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My impressions are grounded rather upon the general effect made on my mind by reading all three hundred. Beneath high cliffs I live alone swirling clouds swirl all day inside my hut it might be dim but in my mind I hear no noise I passed through a golden gate in a dream my spirit returned when I crossed a stone bridge I left behind what weighed me down my dipper on a branch click clack. The stone bridge is a natural arch that spans two merging cataracts near the summit of Tientaishan.

The hermit Elsu Yu third millennium s. Once someone gave him a gourd dipper. Text in Chinese and English, p. Translation and commentary by Robert B. Suny Series in Buddhist Studies. Parallel text in Chinese and English. Boston; Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton, , p. PDF: Hanshan's Poems , pp. Text in Chinese and English. Shambala, , p.

Comparative List of Hanshan's Poems. Translated by Burton Watson. Grove Press, , p. Seaton, Shambhala, , p.

The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain (Paperback)

Kyoto Editions, , 25, 25 p. Limited edition: copies printed.

Guffawing in the wilderness: 13 poems by Han Shan; rendered by George Ellison. La Crosse, Wisc. Seaton; edited by Dennis Maloney, Buffalo, N. Of course there are some people who are careful of money, But not I among them. Because I dance too much, my garment of thin cloth is worn. My bottle is empty, for I spurt out the wine when we sing.

Eat a full meal. Don't tire your feet.

??? - Hanshan - Google книги

The day when weeds are sprouting through your skull, You will regret what you have been. Gary Snyder: The Mountain and the Mind, pp. Schafer, Edward H. Kahn, Paul.

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The poems of the Han-shan collection , unpublished Ph. Ohio State University, Studia Orientalia Finnish Oriental Society, Vammala , pp. First Edition. Portland, Oregon: Press, , [30] p. In , Gary Snyder returned to the Bay Area and, at age 23, enrolled in graduate school at the University of California, Berkeley, to study Asian languages and culture.

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He intensified his study of Chinese and Japanese, and taking up the challenge of one of his professors, Chen Shih-hsiang, he began to work on translating a largely unknown poet by the name of Han Shan, a writer with whom the professor thought Snyder might feel a special affinity. The results were magical. As Patrick Murphy noted, "These poems are something more than translations precisely because Snyder renders them as a melding of Han Shan's Chinese Ch'an Buddhist mountain spirit trickster mentality and Snyder's own mountain wilderness meditation and labor activities.

In , Press issued a beautiful edition of these poems written out by hand in italic by Michael McPherson. We are doing a new augments edition based on the old, with a new design, a preface by Lu Ch'iu-yin, and an afterword by Mr. Snyder where he discusses how he came to this work and what it meant to his development as a writer and Buddhist. On May 11, , for the Stronach Memorial Lecture at The University of California, more than fifty years after his days there as a student, Snyder offered a public lecture reflecting on Chinese poetry, Han Shan, and his continuing work as a poet and translator.

This remarkable occasion was recorded and we are including a CD of it in our edition, making this the most definitive edition of Cold Mountain Poems ever published. Gary Snyder. No one knows what sort of man Han-shan was. There are old people who knew him: they say he was a poor man, a crazy character. He lived alone seventy Li 23 miles west of the T'ang-hsing district of T'ien-t'ai at a place called Cold Mountain.

He often went down to the Kuo-ch'ing Temple. At the temple lived Shih'te, who ran the dining hall. He sometimes saved leftovers for Han-shan, hiding them in a bamboo tube. Han-shan would come and carry it away; walking the long veranda, calling and shouting happily, talking and laughing to himself. Once the monks followed him, caught him, and made fun of him.

He stopped, clapped his hands, and laughed greatly—Ha Ha! He looked like a tramp.

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His body and face were old and beat. Yet in every word he breathed was a meaning in line with the subtle principles of things, if only you thought of it deeply. Everything he said had a feeling of Tao in it, profound and arcane secrets. His hat was made of birch bark, his clothes were ragged and worn out, and his shoes were wood. Thus men who have made it hide their tracks: unifying categories and interpenetrating things. On that long veranda calling and singing, in his words of reply Ha Ha!

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Sometimes at the villages and farms he laughed and sang with cowherds. Sometimes intractable, sometimes agreeable, his nature was happy of itself. But how could a person without wisdom recognize him? I once received a position as a petty official at Tan-ch'iu. The day I was to depart, I had a bad headache.

I called a doctor, but he couldn't cure me and it turned worse. I asked him to rescue me from my illness. He smiled and said, "The four realms are within the body; sickness comes from illusion. If you want to do away with it, you need pure water. In a moment the disease was rooted out.

Whenever Cold Mountain/Han-shan Stops To Visit

He then said, "There are miasmas in T'ai prefecture, when you get there take care of yourself. If you want to see him, you can't rely on appearances. Then you can see him. Han-shan is a Manjusri one who has attained enlightenment and, in a future incarnation, will become Buddha hiding at Kuo-sh'ing. Shih-te is a Samantabbhadra Bodhisattva of love.

They look like poor fellows and act like madmen. Sometimes they go and sometimes they come. They work in the kitchen of the Kuo-ch'ing dining hall, tending the fire. I proceeded on my journey to my job at T'ai-chou, not forgetting this affair. I arrived three days later, immediately went to a temple, and questioned an old monk. It seemed the Master had been truthful, so I gave orders to see if T'ang-hsing really contained a Han-shan and Shih-te.