in times gone by
Zhou Maoshu sat in his boat
and the boatman rowed it out

Zhou Maoshu went in his boat
to appreciate the lotuses
strewn about in the lake

And the vast sky was everywhere
and the willow huge in the foreground
and a line of them
receding into the mist
and Zhou Mashu sang a song
there in the lake as he sat in his boat:
*water spreads about
and the lotus
is scattered over it
I, Zhao Mashu, am in my boat
and this is neither a journey or end;
here we are but another part of the whole -
it is the seeing of beauty
and that is all there is
here and beyond
now and ever

in your painting
there is the rock
that nature’s licked into two plates
and that slides into the lake;
the rock carries with it the branches
with its show of flowers
like a suitor come to woo the hands of the gentle lake
and in the clear water below
two fish are active in their element -
they are objective, they are like scholars

and I am here, dear Bada Shenren,
three hundred years after you
(the dead have ever been my friends)
I too am come out again to see the world
like you did after forty years,
dear Zhu Da -
but like then as now, the world is not kind
to the recluse who comes to meet it

it is the scene that comes to one
that opens its palms
like a child might open its own
in delight

the fingered-bamboo on slender arms
and the smooth waters flowing
like a sage’s long white hair;
and the rocks like pauses
and the terrain sliding, gliding down
not to be outdone by the river that flows –
it is the scene that comes to one
and one must come to it, and one observes…

one comes with no preconceptions
and without creed and theology
one leaves one’s history
and expectations and conditioning
and one sees what is before one…
to this one does not bring one’s opinions
and one’s past and emotions
and one’s beliefs and one’s dogma -
for to observe is to see, not to overlay
like laying carpets on mud
or marble tiles on the mansion floor…
one observes, one sees what is before one

and from this one does not take
opinions and memories and revelations
and dogma and emotions and similes and metaphors
…one observes, one sees…
…everything else is conditioning,
structure and formation…

it’s a transient world
sweetheart
all this life and the wonders of it all

it’s like the reflections in the lake
all this being and the joys
and the excitement of the day
it’s all like the flower
that comes first as a bud and then blooms
and then is proud in its own wonder
and then is kissed to its death, deflowered

it is all but an instant
though time, events may seem long;
the only thing one can do
sweetheart
is to hold the moment

the curved mountains are at their own
unconcerned, lofty and as is
far and near
and the hills too
gathered and in groups
one here, solitary and a cluster there
some stained by a previous fire,
now most smothered in snow…
and the bamboo, scattered and thin
and resisting and resilient, and the rocks
unmoved, silent, witnessing…
and so it is my mind with all its thoughts
and feelings and emotions, all its clusters of memes
and its storms and violence and depth…
and there is the observing, and there is the silence
that hovers over it all…the stillness that is always waiting,
as the freshness in the mountains and hills
the being as bamboo is what it is

Let me not return
this day
you elements
that surround me
you spirits
that hover about and flit in the air
Let me not return home today
without a catch
A man must eat
and he must bring sustenance
to those who rely on him
I have sat here now in my boat
these hours slow and hopeful
in these winter waters
and cold and harsh times and desolation
The land is barren
and the waters unrelenting
I have used every skill and every technique
patience sits by as my desperation resides within
O let me not return empty
this day to those who have hope in their eyes -
we need to eat
that is the stark reality;
there is no mystery in that
every strategy of mine has failed
O spirits that hover in this vast desolation
let me not return
with downcast eyes and empty basket
with nothing to show for my hours and work here
alone in the boat, on this vast wintry lake

*there have been days
when you have rewarded me with your bounty
and I have shared them all
But O why
you good spirits of the air and water -
why do you desert me in my hour of need?

the sun goes to sleep in the waters
below the bridge of Edo
(ah, the Edobashi)
and rises gentle over it when it is time*

it is morning over Nihonbashi now
and the golden glow of the early sun
is the smile that stretches like gentle colours
over festive banners and a geisha’s paper fan
like a girl’s smile, in her first blush of love

the thin light spreads out and finds its children
the back-bent men are there already
carrying their heavy loads
the fishermen carry in their catch
in baskets on poles
they saunter, purposeful
though the sleepy city is reluctant
after its nightly revels
and the dogs, the stray dogs are there too
at the gates of Nihonbashi
and the sun’s rays are like
the gentle smile of a mother discovering her children