press, 1964. pp. 159-160.
Hanshan is of himself Hanshan;
Shite is of himself Shite.
How can the common or garden man really know them?
(But Feng knows them through and through.)
If you want really to see them you mustn't just look at them.
When you want to find them, where will you seek for them?
I ask, "What is the relation between them?"
And hasten to answer, "They are men with the omnipotence of doing 'nothing.' "
拾得 Shide by 王問 Wang Wen (1497-1576)
THE POETRY OF SHIH-TE
Translations by James M. Hargett
Vajra Bodhi Sea, March-April-May 1975, Volume V, Series 12, Nos. 60, 61, 62 (Ten poems)
Cf. Sunflower Splendor: Three Thousand Years of Chinese Poetry, Indiana University Press, 1990, p. 91. (Four poems)
Far, faraway, steep mountain paths,
Treacherous and narrow, ten thousand feet up;
Over boulders and bridges, lichens of green,
Whiteclouds are often seen soaring.
A cascade suspends in mid-air like a bolt of silk;
The moon's reflection falls on a deep pool, glittering.
I shall climb up the magnificent mountain peak,
to await the arrival of a solitary crane.
Shih-te is a pseudonym for an eremitic Buddhist poet who lived during the T'ang Dynasty (618-907 A.D.). He is reputed to have lived near a place called Han-shan, which is located in the southern portion of modern day Chekiang Province. His name is often associated with two Buddhist monks named Han-shan and Feng-kan with whom he was friendly, and who came from the Kuo-ch'ing Monastery.
Strictly speaking, we know very little about the life of Shih-te. Only legends have been associated with his life, and there is no preface to his collection of poems. His poems are all untitled, and contain very little biographical information.
Buddhist influence upon the poetry of Shih-te was overwhelming, and this is realized as soon as one reads a few selections of his poems. He was a follower of the Southern School of the Ch'an sect, which placed great emphasis upon individual effort. Many of the images and terminology one encounters in his poetry are drawn from Buddhist sutras or the sayings of the Southern School of Ch'an. This sect contends that the doctrine of the Buddha is present within the hearts of all men, they need only be awakened to its presence.
The majority of Shih-te's poems are either vehement denunciations of the evils of mortal men, or Buddhist sermons calling upon these unenlightened mortals to mend their evil ways and awaken to the Buddha. Most of his poems are written in the Old Style form, usually of eight lines with rhymes falling on the even numbered lines.
I am aware of those foolish fellows,
Who support Sumeru with their illumed hearts. 1
Like ants gnawing on a huge tree,
How can they know their strength is so slight?
Learning to gnaw on two stalks of herbs,
Their words then become one with the Buddha.
I desperately seek to confess my sins,
Hereafter, never again to go astray.
1 Sumeru is the central peak in the Buddhist universe.
My left hand clasps the Dragon Pearl, 1
My right hand clasps the Wisdom Sword. 2
First I smite an ignorant thief,
The Sacred Pearl then emits a brilliant glow,
Oh, how I grieve for those foolish fellows,
Who long for that life' of boredom.
Once they fall into the Three Evil Paths, 3
They'll sense the peril of their future course.
1 T he Dragon Pearl supposedly is one which is held beneath the chin of a dragon. A full account of this tale is related in the Chuang Tzu , chapter entitled " Lieh Yu K'ou ."
2 "The Wisdom Sword is a Buddhist term which refers to a sword which can cut away illusion.
3 That is, the hells, the realm of the hungry ghosts, and the realm of animals.
You have acquired this segmented torso,
How amusing is its magnificent form.
Though the face is like a silver platter,
Within the heart it is black as lacquer.
You boil swine and butcher sheep,
Then boast by saying they are sweet as honey.
But after death when criticism falls upon you,
Do not call them false charges!
Oh, to see the people in the world,
Eternally suffering upon the wayward path.
Those unable to comprehend each thought,
Their actions only lead to bitter suffering.
My poems are indeed poems,
Some people call them chants,
But poems and chants are one in the same,
Readers must only examine them carefully.
But if you carefully search and inquire,
You can't discover life's easiness.
It's similar to learning proper conduct,
Surely it's an amusing affair!
There are a myriad of different chants,
To quickly recite them must surely be difficult.
If you wish to be among those who know them,
You need only to come to the T'ien T'ai Mountains
There to sit among secluded grottoes,
Expounding theories, discussing the profound.
If it happens that we do not meet,
It will seem like a thousand mountains between us.
Of course, Han-shan is Han-shan,
And Shih-te is Shih-te.
How can common fools recognize us?
Though Feng-kan, he surely knows us.
When worldlings wish to see us they can't,
When looking for us where can they look?
What, may I ask, is the reason for all this?
It's because we face the Tao with the power of transcendence.
The steelyard reinforced with silver stars,
Its handle woven with emerald silk.
Buyers crowd up to the front,
Sellers crowd back to the rear.
Unconcerned for others' grieving hearts,
All they say is, "I'm a clever fellow."
At death, you'll depart to see the Yama, 1
Your broom, to be placed behind your back! 2
1 Yama is the king of hell.
2 A broom was used in preparing for funeral services.
Often you delight in the Three Poisonous Wines, 1
Then you become confused, your senses lost.
You use money to transact imaginary affairs,
Yet these fantasies have become reality to you.
Your sufferings only lead to further sufferings,
Though you renounce them, there is no escape.
You must quickly become awakened,
But this depends on you alone!
1 These are the source of all passion and delusion. They represent in part the ideas of love, hate, and moral inertia.
Carefree are those in the secular world,
Often delighting in its sensual pleasures.
When I see these fellows,
My heart bears much concern.
And why pray tell, do I grieve for them?
I think of their suffering in that world!
The Foundling’s Poems
Poems of Master Shih Te
In: Cold Mountain Poems: Zen Poems of Han Shan, Shih Te, and Wang Fan-chih,
Translated by J.P. Seaton, Shambhala, 2009, pp. 73-85.
If you want to be happy,
there is no way but the hermit’s.
Flowers in the grove grow in an endless brocade;
every single season’s colors new.
Just sit beside the cliff and turn your head,
to watch the moon roll by.
And me? I ought to be at joyous ease,
but I can’t stop thinking of the others.
When I was young I studied books and swordsmanship
and rode off with a shout to the Capital.
There I heard the barbarians
had all been driven off already . . .
There was no place left for heroes.
So I came back to these crested peaks,
lay down to listen to the clear stream’s flow.
Young men dream of glory:
monkeys riding on the ox’s back.
I’ve always been Shih Te, the Foundling.
It’s not some accidental title.
Yet I’m not without a family.
Han Shan’s my brother.
Two men with hearts a lot alike.
No need for vulgar love.
If you want to know how old we are . . .
like the Yellow River, that’s unclear.
You want to learn to catch a mouse?
Don’t take a pampered cat for your teacher.
If you want to learn the nature of the world,
don’t study fine bound books.
The True Jewel’s in a coarse bag.
The Buddha Nature stops at huts.
The whole herd of folks who clutch
at the outsides of things
never seem to make that connection.
My poems are poems,
even if some people call them sermons.
Well, poems and sermons do share one thing;
when you read them you got to be careful.
Keep at it. Get into detail.
Don’t just claim they’re easy.
If you were to live your life like that,
a lot of funny things might happen.
I’m free in this cave on T’ien-t’ai:
no seeker here will ever find me.
Han Shan’s my only friend.
Chewing magic mushrooms,
underneath tall pines,
we chatter back and forth
of ancient times, and new,
sighing to think of all the others,
each on his own way to hell.
Get your heads out, there’s still time!
Greed, anger, ignorance: drink deep
these poisoned wines and lie
drunk and in darkness, unknowing . . .
Make riches your dream: your dream’s
a cage of gold. Bitterness is cause of bitterness;
give it up, or dwell within that dream.
You better wake up soon, wake up
and go home.
A long way off, I see men in the dirt,
enjoying whatever it is that they find in the dirt . . .
When I look at them there in the dirt,
my heart wells full of sadness.
Why sympathize with men like these?
I can remember the taste of that dirt.
Wisdom’s wine’s cold water, pure.
Drink deep, it sobers you.
Where I live, at T’ien-t’ai mountain’s side
no silly fools will ever find me.
I roam in every shady valley,
but never where the world goes.
No worry, no grief,
no shame, and no glory.
Since I came home to this T’ien-t’ai temple,
how many winters and springs have passed?
The mountains, the streams, they haven’t changed,
but the man’s grown older.
How many other men will stand here,
and find these mountains standing?
I see a lot of silly folks
who claim their own small spine’s
Sumeru, the sacred mountain
that supports the universe.
Piss ants, gnawing away at a noble tree,
with never a doubt about their strength.
They chew up a couple of Sutras,
and pass themselves off as Masters.
Let them hurry and repent.
From now on no more foolishness.
See the moon’s bright blaze of light,
a guiding lamp, above the world!
Glittering, it hangs against the void,
a blazing jewel, its brightness through the mist.
Some people say it waxes, wanes;
theirs may, but mine remains
as steady as the Mani Pearl . . .
This light knows neither day or night.
The Buddhas left their Sutras,
just because men are so hard to change.
It’s not just a matter of saintly or stupid,
each and every heart throws up a barricade,
each piles up his own mountain of karma.
