Ryokan

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Ryokan

I dearly love Ryokan the poet and free spirit. A man who could enjoy playing with village children so much that he would forget to go on his alms round to get food. The first poem in John Stevens translation of Dew Drops of a Lotus Leaf goes like this...

Who says my poems are poems?

My poems are not poems.

When you know that my poems are not poems,

Then we can speak of poetry!

Ryokan is well versed in the language of Zen. And while much of his poetry deals with appreciation of nature, the village children, at times Ryokan shows that he has considerable insight into Reality.

This next poem from the same source captures the serene spirit of Ryokan's life in the moutains.

A single path among ten thousand trees,

A misty valley hidden among a thousand peaks.

Not yet autumn but already leaves are falling;

Not much rain but still the rocks grow dark.

With my basket I hunt for mushrooms;

With my bucket I draw pure spring water.

Unless you got lost on purpose

You would never get this far.

Barry A. Dobyns has kindly typed up some of Ryokan's poetry on his website here

Encyclopedia Britannica article about Ryokan