Taking a break this week, so no note. Instead, here’s another poem by the Japanese Zen monk Ryōkan. (I first introduced him in the post, The Thief Left it Behind.) I’m drawn to how directly and honestly he expresses himself, without a trace of pretension or righteousness. One poem might be about being drunk and playing with the children in the village, while another is about the experience of profound solitude in winter, cold in his hut under the mountain.
The one below (from the book One Robe, One Bowl) cheers me up each time I read it. So here you go. Happy new year! And thank you for reading.
Walking beside a clear running river, I come to a farmhouse. The evening chill has given way to the warmth of the morning sun. Sparrows gather in a bamboo grove, voices fluttering here and there. I meet the old farmer returning to his home; He agrees me like a long-lost friend. At his cottage, the farmer's wife heats saké While we eat freshly picked vegetables and chat. Together, gloriously drunk, we no longer know The meaning of unhappiness.