How could they guess
that every single thing
they clutch so close is sorrow?
Unwilling to ponder, day and night,
as they embrace the falsehood that is flesh.
Sermons? There must be a million.
Too many to read in a hurry . . .
But if you want a friend,
just come on out to T’ien-t’ai.
Sitting deep among the crags,
we’ll talk about True Principles
and chat about Dark Mysteries.
If you don’t come to my mountain,
your view will be blocked
by all of the others.
Han Shan’s Han Shan.
Me, I’m Shih Te:
How could the ignorant know us?
Old Feng Kan, he thought he knew,
but when he looked, he couldn’t see,
and where he searched, he couldn’t find us.
You want to know how that could be?
In our way’s the power of nonbeing.
I laugh at myself, old man, with no strength left,
inclined to piney peaks, in love with lonely pathways . . .
Oh well, I’ve wandered down the years to now,
free in the flow, and floated home the same,
a drifting boat.
Not going, not coming,
rooted, deep and still,
not reaching out, not reaching in,
just resting, at the center.
The single jewel, the flawless crystal drop,
in the blaze of its brilliance,
the way beyond.
Cloudy mountains, fold on fold,
how many thousands of them?
Shady valley road runs deep,
all trace of man gone.
Green torrent’s pure clear flow,
no place more full of beauty:
and time, and time, birds sing,
my own heart’s harmony.
Now your modern day monk’s
fond of preaching of love: hard-core fool.
He starts out in search of getting free
and ends up somebody’s lackey,
morning to evening one mean hut to the next
praying and chanting for cash . . .
He makes a bundle, then drinks it up
like any other shop-boy.
Far, so far, the mountain path is steep.
Thousands of feet up, the pass is dangerous and narrow.
On the stone bridge, moss and lichen . . .
from time to time, a sliver of cloud flying . . .
and cascades hanging, skeins of silk.
Image of the moon from the deep pool, shining,
once more to the top of Flowering Peak,
there waiting, still
the coming of the solitary crane.
Cold Mountain Transcendental Poetry
100 poems translated by “Wandering Poet, M.A.”
The poems attributed to Pick-up:
There are ten million scriptures
Anxious to learn you will not understand
If you want a friend and confidant
Go into Tien Tai mountains
Sit deep among the cliffs
We can discuss the ten million scriptures
But don't look for me
All you will see is a thousand mountains
Pick-up is really a pick-up
It's not just a casual name
There is no close family
Cold Mountain is my brother
Our two hearts are alike
We can discuss everything together
If you ask how many years?
Since the Yellow River ran clear
I laugh at myself, an old man with faded health
I'm still partial to pine cliffs, I love to play alone
I sigh for the years that are gone
Following my karma, drifting like an untied boat
I wander into Cold Mountain cave
To visit someone people don't know
Cold Mountain is my friend
We chew magic mushrooms beneath the pines
We talk of current and ancient events
We see the world as stupid and crazy
Each and every one is hell bound
Will they ever be free?
Tier upon tier of mountains and clouds
Beyond the trails where men tread
The pure emerald stream holds many sights
And the bird song always agrees with my heart
If you discuss happiness forever
It only happens to hermits
Forest flowers shine like silk
The four seasons’ colors are always new
Leaning against the rock I sit
Gazing at the moon
Though I am happy here
I think of the miserable world down below
The teachings of the old ones are like cold wine
The more you drink the clearer your mind
I live on Cold Mountain
Not even the shadow of a fool will you find here
I wander among caves and deep gorges
I don't keep up with worldly affairs
I have no worries, no concerns
I live far beyond shame and glory
The higher the trail the steeper it grows
Ten thousand tiers of dangerous cliffs
The stone bridge is slippery with green moss
Cloud after cloud keeps flying by
Waterfalls hang like ribbons of silk
The moon shines down on a bright pool
I climb the highest peak once more
To wait where the lone crane flies
A cold moon rises through the pines
Layer upon layer of bright clouds
Tier on tier of towering peaks
You can see a thousand miles
Pools of water crystal clear
Moonlight shining in the mirror
This precious Mountain Temple
Even the Seven Treasures cannot compare
Hanshan and Shide by Liang Kai (early 13th century)
Han-shan and Shih-tê
Chapter XIV/26. In: The Golden Age of Zen
by John C. H. Wu
Taipei : The National War College in co-operation with The Committee on the Compilation of the Chinese Library, 1967, pp. 277-281.
One of the most cherished poems of the T’ang dynasty was a quatrain by Chang Chi (from latter part of the 8th century) on “A Night Mooning at Maple Bridge”:
The moon has gone down,
A crow caws through the frost.
A sorrow-ridden sleep under the shadows
Of maple trees and fishermen’s fires.
Suddenly the midnight bell of Cold Mountain Temple
Sends its echoes from beyond the city to a passing boat.
This poem is redolent of Zen. It seems as though eternity had suddenly invaded the realm of time.
The Cold Mountain Temple in the suburbs of Soochow was built in memory of Han-shan Tzu or the “Sage of Cold Mountain,” a legendary figure who is supposed to have lived in the 7th century as a hermit in the neighborhood of Kuo-ch’ing Temple on the T’ien-t’ai Mountain in Chekiang. He was not a monk, nor yet a layman; he was just himself. He found a bosom friend in the person of Shih-tê, who served in the kitchen of Kuoch’ing Temple. After every meal Han-shan would come to the kitchen to feed upon the leftovers. Then the two inseparable friends would chat and laugh. To the monks of the temple, they were just two fools. One day, as Shih-tê was sweeping the ground, an old monk said to him, “You were named Shih-te’ (literally ‘picked up’), because you were picked up by Feng-kan. But tell me what is your real family name?” Shih-te laid down his sweeper, and stood quietly with his hands crossed. When the old monk repeated his question, Shih-te took up his sweeper and went away sweeping. Han-shan struck his breast, saying, “Heaven, heaven!” Shih-te asked what he was doing. Han-shan said, “Don’t you know that when the eastern neighbor has died, the western neighbor must attend his funeral?” Then the two danced together, laughing and weeping as they went out of the temple.
At a mid-monthly renewal of vows, Shih-tê suddenly clapped his hands, saying, “You are gathered here for meditation. What about that thing?” The leader of the community angrily told him to shut up. Shih-tê said, “Please control yourself and listen to me:
The elimination of anger is true shila.
Purity of heart is true homelessness.
My self-nature and yours are one,
The fountain of all the right dharmas!”
Both Han-shan and Shih-tê were poets. I will give a sample of Shih-tê’s poetry here:
I was from the beginning a “pick up,”
It is not by accident that I am called ‘Shih-tê.'
I have no kith and kin, only Han-shan
Is my elder brother.
We are one in heart and mind:
How can we compromise with the world?
Do you wish to know our age? More than once
Have we seen the Yellow River in its pure limpidity!
Everybody knows that the Yellow River had never been limpid since the beginning of history. So the last two lines were meant to convey that they were older than the world! Another noteworthy point in this poem is that even hermits— and Hanshan and Shih-tê are among the greatest hermits of China— have need of like-minded friends for mutual encouragement and consolation. This is what keeps them so perfectly human.
From the poems of Han-shan, you will see that he is even more human than Shih-tê. There were moments when he felt intensely lonely and homesick. As he so candidly confessed:
Sitting alone I am sometimes overcome
By vague feelings of sadness and unrest.
Sometimes he thought nostalgically of his brothers:
Last year, when I heard the spring birds sing,
I thought of my brothers at home.
This year when I see the autumn chrysanthemums fade,
The same thought comes back to me.
Green waters sob in a thousand streams,
Dark clouds hang on every side.
Up to the end of my life, though I live a hundred years,
It will break my heart to think of Ch’ang-an.
This is not the voice of a man without human affection. If he preferred to live as a hermit, it was because he was driven by a mysterious impulse to find something infinitely more precious than the world could give. Here is his poem on “The Priceless Pearl.”
Formerly, I was extremely poor and miserable.
Every night I counted the treasures of others.
But today I have thought the matter over,
And decided to build a house of my own.
Digging at the ground I have found a hidden treasure—
A pearl as pure and clear as crystal!
A number of blue-eyed traders from the West
Have conspired together to buy the pearl from me.
In reply I have said to them,
“This pearl is without a price!”
His interior landscape can be glimpsed from a well-known gatha of his:
My mind is like the autumn moon, under which
The green pond appears so limpid, bright and pure.
In fact, all analogies and comparisons are inapt.
In what words can I describe it?
With such interior landscape, it is little wonder that he should be so intensely in love with nature, for nature alone could reflect the inner vision with a certain adequacy. Some of his nature poems shed a spirit of ethereal delight. For example, this:
The winter has gone and with it a dismal year.
Spring has come bringing fresh colors to all things.
Mountain flowers smile in the clear pools.
Perennial trees dance in the blue mist.
Bees and butterflies are alive with pleasure.
Birds and fishes delight me with their happiness.
Oh the wondrous joy of endless comradeship!
From dusk to dawn I could not close my eyes.
Only the man of Tao, the truly detached man, can enjoy the beauties of Nature as they are meant to be enjoyed. As to the others, they are too preoccupied with their own interests and purposes to enjoy the landscape of Nature. As an old lay woman called Dame Ch’en said, in a gatha she composed on seeing a crowd of woodcutters:
On the high slope and low plane,
You see none but woodcutters.
