Tag Archives: translated poetry

BOOK: “This and That” by Ryōkan [trans. by Stan Ziobro and John Slater]

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This and That: Selected Short Poems of Zen Master RyokanThis and That: Selected Short Poems of Zen Master Ryokan by Ryōkan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Publisher Site — Monkfish Books

Release Date: March 24, 2026

This is a new selection of Ryōkan’s short poetry (haiku, tanka, and Chinese-Style poems) as translated by Stan Ziobro and John Slater. Ryōkan was a Buddhist monk who lived across the late 18th / early 19th century. These translations are evocative and present the sometimes whimsical and sometimes haunting work of Ryōkan well. While the forms are just three, i.e. haiku, tanka, and kanshi [Japanese Poetry in the Chinese Style,] the style varies, some being imagist and some being more philosophical. Being a monk, Ryōkan’s work is heavily influenced by a Buddhist worldview, as well as by philosophies that interacted with Buddhism — e.g. Taoism.

While I usually have no basis to judge a translation as translation and am left to reflect on it purely as stand-alone verse, in this case, I have enough experience reading translations of Ryōkan to have a feel for his work. I immediately recognized some of Ryōkan’s more famous poems: e.g. the one’s translated in this book as, “Poems? no way // when you see that my // poems aren’t poems // then we can talk poetry” or “Left behind by thief // bright moon // in my window” Yet, at the same time, I felt the translators left some of their own imprint on the poems, and their influence / voice resonated with me.

The book does have front matter to set the stage for readers, and there is a “Notes” section that includes useful background on the poems. I found this ancillary matter useful, but not excessively verbose or intrusive.

If you enjoy Japanese poetry or Buddhist influenced poetry, I’d highly recommend this selection.

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“To a Taoist Hermit on Mt. Quanjiao” [寄全椒山中道士] by Wei Yingwu [韦应物]

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Today, my office is chilly.
   At once, I miss my mountain chum, 
 Who bound firewood in the valley,
 Bringing it back to boil white stones.
 I wish I could ladle some wine
   To comfort on this stormy night.
 But fallen leaves fill mountain hollows,
 How could I find a track to follow?

This is poem #29 from the 300 Tang Poems [唐诗三百首], entitled 寄全椒山中道士. The original poem in Simplified Chinese is:

今朝郡斋冷， 忽念山中客； 
涧底束荆薪， 归来煮白石。
 欲持一瓢酒， 远慰风雨夕。
 落叶满空山， 何处寻行迹？

“Precept-Breaking Monk” by Ikkyū [w/ Audio]

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A precept-breaking monk for eighty years --
   still, I'm ashamed of Zen that ignores cause and effect.
 Sickness is the result of past karma.
 Now how can I honor my endless connections?

Translation by Kazuaki Tanahashi and David Schneider in: Essential Zen. 1994. HarperSanFrancisco. p. 126.

Wen Fu 12 [文赋十二] “Idiosyncrasy” by Lu Ji [陆机] [w/ Audio]

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Thoughts conveyed by way of short verse
  May degrade in eccentricity.
 With bowed head, lonely and friendless.
  Face up, vast sky where all is free.
 Like one string stretched to perfect pitch,
  But lacking all resonancy.

NOTES: Earlier I posted a translation by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping, entitled A One-String Harp that was contained in The Art of Writing (Boston: Shambhala; p. 15) This, however, is my own translation. The original poem in Simplified Chinese is:

或讬言于短韵，对穷迹而孤兴。
俯寂寞而无友，仰寥廓而莫承。
譬偏弦之独张，含清唱而靡应。

“Parting” [送别] by Wang Wei [王维] [w/ Audio]

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I dismount to share some booze, 
   And ask the wayfarer where he goes.
 Begrudgingly, and with discontent,
   He says, "I'll rest up near South Mount."
 He asks me to just leave him be.
 White clouds cross vast skies - endlessly.

This is poem 13 in the 300 Tang Poems [唐诗三百首.] The original poem in Simplified Chinese is:

下马饮君酒， 问君何所之？
君言不得意， 归卧南山陲。
但去莫复问，白云无尽时。

“Everyone’s Journey” by Sōgi [w/ Audio]

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Everyone's journey
  through this world is the same,
  so I won't complain.
 Here on the plains of Nasu,
  I place my trust in the dew.

NOTE: This translation by Sam Hamill in The Poetry of Zen (2004) Boston: Shambhala, p. 131.

“Inspired by Late Spring” by Ye Cai [w/ Audio]

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Sparrows cast on my desk their shadows in pair,
   And willow down falls in my inkstone here and there.
 Sitting by the window, I read the Book of Change,
   Not knowing when has Spring gone, I only feel strange.

Note: This is the joint translation of Xu Yuanchong and Xu Ming found in the Golden Treasury of Quatrains and Octaves (a Bilingual edition of 千家诗 “Thousands of Poems”) on which they collaborated (i.e. China Publishing Group: Beijing (2008) p. 40)

“Who says my poems are poems” by Ryōkan [w/ Audio]

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Who says my poems are poems?
   They aren't poems at all.

Only when you understand my poems aren't poems 
   Can we talk poetry.

This translation by Sam Hamill in The Poetry of Zen (2004) Boston: Shambhala, p. 159

Wen Fu 11 “Banal & Sublime” [文赋十一] by Lu Ji [陆机] [w/ Audio]

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Some shoots and stalks stand out --
   Taller than the masses.
  Their form eludes pursuit,
   Sound slips through, like gases.
  Great lines are always disjunct:
   Don't weave with mid'ling lyrics.
 They're pent up and peerless:
   Chop them? A win that's pyrrhic.
 Jade flecks make mountains shimmer,
  Pearly waters enchant.
 The thicket mustn't be clipped
  If Kingfisher's glory, grant.
 Stitched words end under snow,
 Work the weft, steady and slow.

The original in Simplified Chinese is:

或苕发颖竖，离众绝致。
形不可逐，响难为系。
块孤立而特峙，非常音之所纬。
心牢落而无偶，意徘徊而不能揥。
石韫玉而山辉，水怀珠而川媚。
彼榛楛之勿翦，亦蒙荣于集翠。
缀下里于白雪，吾亦济夫所伟。

“Bad Government” by Guan Xiu [贯休] [w/ Audio]

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“Venerable Ingatha” by Guan Xiu [One of his 16 Arahat paintings]
Sleet and rain, as if the pot were boiling.
 Winds whack like the crack of an axe.
   An old man, an old man,
   At sunset, crept into my hut.
 He sighed. He sighed as if to himself,
 "These rulers, so cruel. Why, tell me
 Why they must steal till we starve,
 Then slice the skin from our bones?

 For a song from some beauty,
 They'll go back on sworn words;
 For a song from some tart,
 They'll tear down our huts;
 For a sweet song or two,
 They'll slaughter ten thousand like me,
   Like you. Weep as you will,
   Let your hair turn white,
   Let your whole clan go hungry...
  No good wind will blow,
  No gentle breeze
   Begin again.

 Lord Locust Plague and Baron Bandit Bug,
  One east, one west, one north, one south.
  We're surrounded.

NOTE: This the J.P. Seaton translation found in The Poetry of Zen (2004); Shambhala Publications: Boston, MA, pp. 67-68. For the author’s name, Seaton uses “Kuan Hsiu,” the Wade-Giles romanization of the name.