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I laugh at what he calls poetry

I laugh at what he calls poetry: a blind man’s
rhymes in lukewarm praise of the sun.

-Han Shan 

(8th Century)


Read rest of poem  23 more words


Han Shan tells why he came to Cold Mountain

Thirty years ago I was born into the world.
A thousand, ten thousand miles I’ve roamed.
By rivers where the green grass lies thick,
Beyond the border where the red sands fly. 42 more words


Han Shan speaks again

When I see a fellow abusing others,
I think of a man with a basketful of water.
As fast as he can, he runs with it home, 51 more words


Han Shan again

As long as I was living in the village
They said I was the finest man around.
But yesterday I went to the city
And even the dogs eyed me askance. 35 more words


again, Han Shan

Story on story of wonderful hills and streams,
Their blue-green haze locked in clouds!
Mists brush my thin cap with moisture,
Dew wets my coat of plaited straw. 37 more words


and one more from Han Shan

Living in the mountains, mind ill at ease,
All I do is grieve at the passing years.
At great labor I gathered the herbs of long life, 53 more words