Answering His Poem Made on the Spur of the Moment和卽事
Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) 東國李相國集 · Yi Gyubo · Compiled 1241 (Goryeo, 28th year of King Gojong); revised and enlarged 1251 · 1 passages · 119 Chinese characters · reading time 1.3 min
Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) Former Collection, Book 7 The collected writings of Yi Gyubo of Goryeo, gathered and cut in woodblock by his son Yi Ham in 1241 and revised and enlarged by his grandson Yi Ikbae in 1251. It holds poems and rhapsodies, memorials and reports sent up to the king, records written for temples and pagodas, stele and tomb inscriptions, letters and prefaces, and the state letters that passed to and from the Mongols during the invasions. The Lay of King Dongmyeong, which sings the founder of Goguryeo, stands in volume 3 of the first collection, and the daily life of a man who called himself the White Cloud Layman — with his wine, his zither and his verse — fills the later collection. The book closes with the last poem he wrote as his eyes failed and he laid down the brush, and with the dirge and tomb inscription others made for him after his death.
In leisure he surpasses Tao Jingjie (陶靖節),
and in madness he is like Gai Kuanrao (蓋寬饒).
The traveller's dream pierces the tiered peaks,
and the poem-making eye cuts the blue sky.
A light whirlwind tugs the parting sleeve;
the lingering moon sends off the homeward oar.
On the water-cliff the waves lay on powder;
on the rock stele the moss has eaten away the carving.
The rivers and hills are as Mount Beigu (北固山),
and the air and soil resemble Nanqiao (南譙).
Taking hold of the steepness, Heaven has made a storehouse;
joining on to the empty air, the spirits have laid a bridge.
The hidden flowers shun the drizzle;
the lying willow is worried by the startled tide.
In the sun on the sand a soft-shelled turtle takes the warmth;
in the lake mist a bird white as snow lifts its neck.
Far sounds are heard within the shimmering haze;
the deep cave looks down on a hollow place.
Parting I feel more than most,
but with whom shall I wear the years away?
In going it is as though a monkey came out of its cage;
in coming, suddenly as though a phoenix roamed the fields.
Where could one go and not be glad?
Do not trouble to labour at fleeing the noise.