May
12
Han Shan poem
There is a body—there is not a body;
This is me—then again it is not.
In this way, carefully I think it through;
Putting off my decision, I sit leaning against this cliff.
Midst my feet green grass starts to grow;
On my head the red dust descends.
Having seen me, some common folk
Present fruit and wine at my funeral bier.
- Han Shan
(trans. from Chinese by Robert Hendricks)
