On the Next Day Bak Hwango Made a Poem, and I Galloped My Brush and Harmonized with It明日。朴還古有詩。走筆和之。
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 · 100 Chinese characters · reading time 1.1 min
Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) Former Collection, Book 8 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.
One body between Heaven and Earth,
a cloud without a mind that came out of the peaks.
The monk hands down the line of Ganja (甘蔗氏),
and I have carried on the immortal Yi.
The Buddha and Laozi were one wild goose from the first;
why divide them into duck and swallow?
How much more, since you have framed a Lotus Society,
the lingering bearing of Huiyuan (慧遠) remains.
I would become a Zong Bing (宗炳),
but though I knock at the bar it is not heard within.
The crane's feeling is uncommonly white,
and thoughts of the evening glow are dignified again.
There is not yet even a small sound of blowing upon a sword,
so how should there be any darkening from the pouring of iron?
You do not make Tao Qian knit his brows,
and day by day you open a clear wine jar.
The marvelous Way is helped by the meeting of eyes,
and clear talk washes away the trouble of the mind.
Lying still as an effigy, I am just now snoring a second time,
when Fusang (扶桑) lets go the red sun.