司空圖二十四詩品《曠達》 / Sikong Tu's Twenty-Four Classes of Poetry, 23 - "Acceptance"

One of the meanings of this poem's title, 曠達, is "broad-mindedness," which is how I originally translated it. Broad-mindedness is a trait worthy of pursuit, though like everything else, moderation is important. Giving equal credence to every stupid idea you have or come across isn't being broad-minded, it's a recipe for disappointment and disaster.

Here, though, as the poem itself makes quickly known, Sikong Tu isn't talking about that sort of thinking. He's encouraging acceptance of what is, which is broad-mindedness of a different kind; specifically, accepting that the good things in life are fleeting, and in that ephemerality lies their beauty. Hell, even getting old has its charms—you can get drunk and go for a walk and nobody will give a fuck (or, rather, they shouldn't). 

Knowing every other sentient being on earth is subject to the same processes of birth, old age, sickness, and death, which are as seemingly eternal as Nanshan and all the other mountains beloved by Chinese poets, makes this acceptance all the more crucial. There's no Sikong Tu, no me, no you, just this field of consciousness and experience; once we truly realize that, acceptance loses its connotations of defeat and resignation, and becomes a means of being truly open to the universe.

微臣

史大偉

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曠達

司空圖

生者百歲

相去幾何

歡樂苦短

憂愁實多

何如尊酒

日往煙蘿

花覆茅檐

疏雨相過

倒酒既盡

杖藜行歌

孰不有古

南山峨峨

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"Acceptance"

Sikong Tu

I may live a hundred years

yet leave so little behind—

joy is bitterly short-lived,

worry and sadness ever mounting

But what of a cup of wine,

walking among lush plants each day,

thatched eaves overrun with flowers,

sparse rain passing by?

The wine is all gone;

goosefoot cane in hand, I stroll and sing—

“who is exempt from getting old

while lofty Nanshan still looms?”