霜草苍苍虫切切,村南村北行人绝。
独出门前望夜田,月明荞麦花如雪。
Frosted grass, a lonely grey. Insects chirping low.
In all the village, North and South, travellers are home.
Out alone, before the gates, I gaze on night's dark fields.
Bright, the moon, and here below, barley flowers like snow.
Bai Juyi is the first Chan poet. And as "The God of Poetry," he is the measure of all Zen poetry. He stands, fully aware, in the middle of his poetry. His individuality is always there, as it should be. Bai Juyi shows us there is absolutely more to what we are than the impermanent self.
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