Wednesday, October 9, 2019
WANG WEI - “My Cottage at Deep South Mountain”
In my middle years I love the Dao
and by Deep South Mountain I make my home.
When happy I go alone into the mountains.
Only I understand this joy.
I walk until the water ends, and sit
waiting for the hour when clouds rise.
If I happen to meet an old woodcutter,
I chat with him, laughing and lost to time.
In my middle years I love the Dao
and by Deep South Mountain I make my home.
When happy I go alone into the mountains.
Only I understand this joy.
I walk until the water ends, and sit
waiting for the hour when clouds rise.
If I happen to meet an old woodcutter,
I chat with him, laughing and lost to time.
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
JORGE LUIS BORGES - “To A Cat”
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
FOOLS AND DREAMERS:
REGENERATING A NATIVE FOREST
Regenerating a Native Forest is a 30-minute documentary about Hinewai Nature Reserve, on New Zealand’s Banks Peninsula, and its kaitiaki/manager of 30 years, botanist Hugh Wilson. When, in 1987, Hugh let the local community know of his plans to allow the introduced ‘weed’ gorse to grow as a nurse canopy to regenerate farmland into native forest, people were not only skeptical but outright angry – the plan was the sort to be expected only of “fools and dreamers”.
Now considered a hero locally and across the country, Hugh oversees 1500 hectares resplendent in native forest, where birds and other wildlife are abundant and 47 known waterfalls are in permanent flow. He has proven without doubt that nature knows best – and that he is no fool.
---> hinewai.org.nz
---> happenfilms.com
Sunday, October 6, 2019
HỒ XUÂN HƯƠNG TRADITION - [”If you must go into the army, go.”]
If you must go into the army, go.
I can take care of business at home.
The twelfth month is for planting sweet potatoes.
The first month is for planting mung beans.
The second month is for planting eggplants.
The third month is for plowing the field.
The fourth month is for sowing rice seeds.
Everything is fine.
The fifth month is for harvesting.
Rain pours down, flooding the rice paddies.
Go perform your public duties,
Leave me alone to work the field.
If you must go into the army, go.
I can take care of business at home.
The twelfth month is for planting sweet potatoes.
The first month is for planting mung beans.
The second month is for planting eggplants.
The third month is for plowing the field.
The fourth month is for sowing rice seeds.
Everything is fine.
The fifth month is for harvesting.
Rain pours down, flooding the rice paddies.
Go perform your public duties,
Leave me alone to work the field.
Saturday, October 5, 2019
Friday, October 4, 2019
Thursday, October 3, 2019
Wednesday, October 2, 2019
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
T'AO CH'IEN
Autumn chrysanthemums have beautiful color,
With dew in my clothes I pluck their flowers.
I float this thing in wine to forget my sorrow,
To leave far behind my thoughts of the world.
Alone, I pour myself a goblet of wine;
When the cup is empty, the pot pours for itself.
As the sun sets, all activities cease;
Homing birds, they hurry to the woods singing.
Haughtily, I whistle below the eastern balcony –
I’ve found again the meaning of life.
Autumn chrysanthemums have beautiful color,
With dew in my clothes I pluck their flowers.
I float this thing in wine to forget my sorrow,
To leave far behind my thoughts of the world.
Alone, I pour myself a goblet of wine;
When the cup is empty, the pot pours for itself.
As the sun sets, all activities cease;
Homing birds, they hurry to the woods singing.
Haughtily, I whistle below the eastern balcony –
I’ve found again the meaning of life.
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