Everyone carries in his bosom
The idea of knife and axe;
How can he see the mountain flowers
Tinting the waters with patches of glorious red?
《 树下休憩图 》 "Under the Tree" by 徐渭 Xu Wei (1521-1593)
《寒山问拾得》A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HAN-SHAN AND SHIH-TÊ
From the book of the daily recitations of the Ch'an School (Ch'an men tih sung)
Translated from the Chinese by Saddhaloka Bhikkhu
Visakha Puja, Annual Publication of the Buddhist Association of Thailand, Bangkok, May 1971, pp. 64-65.
In former days Han-Shan asked Shih-tê saying: "The world is slandering me, cheating me, humiliating
me, laughing about me, treating me lightly, despising me, disliking me and swindling me. How can I
deal with this?"
Shih-tê said: "Only endure it, let it be, let it have its way, avoid it, beat it, be reverent towards it, you
do not need to care for it... Wait for a few years and then have a look at it again."
Han-Shan asked: "What other secret art is there to get away from it?"
Shih-tê replied: 'In the past I read the stanza of Maitreya Bodhisattva. You now listen to me. I will
recite the stanza to you: 'Old fool that I am, I wear a monk's cassock, with poor food I fill the belly. The
patched ragged garment is good enough to protect from the cold. All things follow their own conditions.
If somebody abuses this old fool, then this old fool only says 'it is well'. If anybody hits this old fool,
then this old fool will himself fall down asleep. The tears and the saliva on the face will dry by itself
and on its own.' I will also save strength and breath and he will be without defilements as well. This
kind of perfection is then the jewel within the marvel. If these tidings are known why should one
worried about not knowing the way? Man is weak and the mind is strong. Man is poor, but the way is
not poor. One ought to practise with a one-pointed mind and always act according to the way. Worldly
people love splendour, however I don't care to look at it. Fame and wealth are all void. The mind with
an 'I' is insatiable. With gold amassed in piles as big as mountains, it is difficult to buyout the limitations
due to impermanence. Tzu-Kung(1) was good in oratory. Chou-Kung(2) was endowed with the divine
reckoning. Kung-Min(3) had great wisdom in scheming. Fan-K'uai(4) rescued his lord out of difficulties.
Han-hsin's(5) efforts and toils were great and yet at the point of death it was only one swordstroke. Of
the many people of olden times and now who is there that lived for a few thousand years?
This one displayed himself as a hero, that one was a brave fellow. But look, both their temples are
white. Year by year the appearance changes. Days and months are like the going to and fro of the
weaver's shuttle. Time flies like an arrow that has been shot. In no long time disease comes to encroach
upon one. With regret one grieves and laments to oneself thinking of the time when one was young and
did not take to the way of practice. But King Yama(6) does not extend the time limit set. When the
breath has come to an end just what argument is there then to take up? There's no arguing of right and
wrong, neither a discussion on family matters nor a dispute of others and me. Neither is there a brave
fellow. There is also no speech to abuse with. If one asks him it's a dumb fellow. Beat him and he
does not care either. Give him a push and the whole body will turn around. He is not afraid of being
laughed at by people nor does his face blush. Sons and daughters are sobbing, yet they do not get to see
him again. In order to contend for fame and wealth one has to take companions from the graveyard.
I look at the people in the world: they are all engaged in useless things. I urge you to mend your
ways and only take to the work of practice to become a 'great man'(7) and with one swordstroke cut off
the two and jump out of the fiery pit and become a cool and pure fellow. When you awaken you will
attain to the immortal truth and the sun and the moon will be your neighbourly companions.
1. Tzu-Kung was one of the main disciples of Confucius. His name is Tuan Mu-Tzu and he was known for his
outstanding talent of oratory.
2. Chou-Kung, that is the Duke of Chou, the son of King Wen, who was the first roles of the Chou dynasty. He
composed a commentary to the I-Ching, the Book of Changes. It is to his understanding of this book which deals with
the processes of life that the reference divine reckoning is made.
3. Kung-Ming was one of the main heroes of the period of the three kingdoms (A.D. 222-265). Known as a brilliant
tactician, strategist and planner. His name is Chu Ke-Liang and he is known to every child in China.
4. Fan-Kuai lived during the reign of Emperor Kao Tzu (A.D. 206-194) of the Han dynasty. He was originally a dog
butcher and was made a soldier by the emperor. He advanced rapidly and became threatened by a plot.
5. Han-hsin was a man of the Han dynasty too. In his youth he underwent great poverty. Later he became a
successful command or to Emperor Kao Tzu, but was executed later on being accused of treason.
6. King Yama is the King of the Underworld. Yama means twin or two in Sanskrit, because he is ruling on the one
hand with his sister and on the other hand he confers happiness or punishment by judging beings after death according
to their own deeds. He keeps records on the lives of being.
7. By a great man is meant a spiritually great man (maha-purisha).
Hanshan and Shide 寒山拾得圖
Attributed to Ma Lin 馬麟 (ca. 1180 - after 1256)
13th century, Southern Song (1127-1279)
Hanging scroll, ink on paper 91.3 x 33.6 cm
Encomium by Shiqiao Kexuan 石橋可宣 (d. ca. 1217)
A thousand groves rustle in the cold of the evening wind,
Together with you, we conspire over the minutiae of all things,
Sweep the broom, sweep! Sweep the broom over and over,
The moss and the yellow leaves are suffused with the setting sun.
Kexuan of Jingshan eulogises with folded hands.
千林蕭瑟晚風凉， 一事同君細較量 ， 轉掃轉多多轉掃 ， 青苔黃葉滿斜陽 。 徑山可宣拜賛 。
For "Hanshan & Shide" see Hanshan
王安石 Wang An-shi (1021-1086)
Twenty Poems in the Style of Han Shan and Shih Te
Translated by JAN W. WALLS
in: A Drifting Boat: An Anthology of Chinese Zen Poetry edited by Jerome P. Seaton & Dennis Maloney,
White Pine Press, Fredonia, New York, 1994, pp. 122-123.
If I were an ox or a horse
I'd rejoice over grass and beans.
If, on the other hand, I were a woman,
I'd be pleased at the sight of men.
But as long as I can be true to myself
I'll always settle for being me.
If taste and distaste keep you upset,
Surely you are being deceived:
Gentlemen, with your heads in the stars,
Don't confuse what you have with what you are!
I have read a million books
Seeking to learn all there is to know,
But the wise always seem to keep it to themselves,
And who would listen to the other fools!
How wonderful, to be one of the Idle Way,
Who leaps clear of each restraining clause,
Who knows that "Truth" lies deep inside the self
And never can come from someplace else.
Puppets are gadgets and nothing more,
None of their kind has roots to tend.
I have been behind their stage
And seen with my own eyes.
Then I discovered the audience,
All their excitement completely controlled,
Fooled by the puppets the livelong day,
Tricked into tossing their wealth away.
Luck is hard to find when you're down and out,
And easy to lose once you've got it.
Pleasure is what we need after pain,
But pleasure, then, gives birth to greed.
I know neither pleasure nor pain,
I am neither enlightened nor dim.
I am not attached to Future, Past, or Now,
Nor do I try to transcend them.
JAN W. WALLS is presently completing a book of translations of the
poetry of Wang An-shih. His translations have previously appeared in
Sunflower Splendor and The Literary Review. He is the director of the
David Lam Centre for International Communications of Simon Fraser
University in Vancouver.
Comparative List of Shide's Poems
【 繁体 】
【 简体 】
| Official Romanization
【 拼音 】
| English Translation
by Paul Rouzer
by Red Pine
|zhū fó liú cáng jīng ，
zhī wéi rén nán huà 。
bù wéi xián yǔ yú ，
gè gè xīn gòu jià 。
zào yè dà rú shān ，
qǐ jiě huái yōu pà 。
nà kěn xì xún sī ，
rì yè huái jiān zhà 。
|All the Buddhas have left us their scriptures
Only because humans are so hard to change.
Not only the worthy and the foolish—
Each one of us has a deceptive heart.
The karma we make is as huge as the hills,
Yet we hardly know that we should worry.
Never willing to look at things carefully,
Day and night we embrace sin and falsehood.
Buddhas leave behind sutras
because people are hard to change
not just fools and scholars
everyone's mind i s framed
their karma high as a mountain
they don't know enough to fear
much less to reconsider
the deceits they harbor night and day
|jiē jiàn shì jiān rén ，
gè gè ài chī ròu 。
wǎn dié bù zēng gān ，
cháng shí dào bù zú 。
zuó rì shè gè zhāi ，
jīn zhāo zǎi liù xù 。
dū yuán yè shǐ qiān ，
fēi gān qíng suǒ yù 。
yī dù zào tiān táng ，
bǎi dù zào dì yù 。
yán luó shǐ lái zhuī ，
hé jiā jìn tí kū 。
lú zǐ biān xiàng huǒ ，
huò zǐ lǐ zǎo yù 。
gēng dé chū tóu shí ，
huàn què rǔ yī fú 。
|I sigh to see men in the world,
Each one in love with eating flesh.
Their plates and bowls are never dry,
Yet always they complain of dearth.
Yesterday they held a feast for monks,
This morning they slaughter beasts for food.
