98. On the Zen Hall behind Poshan Temple
A poem by Chang Jian, translated by Hyun Woo Kim
As I enter the old temple at a clear daybreak,
The early Sun illuminates the forest high up.
A winding road leads to the hidden place;
The Zen hall is deep amidst flowers and trees.
The mountain’s light gladdens the nature of birds;
The pond’s shadow empties the heart of men.
Ten thousand sounds are all silent in this;
Only notes of bells and sounding stones are heard.
「題破山寺後禪院」
清晨入古寺
初日照高林
曲径通幽處
禪房花木深
山光悅鳥性
潭影空人心
萬籟此俱寂
惟聞鐘磬音
From Hyun Woo:
I will be honest today, although I do not mean that I was dishonest on other days. I don’t get what today’s poem is about. A “Zen hall” is a building where Buddhist monks meditate. Even in a temple up in the mountain, monks still do chores and socialize with each other. However, in the Zen hall, they practice Zen only. The Zen hall behind Poshan Temple must have impressed the poet, Chang Jian, leading him to write a poem about it.
But, so what about it? The first four lines are rather accessible. At daybreak, we readers walk together with the poet towards the Zen hall “deep amidst flowers and trees”, along a “winding road”. However, we feel lost right after that—or, I feel lost, at least. Why the mention of “the nature of birds” and “the heart of men” so suddenly? What are ‘gladdening’ and ‘emptying’, and ‘nature’ and ‘heart’ supposed to mean? What about the silence of “ten thousand sounds” and the “notes of bells and sounding stones”? I can sense (or imagine) that the poet is vaguely hinting at the Enlightenment, but it is still hard for me to grasp. Perhaps I’m thinking too much, which I admit to be quite anti-Zen.
P.S. The postcard for paid subscribers is on the way! I gave up interpreting the poem above further and decided to have beer instead.
*The text of the original Chinese poem has been edited since it was the same as last week’s post. Thank you for pointing it out, John Broach!
If you enjoyed my work, you can buy me a cup of tea. I am not a coffee person, by the way.



To me it references ancient Taoist philosophy, especially in the last three lines. The ten thousand living and non living things in constant transformation, absense being generative emptiness from which all things emerge. Also, it reminds me of Bashō's famous haiku - in this case translated by Robert Bly
"The temple bell stops—
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers."
Sigh... For me, it's too early in the day for beer. But I have coffee. Sorry, I know you are tea drinker.
It is a poem of a perfect moment. Beautiful and perfect.