Almost halfway through the Twenty-Four Classes of Poetry. I've got all the poems translated, but I'm taking my time posting them. You'd think that since I have nothing better to do, and I'm more or less housebound during the pandemic (which way too fuckin' many of my neighbors and countrymen seem to think isn't worth worrying about), I'd be more productive, but nope.
Anyway, I don't have much to say about this poem. Once more Sikong Tu advocates 無爲 wuwei, "doing not-doing," and not letting excess (or any) words get in the way of understanding. Sounds good to me.
Later, dudes.
微臣
史大偉
-----
含蓄
司空圖
不著一字
盡得風流
語不涉己
若不堪憂
是有真宰
與之沈浮
如綠滿酒
如綠滿酒
花時反秋
悠悠空塵
忽忽海漚
淺深聚散
萬取一收
-----
"Reservation"
Sikong Tu
Without writing a
single word,
a thorough grasp of
effortless style;
speaking without
involving oneself
is like being
indifferent to worry
This is the heart of
true mastery;
with it, one sinks and
floats
As the strainer
overflows with wine,
the season of flowers
reverts to autumn
The sky slowly grows
dim with dust,
bubbles form suddenly
in the sea;
shallow and deep,
gathering and dispersing
seeking the myriad, grasping only one
No comments:
Post a Comment