All because karma drives them there—
It's not what their nature desires!
For every deed worthy of Heaven
A hundred are worthy of Hell.
Then Yama's guards will drag them off,
While their families sob in mourning.
They'll face the fire of furnace Hells,
And they' ll bathe in their boiling pots.
And just when they escape from them,
They're given a new suit to wear.
Worldly people make me sigh
everyone craves meat
their plates and bowls are never dry
they always ask for more
they give a meatless feast one day
then kill pigs and sheep the next
they're led by their karma
never by their hearts
for every deed they do for Heaven
they do a hundred more for Hell
their whole family mourns
when Yama takes them away
and heats them in an oven
and washes them in a cauldron
until at last they emerge
wearing a new set of clothes
|chū jiā yào qīng xián ，
qīng xián jí wéi guì 。
rú hé chén wài rén ，
què rù chén āi lǐ 。
yī xiàng mí běn xīn ，
zhōng zhāo yì míng lì 。
míng lì dé dào shēn ，
xíng róng yǐ qiáo cuì 。
kuàng fù bù suì zhě ，
xū yòng píng shēng zhì 。
kě lián wú shì rén ，
wèi néng xiào dé ěr 。
In “leaving the home” you must be pure and calm:
People who leave home want to be free
freedom is what they prize
but why do those beyond the dust
enter the dust once more
oblivious to their own minds
they work all day for profit and fame
and if profit or fame should find them
by then they're worn and haggard
but most of the time they fail
making pointless their old aim
poor useless people
I can't laugh at you
|yǎng ér yǔ qǔ qī ，
yǎng nǚ qiú méi pīng 。
zhòng zhòng jiē shì yè ，
gēng shā zhòng shēng mìng 。
jù jí huì qīn qíng ，
zǒng lái kàn pán dìng 。
mù xià suī chēng xīn ，
zuì bù xiān zhù dìng 。
Raise a son: you find him a good wife;
A son demands a wife
a daughter requires a go-between
both of which mean karma
and taking lives besides
calling together friends and kin
to come inspect the feast
before your eyes it all looks fine
but not in your book of crimes
|dé cǐ fēn duàn shēn ，
kě xiào hǎo xíng zhì 。
miàn mào sì yín pán ，
xīn zhōng hēi rú qī 。
pēng zhū yòu zǎi yáng ，
kuā dào tián rú mì 。
sǐ hòu shòu bō zhà ，
gēng mò chēng yuān qū 。
This body obtained—with its share of karma:
Take these mortal incarnations
these comical-looking forms
with faces like the silver moon
and hearts as black as pitch
cooking pigs and butchering sheep
bragging about the flavor
dying and going to Frozen-tongue Hell
before they stop telling lies
|fó āi sān jiè zǐ ，
zǒng shì qīn nán nǚ 。
kǒng shěn hēi àn kēng ，
shì yí chuí huà dù 。
jìn dēng wú shàng dào ，
jù zhèng pú tí lù 。
jiào rǔ chī zhòng shēng ，
huì xīn qín jué wù 。
Lord Buddha laments those of the Three Realms—
Buddhas care for mortal beings
as if they were their children
to keep them from the dark abyss
they leave signs along the way
they walk down the best of paths
and prove the Bodhi Road exists
and tell benighted men like you
to wake up to your buddha mind
|fó shè zūn róng lè ，
wéi mǐn zhū chī zǐ 。
zǎo yuàn wù wú shēng ，
bàn jí wú shàng shì 。
hòu lái chū jiā zhě ，
duō yuán wú yè cì 。
bù néng dé yī shí ，
tóu zuān rù yú sì 。
The Buddha cast aside honor, glory and pleasure,
The Buddha forsook the joys of rank
because he pitied fools
vowing to suffer no rebirth
he performed the noblest deeds
those who leave home nowadays
are mostly out of work
hard-pressed to earn a living
they sneak inside of temples
|jiē jiàn shì jiān rén ，
yǒng jié zài mí jīn 。
bù shěng zhè gè yì ，
xiū xíng tú kǔ xīn 。
Alas, I see the people of the world:
I sigh when I see worldly people
forever searching for the ford
unaware of what this means
their trials are in vain
|wǒ shī yě shì shī ，
yǒu rén huàn zuò jì 。
shī jì zǒng yī bān ，
dú shí xū zǐ xì 。
huǎn huǎn xì pī xún ，
bù dé shēng róng yì 。
yī cǐ xué xiū xíng ，
dà yǒu kě xiào shì 。
Yes, my poems are poems—
My poems are poems alright
though some call them gathas
poems or gathas what's the difference
readers should be careful
take your time going through
don't think they're so easy
use them to improve yourself
they'll make it much more fun
|yǒu jì yǒu qiān wàn ，
zú jí shù yīng nán 。
ruò yào xiāng zhī zhě ，
dàn rù tiān tái shān 。
yán zhōng shēn chǔ zuò ，
shuō lǐ jí tán xuán 。
gòng wǒ bù xiāng jiàn ，
duì miàn sì qiān shān 。
There are millions of gāthas:
I have millions of gathas
instant cures for every trouble
if you need a friend
try the Tientai Mountains
join me deep in the cliffs
we'll talk about truth and mystery
you won't see me though
all you'll see is mountains
|shì jiān yì wàn rén ，
miàn kǒng bù xiāng sì 。
jiè wèn hé yīn yuán ，
zhì líng qiǎn rú cǐ 。
gè zhí yī bān jiàn ，
hù shuō fēi jiān shì 。
dàn zì xiū jǐ shēn ，
bù yào yán tā yǐ。
All the billions of people in the world:
The world has billions of people
and no two faces alike
I wonder about the reason
behind such variation
and all with similar views
debating who is right and wrong
just correct yourself
and stop maligning others
|nán nǚ wéi hūn jià ，
sú wù shì cháng yí 。
zì liáng qí shì lì ，
hé yòng guǎng zhāng shī 。
qǔ zhài kuā rén wǒ ，
lùn qíng rù gǔ chī 。
shā tā jī quǎn mìng ，
shēn sǐ duò ā bí 。
Men and women go off and get married,
When men and women marry
custom demands a certain form
each adds up their strengths
but why the big display
incurring debts for face
dearly fools at heart
taking the lives of dogs and chickens
bound for the Hell of No Relief
|shì shàng yī zhǒng rén ，
chū xìng cháng duō shì 。
zhōng rì bàng jiē qú ，
bù lí zhū jiǔ sì 。
wéi tā zuò bǎo jiàn ，
tì tā shuō dào lǐ 。
yī zhāo yǒu guāi zhāng ，
guò jiù quán guī nǐ。
One kind of man in the world:
There exists one type of person
a meddlesome fool since birth
all day at the roadside
not far from a tavern
give him your support
speak to him of reason
one day he goes too far
and all his wrongs return
|wǒ quàn chū jiā bèi ，
xū zhī jiào fǎ shēn 。
zhuān xīn qiú chū lí ，
zhé mò rǎn tān yín 。
dà yǒu sú zhōng shì ，
zhī fēi bù ài jīn 。
gù zhī jūn zǐ zhì ，
rèn yùn tīng fú shěn 。
| I urge those who leave the household:
You must profoundly know the Teachings.
Concentrate wholly on liberation,
Never stain yourselves with greed or lust.
There are always some laymen
Who know wrong and do not cherish gold.
So you should know the will of a good man:
Follow fate, rise and fall with the flood.
