08-15-2023, 05:01 AM
Written after Drinking Wine
by Tau Chyen
I built my shack
Amid the haunts of men,
And yet there is no noise
Of horse or carriage.
You ask,
“How can this be?”—
Any place becomes secluded
When the mind is far away.
I pluck chrysanthemums
By the eastern fence.
In the distance
I see the mountains to the south.
The light on the mountains
Is lovely at sunset,
Flocks of birds
Fly back together for the night.
In this
There is an intimation of Truth.
I want to express it,
But have forgotten all words.
———
(six Dynasties Period, about 400 A.D.)
(translation by Greg Whincup)
by Tau Chyen
I built my shack
Amid the haunts of men,
And yet there is no noise
Of horse or carriage.
You ask,
“How can this be?”—
Any place becomes secluded
When the mind is far away.
I pluck chrysanthemums
By the eastern fence.
In the distance
I see the mountains to the south.
The light on the mountains
Is lovely at sunset,
Flocks of birds
Fly back together for the night.
In this
There is an intimation of Truth.
I want to express it,
But have forgotten all words.
———
(six Dynasties Period, about 400 A.D.)
(translation by Greg Whincup)
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara