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Subject FOR NIRVANA /Korean Seon(zen) Master Cho Oh-Hyun 雪嶽 霧山 曺五鉉-8
Name   관리자 Hit 411

FOR NIRVANA 
108 ZEN SIJO POEMS    


CHO OH-HYUN
  


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ntroductory by KWON YOUNGMIN



translated by HEINZ INSU FENKLE 


Associate professor of English and Asian studies at SUNY New Paltz.



​​


65


SUNSET, BAY OF INCHEON


 


That evening the water appeared unusually


red, red


And the old fisherman, who stayed afloat


come sweet, come bitter waves


On the next day, was seen


no longer


 


66


THE SEA


 


Clouds blaze open like peonies


before the bright sun


 


Waves, time passing, undulate


in the thunderous wind and rain


 


And my heart swells


a wild goose spreads its wings


 


67


WORDS OF A BOATMAN


 


Against the sky, his palm, fingers all mangled,


 


Shades his face-no ears, neck, mouth, or nose-


 


Gathering in the spills of his smile.


 


68


 


MOMENTS I WISHED WOULD LINGER


 


Mountain echoing to mountain,


or sea crying out to see;


 


Loved ones crossing the water,


sail raised to catch the wind;


 


That carefree bum, sitting,


drowsing in the mountains.


 


69


YOU AND I: OUR OUTCRY


 


At my youthful footsteps,


or at my polite cough


The mountain stream where the dance


would leap out of the water


Where did it all flow away to?


a single crab like a burnt ember


 


70


YOU AND I: OUR LAMENTATION


 


The stone Buddha on the roadside


where the road splits to my birthplace


and even the holy tree


hung with 50,000 strips of cloth


Did they ascend to some heaven?


Mama! Poppa!


 


71


SIBLING


 


young siblings ambling down


the narrow path to the village


 


like the pink flowers blooming there,


the color of where stem mets leaf


 


in the early morning,


still wet with dew


 


72


WHEN THE SAWN COMES SOWN


 


Here, a grandfather’s love is as familiar


as the taste of bitter orange


 


And a grandmother’s love


has all the spice of hot pepper paste


 


I come for a visit, and on the path today


I taste the morning stillness


 


73


A FISTFUL OF ASHES


 


Day before yesterday, at Mt. Yeongchuk crematorium,


I scattered my longtime dharma friend-a handful of ashes.


The sobs and sniffles of some crying man-I let fly.


 


The stone marker lying by the road-was it tossed?


It has some breath yet-see the liver spots blooming?


I watched for a long while, then came back down.


 


After I’m gone-whenever-what will remain?


A blind cuckoo, at least, crying in some forest?


I turn carefully, look back-only a fistful of ashes I’ve strewn.


 


74


 


HOLDING ON TO A FINGER


 


there’s Master Josil in front of the sangha


beating the dharma drum


 


and a kid, maybe 7 years old


listening, ears plugged


 


wants to hold my hand


and hear the sound of thunder