By Han Shan (Cold Mountain)
Translated by Mark Francis
"High, high"
High, high the peak of the mountain;
gazing everywhere, no horizon.
Where no one knows I sit alone
the moon shines on a chill spring.
In spring waters, there is no moon;
the moon, naturally, lies in blue heaven.
I chant out this song—
a song, after all, is not Zen.
"Impossible, the road"
Impossible, the road to Cold Mountain—
of horses and carts, no sign.
Hard to follow, where the gorges wind.
Who knows how thick, those piled stones?
Weeping with dew, weeds in the thousands.
Humming with the wind, a hill of pines.
I’ve lost sight of the path this time:
body asks shadow, which way home?
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in Creative Writing and Translation ■ Department of English ■