I advise the monks I meet
focus on the deeper teachings
concentrate on getting free
don't be destroyed by greed
there are laymen by the score
who know love of gold is wrong
know then what a wise man seeks
just let go and take what comes
|hán shān zhù hán shān ，
shí dé zì shí dé 。
fán yú qǐ jiàn zhī ，
fēng gān què xiāng shí 。
jiàn shí bù kě jiàn ，
mì shí hé chǔ mì 。
jiè wèn yǒu hé yuán ，
què dào wú wéi lì 。
Cold Mountain lives on Cold Mountain;
Cold Mountain is a cold mountain
and Pickup was picked up
Big Stick knows our faces
fools can't recognize us
they don't see us when we meet
when they look we aren't there
if you wonder what's the reason
it's the power of doing nothing
|cóng lái shì shí dé ，
bù shì ǒu rán chēng 。
bié wú qīn juàn shǔ ，
hán shān shì wǒ xiōng 。
liǎng rén xīn xiāng sì ，
shuí néng xùn sú qíng 。
ruò wèn nián duō shǎo ，
huáng hé jī dù qīng 。
Once upon a time I was a foundling,
I was Pickup from the first
no accidental name
no other close relation
Cold Mountain is my brother
our two hearts are both alike
neither can endure the herd
if you want to know our ages
count the times the Yellow River has cleared
|ruò jiě zhuō lǎo shǔ ，
bù zài wǔ bái māo 。
ruò néng wù lǐ xìng ，
nà yóu jǐn xiù bāo 。
zhēn zhū rù xí dài ，
fó xìng zhǐ péng máo 。
yī qún qǔ xiāng hàn ，
yòng yì zǒng wú jiāo 。
As for knowing how to catch a rat—
Who knows how to catch rats
doesn't need five white cats
and who discovers what's real
doesn't need a brocade bag
a pearl fits in a burlap sack
buddhahood rests under thatch
all you people attached to form
use your minds to no avail
|yùn xīn cháng kuān guǎng ，
cǐ zé míng wéi bù 。
chuò jǐ huì yú rén ，
fāng kě míng wéi shī 。
hòu lái rén bù zhī ，
yān néng huì cǐ yì 。
wèi shè yī yōng sēng ，
zǎo nǐ wàng fù guì 。
The impulse for giving should always be generous;
Keeping your mind wide-open
is what we call generosity
stopping your kindness to others
is what benevolence means
people now don't know
what to make of such teachings
before they're done feeding a monk
they expect wealth and fame
|mí hóu shàng jiào dé ，
rén hé bù fèn fā 。
qián chē jì luò kēng ，
hòu chē xū gǎi zhé 。
ruò yě bù zhī cǐ ，
kǒng jūn è hé shā 。
cǐ lái shì yè chā ，
biàn jí chéng pú sà 。
Even a monkey can be taught,
Since monkeys can be taught
why don't people begin to learn
if the cart in front gets stuck
why not try another track
if you can't make sense of this
I suspect you'll die of anger
a yaksha though the other day
became a bodhisattva
|zì cóng dào cǐ tiān tái sì ，
jīng jīn zǎo yǐ jī dōng chūn 。
shān shuǐ bù yí rén zì lǎo ，
jiàn què duō shǎo hòu shēng rén 。
Since I came to Tientai Temple
how many winters and springs have passed
the sights haven't changed only the people
all I see are youngsters
|jūn bù jiàn ，
sān jiè zhī zhōng fēn rǎo rǎo ，
zhī wéi wú míng bù liǎo jué 。
yī niàn bù shēng xīn chéng rán ，
wú qù wú lái bù shēng miè 。
Doesn't anyone see
the turmoil in the Three Worlds
is due to endless delusion
once thoughts stop the mind becomes clear
nothing comes or goes neither birth nor death
| gù lín yòu zhǎn xīn ，
yǎn yuán xī shàng rén 。
tiān mǔ xiá guān lǐng ，
tōng tóng cì hǎi jīn 。
wān shēn qū dǎo jiān ，
miǎo miǎo shuǐ yún yún 。
jiè wèn sōng chán kè ，
rì lún hé chǔ tūn 。
The home forest is refreshed again
For the man standing by Shan Creek's source.
Tianmu Mountain: its passes, gorges, peaks
Press hard upon the ocean side.
In the depths of the bay, the far off isles,
The vast waters lost in mist.
I ask Meditation Master Song:
Where is the sun that shines so dim?
| zì xiào lǎo fū jīn lì bài ，
piān liàn sōng yán ài dú yóu 。
kě tàn wǎng nián zhì jīn rì ，
rèn yùn huán tóng bù xì zhōu 。
A laugh at myself, an old man with sinews powerless;
But with fond affection for piney cliffs and a love of lonely rambling.
What' s amazing: from former years up until today,
Turning myself over to fate just like an unmoored boat.
Partial to pine cliffs and lonely trails
an old man laughs at himself when he falters
even now after all these years
trusting the current like an unmoored boat
| yī rù shuāng xī bù jì chūn ，
liàn bào huáng jīng jī xǔ jīn 。
lú zào shí guō pín zhǔ fèi ，
tǔ zèng jiǔ zhēng qì wèi zhēn 。
shuí lái yōu gǔ cān xiān shí ，
dú xiàng yún quán gēng wù rén 。
yán líng shòu jìn zhāo shǒu shí ，
cǐ qī zhōng bù chū shān mén 。
Once I entered Double Springs, countless years went by;
There I refined and dried many a pound of Solomon's Seal.
In stove and furnace, in stoneware cauldron I boiled it several times;
In earthen crocks I steamed it long until vapor and taste were refined.
Who comes now to my remote valley to taste this immortal food?
I'm alone amid the clouds and the str eams, there's no one here at all.
My long life will come to an end her e by the Beckoning Stone;
Roosting here, I'll never depart the temple's mountain gate.
| zhí zhú yī qún yáng ，
yán shān yòu rù gǔ 。
kàn rén tān zhú sāi ，
qiě zāo chái láng zhú 。
yuán bù chū zī shēng ，
biàn jiāng chōng kǒu fù 。
cóng tóu chī zhì wěi ，
shí nèi shí nèi wú yú ròu 。
A flock of sheep is wandering about,
Is following the hills and entering valleys.
Their shepherd is set on his gambling games
When he encounters jackals and wolves in pursuit.
They wer en't raised by the wolves at all,
But now they fill wolves' mouths and bellies!
Devoured from their heads down to their tails,
With not a leftover in sight.
A flock of timid sheep
skirt the hills and keep to valleys
preferring man-made pens
to being chased by wolves
nor do they stop multiplying
until they fill someone's gut
food for men from head to tail
chomp chomp till nothing's left
| yín xīng dīng chēng héng ，
lǜ sī zuò chēng niǔ 。
mǎi rén tuī xiàng qián ，
mài rén tuī xiàng hòu 。
bù yuàn tā xīn yuàn ，
wéi yán wǒ hǎo shǒu 。
sǐ qù jiàn yán wáng ，
bèi hòu chā sǎo zhǒu 。
Silver weights fastened from the steelyard,
Green threads serve as the steelyard cord.
Buyers push themselves in front,
Sellers thrust themselves behind.
No heed have they for the wrongs of others,
Only say , “I'm pretty good at this.”
After they die, they' ll see King Yama;
He'll stick them with a broom-tail.
Silver stars dot the beam
green silk marks the weight
buyers move it forward
sellers move it back
never mind the other's anger
just as long as you prevail
when you die and meet Old Yama
up your butt he'll stick a broom
| bì mén sī zào zuì ，
zhǔn nǐ miǎn zāi yāng 。
bèi tā è bù tóng ，
chāo dé bào yán wáng 。
zòng bù rù huò tāng ，
yì xū wò tiě chuáng 。
bù xǔ gù rén tì ，
zì zuò zì shēn dāng 。
You shut the door, commit your sins in private,
Intending that way to avoid calamity.
But the boy who copies your evil deeds
Writes it all down, reports it to Yama.
Even if you don't enter the boiling cauldron,
You 'll be laid out on the iron bed.
You can't hire someone to take your place—
Your deeds will be on your own head.
Committing crimes behind closed doors
you think you won't be punished
meanwhile Yama's minions
prepare a full report
if you escape the cauldron
you'll lie on the iron rack
and stand-ins aren't allowed
you're the victim of your deeds
| yōu yōu chén lǐ rén ，
cháng dào chén zhōng lè 。
wǒ jiàn chén zhōng rén ，
xīn shēng duō mǐn gù 。
hé zāi mǐn cǐ liú ，
niàn bǐ chén zhōng kǔ 。
How many the people in the dust,
Always talking about their dusty delights!
I see these people in the dust,
And so often I feel sorry for them.
How can I feel sorry for people like that?
I remember that there's pain in that dust as well.
People crowd by in the dust
enjoying the pleasures of the dust
I see them in the dust
and pity fills my heart
why do I pity their lot
I think of their pain in the dust
wú qù wú lái běn zhàn rán ，
No goings, no comings, originally tranquil;
No dw elling within or without, or at the point between.
A single crystal of purity without flaw or crack;
Its light penetrates and fills up the worlds of men and gods.
Not waxing or waning essentially still
not inside or outside and nowhere between
a single flawless crystal
whose light shines through to gods and men
| shǎo nián xué shū jiàn ，
chì yù dào jīng zhōu 。
wén fá xiōng nú jìn ，
pó suō wú chǔ yóu 。
guī lái cuì yán xià ，
xí cǎo wán qīng liú 。
zhuàng shì zhì wèi chěng ，
mí hóu qí tǔ niú 。
In my youth I studied books and swordsmanship;
Bent on saving the state, I drove toward Jingzhou.
There I heard the campaigns against the Xiongnu were done,
So I lingered, aimless, no place to go.
I went home again to the foot of azur e cliffs,
Made grass my mat, delighted in the clear str eams.
Before a man in his prime can pursue his will,
He's reduced to a monkey riding a clay ox.
A young man studied letters and arms
and rode off to the capital
where he learned the Huns had been vanquished
and all he could do was wait
so to kingfisher cliffs he retired
and sits in the grass by a stream
while valiant men chase red cords
and monkeys ride clay oxen
| sān jiè rú zhuǎn lún ，
fú shēng ruò liú shuǐ 。
chǔn chǔn zhū pǐn lèi ，
tān shēng bù jué sǐ 。
rǔ kàn zhāo chuí lù ，
néng dé jī shí zǐ 。
The Three Realms are like a turning wheel;
This floating life like flowing water.
All living beings are squirming together,
Greedy for life and ignorant of death.
Just look at the morning dew—
How long can it last?
The Triple World is a turning wheel
transient existence is a flowing stream
writhing with a myriad creatures
hungry for life unaware of death
consider the morning dew
how long does it last
| xián rù tiān tái dòng ，
fǎng rén rén bù zhī 。
hán shān wéi bàn lǚ ，
sōng xià dàn líng zhī 。
měi tán jīn gǔ shì ，
jiē jiàn shì yú chī 。
gè gè rù dì yù ，
zǎo wǎn chū tóu shí 。
I idly enter Tiantai grottoes
To visit someone, though no one knows.
Hanshan is my companion;
Under the pines we dine on magic fungi.
Always we chat about matters new and ancient,
Sighing that the world is so foolish.
One by one they enter into hell,
And when will they ever get out of it?
We slip into Tientai caves
we visit people unseen
me and my friend Cold Mountain
eat magic mushrooms under the pines
we talk about the past and present
and sigh at the world gone mad
everyone going to Hell
and going for a long long time
| gǔ fó lù qī qī ，
yú rén dào què mí 。
zhī yuán qián yè zhòng ，
suǒ yǐ bù néng zhī 。
yù shí wú wéi lǐ ，
xīn zhōng bù guà sī 。
shēng shēng qín kǔ xué ，
bì dìng dǔ tiān shī 。
The path of past Buddhas is drear and chill,
Fools who come to it are lost.
All because their karmic burden is heavy,
They are unable to learn of it.
If you want to know how to be free of karmic action,
No garments may hang about your heart.
From life to life study with all your might,
Then you'll certainly see the Celestial Teacher.
The old buddha road is deserted
fools who take it end up lost
due to the depth of their karma
they can't discern a thing
to learn the effortless truth
don't make a single distinction
people who practice life after life
need to see my teacher
| gè yǒu tiān zhēn fó ，
hào zhī wéi bǎo wáng 。
zhū guāng rì yè zhào ，
xuán miào zú nán liáng 。
máng rén cháng wù wù ，
nà kěn pà zāi yāng 。
wéi tān yín yì yè ，
cǐ bèi shí kān shāng 。
Each has a naturally authentic Buddha;
We name it the Prince of Jewels.
The light of this pearl shines day and night;
Its dark mysteries impossible to measure.
But the blind ar e always muddled,
Unwilling to fear disaster and calamity.
Only gr eedy for a karma of excess,
This gang is really pitiable.
| chū jiā qiú chū lí ，
āi niàn kǔ zhòng shēng 。
zhù fó wéi yáng huà ，
líng jiào xuǎn lù xíng 。
hé zēng jiě jiù kǔ ，
zī yì luàn zòng héng 。
yī shí tóng shòu nì ，
jù luò dà shēn kēng 。
Those who have left their home seek escape,
And think with pity of the suffering of living things.
They help the Buddhas to spread the message of salvation,
Causing all to choose the right path to take.
But when have they ever understood how to relieve suffering?
Doing as they please, wildly going in all directions.
All at once they will drown together,
All falling in the great deep Pit.
Those who leave home leave to be free
and pity the suffering masses
they proselytize for the Buddha
telling others to choose a path
but who can they possibly save
doing whatever they please
descending with everyone else
into the same abyss
| cháng yǐn sān dú jiǔ ，
hūn hūn dū bù zhī 。
jiāng qián zuò mèng shì ，
mèng shì chéng tiě wéi 。
yǐ kǔ yù shè kǔ ，
shè kǔ wú chū qī 。
yīng xū zǎo jué wù ，
jué wù zì guī yī 。
Always they drink the wine of Three Poisons,
Benighted, all of them unaware.
Using money to pay for their dreams,
Dreams that turn into an Iron Cage.
With suffering they try to relieve suffering,
Yet this r elief will never take place.
From the start they ought to struggle to wake up—
Awakening that comes from Taking Refuge.
Drunk on delusion greed and anger
dazed and unaware
you turn money into a dream
a dream that becomes an iron jail
using one pain to get rid of another
you never get rid of pain
unless you learn before it's too late
you learn to turn to yourself
| yún shān dié dié jī qiān zhòng ，
yōu gǔ lù shēn jué rén zōng 。
bì jiàn qīng liú duō shèng jìng ，
shí lái niǎo yǔ hé rén xīn 。
Cloudy mountains, rank upon rank, how many thousand layers!
Secluded valley — the road deep, cut off from human traces.
The jade stream flows clearly through a realm of many marvels;
From time to time, the chattering of birds matches with my mood.
Past thousands of layers of mountains and clouds
hidden remote beyond human tracks
a pure stream of jade contains many sights
and bird talk suddenly agrees with my thoughts
| hòu lái chū jiā zǐ ，
lùn qíng rù gǔ chī 。
běn lái qiú jiě tuō ，
què jiàn shòu qū chí 。
zhōng zhāo yóu sú shè ，
lǐ niàn zuò wēi yí 。
bó qián gū jiǔ chī ，
fān chéng kè zuò ér 。
Monks of this latter time:
To tell the truth, they're stupid to the bone.
Originally they sought Liberation,
But now they bustle about at the tasks they get.
All day traveling to laymen's homes,
Paying r espects, chanting sutras, performing rituals.
They get their pay, then go drinking,
Acting just like hired laborers.
Those who leave home nowadays
turn out to be fools at heart
at first they seek liberation
then run errands instead
visiting laymen all day long
chanting and acting solemn
earning money for wine
flunkies in the end
| ruò lùn cháng kuài huó ，
wéi yǒu yǐn jū rén 。
lín huā cháng sì jǐn ，
sì jì sè cháng xīn 。
huò xiàng yán jiān zuò ，
xuán zhān jiàn guì lún 。
suī rán shēn chàng yì ，
què niàn shì jiān rén 。
If you discuss what'll make you always happy,
There 's only the life of the recluse.
The trees in flower are always like brocade;
In all four seasons, their colors are ever renewed.
Sometimes I sit on the cliffs,
Gazing long at the cinnamon moon-wheel.
Although the body's free and easy,
Yet I still think of people in the world.
If you wonder who stays happy
only those who live apart
forest flowers are like brocade
every season the colors are fresh
but when I sit in the cliffs
and gaze at the cinnamon wheel
although I feel at peace
I wonder about mankind
| wǒ jiàn chū jiā rén ，
zǒng ài chī jiǔ ròu 。
cǐ hé shàng tiān táng ，
què shěn guī dì yù 。
niàn dé liǎng juàn jīng ，
qī tā dào chán sú 。
qǐ zhī chán sú shì ，
dà yǒu gēn xìng shú 。
I see those who have become monks:
All of them love to drink wine and eat meat.
Originally they acted with Heaven-bound conduct,
But then sank into a path toward Hell.
Chanting their two chapters of sutras,
They cheat the people of the marketplace.
But how could they know that among those marketplace people
Are many who have roots of merit that have matured?
By and large the monks I meet
love their meat and wine
instead of climbing to Heaven
they slip back down to Hell
they chant a sutra or two
to fool the laymen in town
unaware the laymen in town
are more perceptive than them
| wǒ jiàn wán dùn rén ，
dēng xīn zhù xū mí 。
yǐ zǐ niè dà shù ，
yān zhī qì lì wēi 。
xué yǎo liǎng jīng cài ，
yán yǔ zǔ shī qí 。
huǒ jí qiú chàn huǐ ，
cóng jīn zhé mò mí 。
I see those foolish men,
A tiny wick supporting Mt. Sumeru.
Ants gnawing away at a mighty tree,
Unaware how weak their power is.
Training to eat their stalks of grass,
Saying they're the same as their masters.
You must seek to confess your sins right now!
Don't always be lost as you are now.
I see someone short on sense
a wick propping up Sumeru
an ant gnawing on a giant tree
unaware how weak he is
he's learned how to bite through a stem or two
and thinks he's up to the masters
let him repent right now
and be a fool no more
| ruò jiàn yuè guāng míng ，
zhào zhú sì tiān xià 。
yuán huī guà tài xū ，
yíng jìng néng xiāo sǎ 。
rén dào yǒu kuī yíng ，
wǒ jiàn wú shuāi xiè 。
zhuàng sì mó ní zhū ，
guāng míng wú zhòu yè 。
Have you seen the brilliance of the moon?
A shining candle illuminating all the earth.
Its round radiance hangs in the Great Void,
Sleek and clean, as clear as this.
People say it waxes and wanes,
But I see that it has no fading or withering.
Its form is like the mani pearl;
Bright light no matter day or night
Behold the glow of the moon
illumine the world's four quarters
perfect light in perfect space
a radiance that purifies
people say it waxes and wanes
but I don't see it fade
just like a magic pearl
it shines both night and day
| yú zhù wú fāng suǒ ，
pán bó wú wéi lǐ 。
shí zhì niè pán shān ，
huò wán xiāng lín sì 。
xún cháng zhī shì xián ，
yán bù gān míng lì 。
dōng hǎi biàn sāng tián ，
wǒ xīn shuí guǎn nǐ 。
Where I dwell is Nowhere Place;
I linger in the village of Karmic Freedom.
At times I climb Nirvana Hill,
Or enjoy myself in temples of fragrant trees.
Typically I find nothing but leisure,
My speech indiffer ent to fame and profit.
As the eastern sea turns to mulberry fields,
My mind, who will bother with you then?
