Even in a palace, life may be led well! So spake the imperial sage, purest of men, Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,
Our freedom for a little bread we sell, And drudge under some foolish master's ken Who rates us if we peer outside our pen -- Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell?
Even in a palace! On his truth sincere, Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came; And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame
Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, I'll stop, and say: "There were no succour here! The aids to noble life are all within."
The great road has no gate. It leaps out from the heads of all of you. The sky has no road. It enters into my nostrils. In this way we meet as Gautama's bandits, or Linji's troublemakers. Ha! Great houses tumble down and spring wind swirls. Astonished, apricot blossoms fly and scatter -- red.
Translated by Mel Weitsman and Kazuaki Tanahashi; printed in: Essential Zen. 1994. HarperSanFrancisco, p. 136.
Note: While Rujing was Chinese he was teacher to the prominent Japanese Zen Teacher, Dōgen Zenji, the latter published this and other poems, hence the dual categorization of it as Chinese and Japanese Literature.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble Sheep a threat’ning horn; While the Lilly white shall in Love delight, Nor a thorn, nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain, -- Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town; I sit in my chair. All my thoughts are slow and brown: Standing up or sitting down Little matters, or what gown Or what shoes I wear.
How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lamb's innocent call, And he hears the ewe's tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
I remember viewing the West Lake While leaning on a pagoda rail. The boats all clustered in threes or twos. The islets under deep Autumn blues.
Flute song arose from among the cattails. And a line of white birds - overhead - sailed. I planned to fix my old fishing pole, but clouds on water had my mind & soul.
You glow in my heart Like the flames of uncounted candles. But when I go to warm my hands, My clumsiness overturns the light, And then I stumble Against the tables and chairs.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 