66. The Mountain Rocks

A poem by Han Yu, translated by Hyun Woo Kim, and an announcement

The mountain rocks are uneven and rugged, and the narrow paths are rare;

I arrived at the temple at sunset, and the bats were flying.

As I climbed to the hall and sat on the steps, the new rain was satisfying;

The plantain leaves got bigger, and the cape jasmine grew fat.

The monk said, "On the old wall, the painting of the Buddha is good";

I came and shed light on it with a lamp, and what I saw was a rarity.

The table was unfolded, the mat was spread out, and soup and rice were placed;

It is coarse brown rice, though enough to satiate my hunger.

The night deepened, I lay down quietly, and all the bug sounds stopped;

The clear moon came out to the mountain pass, and its light entered through the thatched gate.

The sky brightened, and I walked alone—there was no road;

Walking in and out, high up and down—blocked by the fog.

The mountain was red, and the stream was jade blue—colorful and dazzling;

Pines and oaks were sometimes seen—all of them ten armful thick.

When faced with flowing water, my naked feet stepped on the stream's rocks;

The water's sound was gushing, and the wind blew on my clothes.

A life like this can be enjoyed on one's own;

Why must one crouch for the sake of others' gag?

It is lamentable, my two or three fellows!

Why can we not go back at old age?

「山石」

山石犖确行徑微

黃昏到寺蝙蝠飛

升堂坐階新雨足

芭蕉葉大梔子肥

僧言古壁佛畵好

以火來照所見稀

鋪床拂席置羹飯

疏糲亦足飽我飢

夜深靜臥百蟲絶

淸月出嶺光入扉

天明獨去無道路

出入高下窮烟霏

山紅澗碧紛爛漫

時見松櫪皆十圍

當流赤足踏澗石

水聲激激風吹衣

人生如此自可樂

豈必局促爲人鞿

嗟哉吾黨二三子

安得至老不更歸

From Hyun Woo:

I remember telling you before that I think Han Yu is better at being an essayist than a poet. I should repeat the same statement today. Still, even if I am not the biggest fan of today’s poem, you might still be able to enjoy it.

To be fair, the poem has some memorable lines. My favorite would be: “When faced with flowing water, my naked feet stepped on the stream's rocks”. This is a hauntingly beautiful image, much better than a dull rhetorical question like “Why can we not go back [to country life] at old age?” I also like the image of Han Yu standing in front of an old wall after sunset with a lamp in his hand, looking at the painting on the wall. Nevertheless, this is not a poem that I am so excited to introduce to you, frankly speaking. Oh well, hopefully, I will get back to you next week with a better poem, and no harsh feelings, Han Yu! Your essays are often great.

Announcement:

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