Han-shan, Taoist T'ang poet

“the ten thousand things are all reflections
the moon originally has no light” 

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Clambering up the Cold Mountain path,
The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on:
The long gorge choked with scree and boulders,
The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass.
The moss is slippery, though there's been no rain
The pine sings, but there's no wind.
Who can leap the world's ties
And sit with me among the white clouds?” 

“I spur my horse past the ruined city;
the ruined city, that wakes the traveler's thoughts:
ancient battlements, high and low;
old grave mounds, great and small.

Where the shadow of a single tumbleweed trembles
and the voice of the great trees clings forever,
I sigh over all these common bones --
No roll of the immortals bears their names. ” 

“Children I implore you
get out of the burning house now
three carts wait outside
to save you from a homeless life
relax in the village square
before the sky everything's empty
no direction is better or worse
east is just as good as west
those who know the meaning of this
are free to go where they want” 

“Clambering up the Cold Mountain path,

The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on:
The long gorge choked with scree and boulders,
The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass.
The moss is slippery, though there's been no rain
The pine sings, but there's no wind.
Who can leap the world's ties
And sit with me among the white clouds?”

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Wonderful, this road to Cold Mountain --
Yet there's no sign of horse or carriage.
In winding valleys too tortuous to trace
On crags who knows how high,
A thousand different grasses weep with dew
And pines hum together in the wind.
Now it is that, straying form the path,
You ask your shadow, "what way from here"

------------------------------------------------------------

"You find a flower half-buried in leaves,
And in your eye its very fate resides.
Loving beauty, you caress the bloom;
Soon enough, you'll sweep petals from the floor.
Terrible to love the lovely so,
To count your own years, to say "I'm old,"
To see a flower half-buried in leaves
And come face to face with what you are."


--------------------------------------------------------
"People ask about Cold Mountain Way;
There's no Cold Mountain Road that goes straight through:
By summer, lingering cold is not dispersed,
By fog, the risen sun is screened from view;
So how did one like me get onto it?
In our hearts, I'm not the same as you --
If in your heart you should become like me,
Then you can reach the center of it too."


Cold Mountain
Han-shan


Han Shan was a hermit-poet of the T'ang Dynasty (618-906), who was considered, when an older man, to be an eccentric Taoist, crazy saint, mountain ascetic mystic, wise fool.   Most of Han Shan's poems were written when he lived in the rugged southern and far eastern mountains of Fujiian Province.  He lived alone in caves and primitive shelters in the rugged mountains in an area referred to as the Heavenly Terrace (T'ien T'ai) Mountains.