Some Ryokan poems

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

Early summer, floating down a clear running river in a wooden boat,
A lovely girl gently plays with a crimson lotus flower held in her white hands.
The day becomes more and more brilliant.
Young men play along the shore and a horse runs by the willows.
Watching quietly, speaking to no one,
The beautiful girl does not show that her heart is broken.

The ancient buddhas taught the Dharma
Not for its own sake but to assist us.
If we really knew ourselves
We would not have to rely on old teachers.
The wise go right to the core
And leap beyond appearances;
The foolish cleave to details
And get ensnared by words and letters.
Such people envy the accomplishments of others
And work feverishly to attain the same things.
Cling to truth and it becomes falsehood;
Understand falsehood and it becomes truth.
Truth and falsehood are two sides of a coin:
Neither accept nor reject either one.
Don't waste your precious time fruitlessly
Trying to gauge the depths of life's ups and downs.

Maples on this mountain
Will shine no more
For when you are gone
How can they?

"When, when?" I sighed.
The one I longed for
Has finally come;
With her now,
I have all that I need.

We meet only to part,
Coming and going like white clouds,
Leaving traces so faint
Hardly a soul notices.

Orchid

Deep in the valley, a beauty hides:
Serene, peerless, incomparably sweet.
In the still shade of the bamboo thicket
It seems to sigh softly for a lover.

In former days
I did just as my heart dictated me.
But now, heart,
Obey me and do what I say.

Wild peonies
Now at their peak
In glorious full bloom --
Too precious to pick
Too precious not to pick.

At my house
these hundred plants
I planted and raised --
only to give them up
to the will of the wind.

Even in the remotest corner
Flowers will bloom
If we attend them in earnest
Nothing at all though we are.

How heartless white snowflakes are
That they should be
Piling thick on the ground
On the very day when you are coming.

In the entire ten directions of the Buddha's universe
There is only one way.
When we see clearly, there is no difference in the teachings.
What is there to lose? What is there to gain?
If we gain something, it was there from the beginning.
If we lose anything, it is hidden nearby.

Who was it said, "Names are the guests of reality"?
These words have come down to us from ancient times
But even if people know that names aren't real
They don't see that reality itself has no root
Name, reality -- both are beside the point
Just naturally find joy in the ever-changing flow.

It is a pity,
gentleman in refined retirement
composing poetry:
He models his work
on the classic verse of China,
And his poems are elegant,
full of fine phrases.
But if you don't write of things
deep inside your own heart,
What's the use of churning out
so many words?

The flower invites the butterfly with no-mind;
The butterfly visits the flower with no-mind.
The flower opens, the butterfly comes;
The butterfly comes, the flower opens.
I don't know others,
Others don't know me.
By not-knowing we follow nature's course.

Once in a while
I just let time wear on
Leaning against a solitary pine
Standing speechless,
As does the whole universe!
Ah, who can share
This solitude with me?

Everything turns out false;
Everything turns out true
According to your way of thinking.
Falsehood does not exist outside truth
Nor truth lies outside falshood.
Fellow truth-seekers,
Why do you seek after truth only?
I'd rather ask you if your mind
To seek after truth is true or false.

My hermitage is home to a cat and a mouse;
Both are furry creatures.
The cat is fat and sleeps in broad daylight;
The mouse is thin and scampers about in the dark.
The cat is blessed with talent,
Able to deftly catch living things for its meals.
The mouse is cursed,
Limited to sneaking bits and pieces of food.
A mouse can damage containers, it is true,
But containers can be replaced,
Not so living things.
If you ask me which creature incurs more sin,
I'd say the cat!

Late on a spring night,
with the world covered in darkness
A gentle rain mingles with the snow
trickling through the bamboo in my garden
I try to assuage my loneliness
but nothing seems to help
In the gloom I fumble for the Eihei Record
And burning incense and lighting a candle
quietly begin to read
Each word, each phrase is a priceless gem
Years ago, at Entsuji in Tamashima
I recall how my late teacher instructed me
in the Eye of True Enlightenment
At that time, I already had
some experience of awakening
And therefore asked to read the Record
under my teacher's personal guidance
That was when I saw that till then
I'd just been wasting my time
Afterward, I left my teacher
setting off on pilgrimage
Ah, what mysterious affinity
joins me with the Eihei Record?
Why is it, wherever I turn, I meet
the Eye of True Enlightenment?
I've read it over and over
I don't know how many times
But in it there's scarcely a thing one could fault
Having studied under teachers of every school
In the end I came back to the Eihei Record
finding myself at one with its words
Alas, what can be done?
Everywhere today confusion reigns
People can't tell a rock from a jewel
For five hundred years, it's been gathering dust
Because no one has eyes to discern the truth
For whom was this monumental work proclaimed?
I'm consumed with longing for the past
racked with despair for the present age
All night I sit before my lamp
Crying and crying
till the Eihei Record of the ancient buddhas
ends up soaked completely through
Next day, the old man who's my neighbor comes to visit
"Why are these volumes all wet?" he asks
I try to tell him, but I can't, and it tears at my heart
It tears at my heart, but I just can't explain
For a while I bow my head in silence
searching for the right words
Finally I say:
"Last night the rain came in and soaked all my books"