My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
Every year the green ivy grows longer
No news of the affairs of men,
Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe;
The moon shines and I read Buddhist poems.
I have nothing to report my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after
so many things.
- Ryokan
Who says my poems are poems?
My poems are not poems.
When you can understand this,
then we can begin to speak of poetry!
- Ryokan
Last edited by Mr. Charlie; 08-16-2015 at 03:22 PM.
|