I live in a place without limits
surrounded by effortless truth
sometimes I climb Nirvana Peak
or play in Sandalwood Temple
but most of the time I relax
and speak of neither profit nor fame
even if the sea became a mulberry grove
it wouldn't mean much to me
| zuǒ shǒu wò lí zhū ，
yòu shǒu zhí huì jiàn 。
xiān pò wú míng zéi ，
shén zhū zì tǔ yàn 。
shāng jiē yú chī rén ，
tān ài nà shēng yàn 。
yī duò sān tú jiān ，
shǐ jué qián chéng xiǎn 。
The Black Dragon Pearl in his left hand
the Sword of Wisdom in his right
he vanquished the Demon of Darkness
so the Magic Pearl could shine
for he was moved by fools
who never weary of love and desire
sinking into the Three Mires
before sensing there's danger ahead
| bān ruò jiǔ líng líng ，
yǐn duō rén yì xǐng 。
yú zhù tiān tái shān ，
fán yú nà jiàn xíng 。
cháng yóu shēn gǔ dòng ，
zhōng bù zhú shí qíng 。
wú sī yì wú lǜ ，
wú rǔ yě wú róng 。
How clear and cold is the wine of wisdom!
Those who drink deep will easily sober up.
I live at Tiantai Mountain—
How could I reveal myself to the foolish and common?
I often ramble in deep valleys and caves,
Never pursue the style of the time.
No worries and no concerns,
No shame and no glory either.
The wine of wisdom is so cold
drinking it makes men sober
where I live on Tientai
fools are hard to find
I prefer caves and gorges
I don't keep up with the times
free of sorrow and worry
free of shame and glory
| píng shēng hé suǒ yōu ，
cǐ shì suí yuán guò 。
rì yuè rú shì bō ，
guāng yīn shí zhōng huǒ 。
rèn tā tiān dì yí ，
wǒ chàng yán zhōng zuò 。
What do I have to worry about in this existence?
I pass through this world following my karma.
Days and months pass like departing waves,
Time is just a flash from a flint stone.
Let Heaven and Earth change as it may,
But I'll delight in sitting here on my cliff.
| jiē jiàn duō zhī hàn ，
zhōng rì wǎng yòng xīn 。
qí lù chěng lóu luó ，
qī mán yī qiē rén 。
wéi zuò dì yù zǐ ，
bù xiū lái shì yīn 。
hū ěr wú cháng dào ，
dìng zhī luàn fēn fēn 。
I sigh to see those know-it-alls
Who vainly employ their mind all day,
Showing off their clever words at the crossroads,
Cheating ever yone they meet.
They only become the dregs of Hell,
Don t cultivate the karma of the life to come.
When Impermanence comes upon them,
Certainly things will be thrown into chaos.
I sigh when I see learned men
wasting their minds all day
babbling away at a fork in the road
deceiving whoever they can
creating more ballast for Hell
instead of improving their karma
impermanence suddenly comes
and all their learning is dust
| tiáo tiáo shān jìng jùn ，
wàn rèn xiǎn ài wēi 。
shí qiáo méi tái lǜ ，
shí jiàn bái yún fēi 。
pù bù xuán rú liàn ，
yuè yǐng luò tán huī 。
gēng dēng huá dǐng shàng ，
yóu dài gū hè qī 。
Up high the trail turns steep
the towering pass stands sheer
Stone Bridge is slick with moss
clouds keep flying past
a cascade hangs like silk
the moon shines in the pool below
I'm climbing Lotus Peak again
to wait for that lone crane once more
| sōng yuè lěng sōu sōu ，
piàn piàn yún xiá qǐ 。
kē zā jī zhòng shān ，
zòng mù qiān wàn lǐ 。
xī tán shuǐ chéng chéng ，
chè dǐ jìng xiāng sì 。
kě guì líng tái wù ，
qī bǎo mò néng bǐ 。
The pine-tree moon is windblown and chill;
Shred by shred the roseate clouds rise.
The many layers of hills, clustered together,
Stretch to vision's limit for countless miles.
The valley pool water is clear
Like a mirror to its very depths.
The mind is a thing to be treasured—
How could a Seven-Jeweled Pagoda compare?
The pine moon looks so cold
cloud after rising cloud
countless rings of ridges
the view extends a million miles
the gorge pool looks so clear
like gazing into a mirror
precious creature of the spirit tower
the seven jewels can't compare
| shì yǒu duō jiě rén ，
yú chī xué xián wén 。
bù yōu dāng lái guǒ ，
wéi zhī zào è yīn 。
jiàn fó bù jiě lǐ ，
dǔ sēng bèi shēng chēn 。
wǔ nì shí è bèi ，
sān dú yǐ wéi lín 。
sǐ qù rù dì yù ，
wèi yǒu chū tóu chén 。
There are men with “great understanding”
Who foolishly study idle texts.
They do not worry about future results,
Only know how to create evil causes.
When they see the Buddha they can't pay him homage;
When they view a monk they grow even more angry.
The Five Perversions, the Ten Evil Acts,
The Three Poisons they take as neighbors.
And once they die, they enter Hell,
And they'll never emerge again.
The world has its know-it-alls
fools for empty prose
indifferent to the harvest
they sow seeds of hate
seeing buddhas they don't bow
meeting monks makes them mad
Sin and Evil are their colleagues
the Poisons live next door
when they die they go to Hell
and see the sun no more
| rén shēng fú shì zhōng ，
gè gè yuàn fù guì 。
gāo táng chē mǎ duō ，
yī hū bǎi nuò zhì 。
tūn bìng tián dì zhái ，
zhǔn nǐ chéng hòu sì 。
wèi yú qī shí qiū ，
bīng xiāo wǎ jiě qù 。
Human life in this floating world:
Everyone wants to be rich:
With lofty hall, many horses and carriages,
A hundred assents to every summons.
Swallowing up others' fields and homes,
Planning to pass it on to descendants.
But before seventy autumns have passed,
The ice melts and the tiles shatter.
| shuǐ jìn ní dàn wán ，
sī liáng wú dào lǐ 。
fú òu mèng huàn shēn ，
bǎi nián néng jī jī 。
bù jiě xì sī wéi ，
jiāng yán cháng bù sǐ 。
zhū bāo lěi qiān jīn ，
liú jiāng yǔ qī zǐ 。
It's like water soaking mud clods:
When you think about it, it makes no sense.
Like floating froth this illusory dream body;
Out of a hundred years how long can it last?
You don't know how to think deeply about it—
Just say that you'll live forever.
You scrape together your pile of gold
Merely to leave it to your wife and kids.
For a mud ball dropped in water
big plans make no sense
for a fragile dreamlike body
a hundred years are rare
unable to ponder deeply
and claiming they're immortal
people steal a ton of gold
then leave it all behind
| yún lín zuì yōu qī ，
bàng jiàn zhěn yuè xī 。
sōng fú pán tuó shí ，
gān quán yǒng qī qī 。
jìng zuò piān jiā lì ，
xū yán méng wù mí 。
yí rán jū qì dì ，
rì （ yǐ xià quē ）。
Cloudy forest—the most secluded place to rest;
I keep to the stream, rest on the moonlit creek.
Pine trees brush the level stone,
Sweet springs well up in clarity.
I calmly take pleasure, only favoring beauty here,
Lost in the shrouding mists on this empty cliff.
I joyfully take my r est in this place,
The sun . . . (The rest of the text is missing)
| kě xiào shì lín quán ，
shù lǐ shǎo rén yān 。
yún cóng yán zhàng qǐ ，
pù bù shuǐ chán chán 。
yuán tí chàng dào qū ，
hǔ xiào chū rén jiān 。
sōng fēng qīng sà sà ，
niǎo yǔ shēng guān guān 。
dú bù rào shí jiàn ，
gū zhì shàng fēng luán 。
shí zuò pán tuó shí ，
yǎn yǎng pān luó yán 。
yáo wàng chéng huáng chǔ ，
wéi wén nào xuān xuān 。
How delightful this forest stream—
For several miles no smoke from human fires.
Clouds arise from cliffs and steeps,
While water murmurs in the torrent.
Gibbons chatter, singing a song of the Way;
Tigers roar as they come out among men.
The clear pine-wind whistles and roars,
And the speech of birds twitters around me.
Alone, I tread round the stony creek,
Solitary, climb the peaks and hills.
At times I sit on the level stones;
Looking skyward I ascend, clambering up vines.
I gaze afar at the city walls
And only hear their clamor and din.
Woods and springs make me smile
no kitchen smoke for miles
clouds rise up from rocky ridges
cascades tumble down
a gibbon's cry marks the Way
a tiger's roar transcends mankind
pine wind sighs so softly
birds discuss singsong
I walk the winding streams
and climb the peaks alone
sometimes I sit on a boulder
or lie and gaze at trailing vines
but when I see a distant town
all I hear is noise
Shide (kínaiul: 拾得; pinyin: Shídé; magyar népszerű átírás: Si-tö; japánul: Jittoku) vagyis „Lelenc” kínai buddhista költő, aki a Tang-dinasztia (618-907) idején, kb. a 9. században élt.
Si-tö a kínai irodalom , a Tang-kori líra kevésbé jelentős alakja. 54 fennmaradt verse a Tang-kor több mint kétezer költőjének majd ötvenezer versét tartalmazó gyűjtemény legvégén, afféle függelékben kapott helyet, a szerzetes-költők sorában, akik után már csak a taoista papok, a legendás halhatatlanok és szellemek versei következnek. Alakja elválaszthatatlan a remeteköltőként számon tartott Han-san személyétől, akinek fiatalabb kortársa és barátja volt. Mesterükkel, Feng-kan-nal együtt ők alkotják „A tiantai-i három szent” csoportját (Tien-taj szan seng 天台三聖). Amíg Han-san történetisége mind a mai napig kutatások tárgyát képezi, addig Si-tö alakja és műveinek elemzése kevesebb tudományos figyelmet kap, verseinek keletkezési ideje ismeretlen, azok tartalmi és formai elemzésére még nem került sor.
