5 edition of Dew-drops on a lotus leaf found in the catalog.
An appreciation of Ryokwan both as a man and a poet.Includes translations of selected poems.Errata slip inserted.
|The Physical Object|
|Pagination||xvi, 96 p. :|
|Number of Pages||87|
nodata File Size: 2MB.
Ryokan When I was a lad, I sauntered about town as a gay blade, Sporting a cloak of the softest down, And mounted on a splendid chestnut-colored horse. By way of reply, my master recited to me the following lines in a quiet voice. After completing rigorous training in a monastery for ten years, Ryokan choosed to live mostly as a hermit and a beggar.
Wealth and power are fleeting dreams But wise words perfume the world for ages. For one heavenly pleasure They suffer ten torments of hell, Binding themselves more firmly to the grindstone.
There are no big words here, or obscure literary references, or attempts to be clever. A Meal of Fresh Octopus Lots of arms, just like Kannon the Goddess; Sacrificed for me, garnished with citron, I revere it so! I replied at once: Oh mountain crow, If you are flying home, Please bring along This young crow with fragile wings.
Written from the perspective of a Dew-drops on a lotus leaf monk living as a hermit high up in the mountains many centuries ago, each poem is a contemplation on the beauty of nature and is an attempt to get closer to an understanding of the one-ness of the universe.
A friend wrote this about Ryokan: When Ryokan visits it is as if spring had come on a dark winter's day. One robe, one bowl is all I have. Eintrag auf Titel, Kassette lichtrandig, sonst sehr gut erhalten. Read an Excerpt Translator's Introduction The Zen poet Ryokan was born in 1758 in the remote and snowy province of Echigo, located in northern Honshu, bordering the Sea of Japan.
You walk along it, Gleefully bouncing your ball, This endless road before you. Other anecdote tells us that he used to pick the lice from his robe in the warm spring and place them on a rock to sun themselves.
At sunset, I left the following verse and retired to my inn: My sacred Master, Good night, till I come again Seeking after you.
I am at a loss As to where I should meet you, In summer, when the cuckoos come.
Counting the days, I find that February, too, Has come and gone Like a dream.
Wishing you health and peace, I shall come again As soon as the cuckoos come back Singing loudly from the south.