柳宗元 (773-819) Liu Zongyuan

晨诣超师院读禅经

汲井漱寒齿， 清心拂尘服，
闲持贝叶书， 步出东斋读。
真源了无取， 忘迹世所逐；
遗言冀可冥， 缮性何由熟？
道人庭宇静， 苔色连深竹；
日出雾露余， 青松如膏沐。
澹然离言说， 悟悦心自足。

READING BUDDHIST CLASSICS WITH ZHAO
AT HIS TEMPLE IN THE EARLY MORNING

I clean my teeth in water drawn from a cold well;
And while I brush my clothes, I purify my mind;
Then, slowly turning pages in the Tree-Leaf Book,
I recite, along the path to the eastern shelter.
...The world has forgotten the true fountain of this teaching
And people enslave themselves to miracles and fables.
Under the given words I want the essential meaning,
I look for the simplest way to sow and reap my nature.
Here in the quiet of the priest\'s templecourtyard,
Mosses add their climbing colour to the thick bamboo;
And now comes the sun, out of mist and fog,
And pines that seem to be new-bathed;
And everything is gone from me, speech goes, and reading,
Leaving the single unison.

溪居

久为簪组累， 幸此南夷谪。
闲依农圃邻， 偶似山林客。
晓耕翻露草， 夜榜响溪石，
来往不逢人， 长歌楚天碧。

DWELLING BY A STREAM

I had so long been troubled by official hat and robe
That I am glad to be an exile here in this wild southland.
I am a neighbour now of planters and reapers.
I am a guest of the mountains and woods.
I plough in the morning, turning dewy grasses,
And at evening tie my fisher-boat, breaking the quiet stream.
Back and forth I go, scarcely meeting anyone,
And sing a long poem and gaze at the blue sky.

渔翁

渔翁夜傍西岩宿， 晓汲清湘燃楚烛。
烟销日出不见人， 欸乃一声山水绿。
回看天际下中流， 岩上无心云相逐。

AN OLD FISHERMAN

An old fisherman spent the night here, under the western cliff;
He dipped up water from the pure Hsiang and made a bamboo fire;
And then, at sunrise, he went his way through the cloven mist,
With only the creak of his paddle left, in the greenness of mountain and river.
...I turn and see the waves moving as from heaven,
And clouds above the cliffs coming idly, one by one.

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