Si-tö életének részleteire egyrészt a verseiben találhatunk utalásokat, ezenkívül csupán egy pár legenda örökíti meg alakját. Az éltére vonatkozó legendák közül az egyiket A Tang-kor összes verse (Csüan Tang si 全唐詩) című gyűjtemény szerkesztői adták közre, az ötvennégy összegyűjtött verse elé illesztve:
„Si-tö a Csen-kuan-korban (627-650) Feng-kan nal, Han-san-nal nagyjából egy időben élt a Kuo-csing-kolostorban. Annakelőtte Feng-kan csan mester a fenyves ösvényen járván lassú léptekkel, a Veres Fal útján találkozott egy tíz év körüli fiúval. Bevitte magával a kolostorba, s átadta a személyzetnek. Harminchat év után főszakács lett. Az ételmaradványokat mindig bambuszcsövekbe tette el, s mikor Han-san-ce eljött, elvitte a hátán. Egyik éjjel a szerzetesek valamennyien azt álmodták, hogy a hegy istene azt mondta: „Si-tö megvert engem.” Reggel a hegy istenén valóban botütés nyomait látták. Mind nagyon megfélemedtek. Mikor az történt, hogy Lü-csiu helytartó tisztelgett előttük, utána Han-san-ce-vel elmentek a kolostorból, nyomuk veszett. Később a kolostorbeli szerzetesek a déli hegycsúcsnál rőzsegyűjtés közben találkoztak egy szerzetessel, aki csontokat szedett össze mondván: „Si-tö ereklyéit szedem össze.” Ekkor jöttek rá, hogy ebben a szakadékban pusztult el, ezért nevezték el Si-tö szakadékának. Egy tekercs verse van.”
— Csongor Barnabás fordítása
A történetből kiderül, hogy Si-tö talált gyerek, ezért aztán még az eredeti nevét sem ismerjük, hiszen a Si-tö annyit jelent csupán, hogy Lelenc. Erre egyébként maga is utal verseiben:
A Rideg-hegyen lakik jó Han-san,
S csak úgy találtak engem, Lelencet.
Ostobák rólunk nem tudnak semmit,
Minket egyedül Feng-kan ismert meg.
Más hiába néz, meg sem pillanthat;
Ha keresnek, sehol sem lelhetnek.
Megválaszolom kérdésed, hogy mért:
Ez biz az Út, a nem-cselekedet.
Kezdetektől fogva Lelenc vagyok,
S hogy így hívnak, dehogyis véletlen.
Családi kötelék engem nem tart,
Han-san bátyó, csak ő az egyetlen.
Két remek cimbora: egy szív s lélek,
Mi nem vagyunk nagyvilági mohók.
S ha kérded, élt időnk mennyi - tudd, hogy
Láttuk tisztának a Sárga-folyót.
Egy másik történetben Feng-kan az, aki Han-san-t és Si-tö-t Mandzsusrí és Szamantabhadra bodhiszattva, a mahájána buddhizmus két nagy istensége megtestesülésének nevezi. A későbbi hagyományban mindhárman a csan példaképek jelentős alakjainak számítanak.
Si-tö verseinek többsége a legrégibb és irodalomtörténetileg is legnevezetesebb, a Tang-korban kedvelt, de már inkább olvasott (szavalt) semmint énekelt formában létező úgynevezett „régi stílusúakhoz” (ku-ti-si) tartozik, melyeknek zöme (negyven vers) nyolc ötszótagú sorból áll. Ötszótagú versekből található egy-egy tizenkét (3.), tizennégy (54.) és tizenhat (2.) soros darab valamint három ilyen típusú vers hat sorból áll (28., 31., 46.). Hétszótagú, nyolc sort számláló versét mindössze egyet ismerünk (24.). A csupán négy sorból álló úgynevezett „csonka versek” (csüe-csü) közé tartozó ötszótagú változatból csupán egy (8.), a hétszótagúból hat darab (20., 21., 28., 23., 29., 37.) található. A versek javarészt félrímes szerkezetűek (x a x a), s ugyanaz a rím tér vissza az egész költeményben. Si-tö versei Han-san alkotásaival szemben sokkal egységesebb képet mutatnak. A feltehetően a 9. század környékén született versek alkotója, ha nem is egyetlen személy volt, akkor az ötvennégy vers költői oly módon azonosulni tudtak a Si-tö nevével fémjelzett buddhista ihletésű költemények világával, hogy a több művész keze nyomát ma már lehetetlen szétválasztani. Amíg Han-san verseiben jól felismerhető egy, a konfuciánus tanokat ismerő, talán világi hivatalnok képe, akinek felesége és gyermeke is volt, mielőtt a Rideg-hegyre vonulván remetének a taoizmussal átitatott csan szellemiségű verseket írta volna fákra, sziklára, addig Si-tö versei olyan személyiséget tükröznek, aki a világi életről vajmi keveset tud. A szerzetesi életet úgy fogadja el a legtökéletesebbnek, hogy nem érezzük mögötte a világi létből való olyan mértékű kiábrándultságot, mint Hanshannál.
Hiába hagyott Buddha szútrákat,
Csak nem változnak meg az emberek.
Nem csak a bölcsek vagy az ostobák,
Mert nagyra törni mindenki szeret.
Mint a hegyek akkorák céljaik,
Gondjaikat így lerázni lehet?
Hisz apró-cseprő terveket szőnek,
S éjt nappallá téve ügyeskednek.
Hűs pradnyá-borból vegyen csak, vegyen;
Kijózanodnak könnyen, kik isszák!
Ehunn lakom fönn, a Tientaj hegyen,
Balgák mondják rá: „Azok csak sziklák!"
Mély völgyeit, barlangjait járom,
Röpke érzelmek nem űznek ősrég.
Nem töprenkedem s nincs mit megbánnom,
Nincs bennem szégyen, nem ér dicsőség.
Han-san nal szemben Si-tö sokkal pontosabban és sokkal nagyobb számban használja a buddhista műszavakat, eszmeisége sokkal kevésbé keveredik a taoizmussal. (Ez alól az egyetlen kivétel a már idézett 15. vers). A konfuciánus eszméket és gondolatoknak azonban szinte nyomaiban sem találjuk. Ezért lehetséges az, hogy némelyik versében nem csupán a toposzokként leírt világi bűnöket ostorozza, hanem a kolostorlakó szerzetesek vétkeit is pellengérre állítja:
Hozzátok szólok szerzetes társak:
Tudnotok kell, mit tanít Buddha!
Megigazultan, vágytól mentesen
Léha züllöttség nem fertőz soha.
Be sokan vagytok egyszerű urak:
Lám, az arany tart titeket fogva.
Ismerjétek meg a kiválókat:
Rábízzák maguk a kusza sorsra.
Családot elhagyó szerzetesek
Mohón húst faltok s bort nyel gigátok.
Így kívántok tán mennybe kerülni?
A pokol bugyra, az vár tirátok.
Míg kántáljátok a szent szútrákat,
A világi népre szórtok átkot.
Jó, ha tudjátok, hogy legalább ők
Nem hazudozzák, mennyire mások.
Akárcsak Han-san nál, Si-tö-nél is jelentős szerepet kap a környezet, amely mindig a magasztos, lenyűgöző s szinte felfoghatatlan roppant hegyekkel ölelt táj. A táj ábrázolása, leírása sohasem öncélú. Fenségességében, titokzatosságában mindig a világi élettel szembenálló, kolostori magányba visszavonult, tiszta szerzetesi élet jelképe.
Nevess csak rajtam, erdőben élőn,
Hisz itt sehol sincs emberi porta.
Felhők kúsznak föl sziklabércekre,
Vízesés dühöng, tombol robaja.
Majmok sivítnak görbe ösvényen,
Embertől távol tigris otthona.
Tiszta, lágy szellő fenyők közt neszez,
Rajta madárhad trilláját ontja.
Magam lépdelek vízmosás mentén,
Magasra hágok sziklaoromra.
Néha szusszanok szirtek kövein,
Ledőlök s testem borostyán fonja.
Messzi révedek a város felé:
Alig hallik már nyüzsgő moraja…
— A fenti verseket Tokaji Zsolt fordította, vö:
Si-tö: A lelenc hazatalál
A verseket válogatta, kínai eredetiből fordította, a jegyzeteket és az utószót írta: Tokaji Zsolt
Open access (OA) elektronikus kiadás 2002-től 2011-ig: Terebess Ázsia E-Tár
In: A remete és a lelenc. Han-san és Si-tö versei.
Zen költemények a 7. századi Kínából. A verseket válogatta, fordította és a jegyzeteket írta Tokaji Zsolt.
Budapest, Fapadoskonyv.hu 2010. 61-81. oldal
Megroggyantam, öregszem, erőm fogy, kinevetnek,
de sétálok: a felhők s a fenyők még szeretnek.
Azt bánom csak, hogy máig a sült galambra vártam,
s kormány nélkül sodródtam, részeg hajó az árban.
— Faludy György fordítása