Sometimes friends share the climb
of Cold Mountain.
On a middle slope,
Jack stops to pee—
a large circle in the dusty path.
“If you guys can say something about that,
then let’s go on,” he challenges.
Larry steps into the circle,
sits like a mountain top.
I curtsey to his stone figure.
“If you characters can do that,
we just won’t go on,” Jack asserts.
“What do you mean?” we ask,
“Look how far we’ve come.”
Storms play across the slopes
of Cold Mountain.
The view is always
perfect.
(No. 60 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
With deep respect for Case 69 of the Blue Cliff Record and my climbing companions.
(Numeric reference to Han-shan’s poem reflects the order of presentation in Burton Watson’s translation, presented as Cold Mountain, Columbia University Press, 1970.)
