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Subject FOR NIRVANA /Korean Seon(zen) Master Cho Oh-Hyun àääÀ Ùöߣ ðÆçéúè-10 | ||
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Name °ü¸®ÀÚ | Hit 2484 |
FOR NIRVANA CHO OH-HYUN
translated by HEINZ INSU FENKLE
Associate professor of English and Asian studies at SUNY New Paltz.
85
WANING LANDSCAPE
Are they weeping, or laughing, as they go
The geese from the reed forest flying in a flock
And the sky, the autumn sky, its throat sunk in the kill
86
AT THE TOMB OF KING SEONDEOK
Late fall flowers, blooming in the cold wind,
Look up to the pale daylight moon.
Your throne didn¡¯t last a hundred years,
But the dirt you return to abides a thousand.
In the empty mountain where the scops owl cries,
Only a rain of pine needles pilling up.
87
FOREST
To live like that,
To go on living like that
Mountain forming valleys
To let the waters flow
And trees breeding insects
Under their rough bark
88
NEW SHOOTS
The sky, the eye¡¯s light,
Open once more at the point of breath,
An ember born again
Where a star¡¯s light glanced-
Today, at last, the green waves
Of May come surging again.
89
EARLY SPRING
A plantain leaf, half the spring day
At my western window,
its image like calligraphy ink
bleeding into cheap draft paper-
rain drops fall into the blaze
of sunbeams in the valley of roof tiles.
90
THREE VIEWS OF SPRING
1.
The spring Purge
The fiery rashes in my crotch
Have caused my festering molars, all, to fall out-
My ignorance, wide as the sky, ah, that magical purge
2.
A History of spring
I cut my words with my tongue- a blade for beheading horses,
And even hallucinogenic mushrooms, which claimed my soul,
Are all budding like flowers on this dammed spring night
3.
Spring Riot
Thirsty-thirsty-even the nectar in the blossoms
Each passing spring withers my ever-diminishing life,
And this year it appears the flowers will come in one big riot
91
THE SOUND OF MY OWN CRY
In the woods at noon
I hear a bird cry out
On the shore, mid-morning,
I hear the gulls
When will I hear
The sound of my own cry?
92
ALL THE SAME AT JOURNEY¡¯S END
Age: twelve
Identity: monk
Work till noon stomping the foot mill,
Split firewood till the sun goes down
Once a generation, hear the cry
Of a bird hiding out in the woods
Then ten years, twenty years,
Forty years pass, and today
Living on the mountain
Not seeing the mountain
And the sound of the bird¡¯s cry?
I can¡¯t even hear my own.
93
SCARECROW
He waves at the flocking birds,
At the man walking by-
This scarecrows, as he works for others, with a smile
A year of bounty, or a famine year,
Take a walk along the paddy dikes-
Mine, yours-
See the field, the autumn wind?
Not a sole possession, yet I, too, a smiling scarecrow
Is what they say I am,
But clear my mind, spread my two arms wide, and
Everything, even the sky-all just a single step away
94
DAYS LIVING ON THE MOUNTAIN
Reached the age when I¡¯m sick of it all.
My thoughts, too, knotty like the bones of my bent back,
Today I grabbed a stump about to fall over.
Day before yesterday, I went to see Master Hancheon at his temple
And asked him what made him want to go on living.
He couldn¡¯t explain in words, so he told me to strike the
Cloud gong.
Now, really, the days living on the mountain-
One day crying like a bug in the grass,
One day laughing like a flower in the field,
Only to see it-the flow that ends the flow.
95
VAPORS
No way forward, no way back
Look around-in all directions, up and down-
Empty sky and endless cliff
Funny
What I wandered all my life to find is a precipice
Finally at this cliff, where I must
Toss down both life and death-
Vapors waft around to their heart¡¯s content
Funny
That what I clung to all my life-nothing but vapors
96
MY LIFELINES
What I¡¯ve been seeking all my life
Are the mainlines, the veins
Of Zen
& poetry
The conclusion I reached today-
Poetry is woodgrain, knotted,
& Zen is wood¡¯s grain, straight
97
EMBERS(AFTERWORD)
-to my readers
These words I¡¯ve spewed ¡®til now-they¡¯re all drivel.
Mouth ajar at last, as not to tread on earth or stone,
This body, infused with brass, in a molten fire.
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