Visiting Dang (幢), Meditation Master of Anhwasa (安和寺), Who Asked Me to Compose a Piece訪安和寺幢禪師。師請賦一篇。
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 · 140 Chinese characters · reading time 1.5 min
Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) Former Collection, Book 14 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.
The green mountain is truly an old friend,
and it seems glad that a man of seclusion has come.
On my coming it gave me a clear prospect,
and wind and sunlight were just then fair and lovely.
I had not been long in the mountain
when the lonely sound of rain grew beautiful.
Letting down my hair, I lay on the windy hall floor
and snored one round like a peal of thunder.
Rising, I saw that it had cleared wide open again,
and a rainbow hung at the tips of the trees.
The crying cicada, hidden in the leaves, drones and drones,
and the quarreling sparrows, fighting over a branch, tumble down.
The monk in his patched robe brewed tea with his own hands
and boasted to me that both its fragrance and its color were complete.
I said: when a man is old and thirsty,
where has he the leisure to weigh the grades of tea?
Seven bowls, and then seven bowls again —
I would dry up the water before the rock.
At this time autumn had only just come in,
but the heat that was left had not yet given over.
At midday it is as though one were being steamed,
yet the evening coolness is pleasant enough.
I chew a green melon, and it is like crystal;
its icy juice soaks coldly into my teeth.
The green peach is red on both its cheeks,
and when it is all chewed it is enough to drive off drowsiness.
Lying down and rising up, I forget of myself to go home,
for this outing is truly to my mind.