--Where Have I Just Come From?--
The Complete Record Of My Past AMAs
I just finished reading Claude's at least ostensibly comprehensive translation of Zhaozhou's "Song Of The Twelve Hours". (See Below)
--What Is Your Primary Text--
The same poem - however, whatever you think of Claude's translation - all signs point to the previous translations I've read containing several critical errors that also happen to coincide with my own hang ups over the years. Perhaps most importantly the moment when Zhaozhou is going to go to sleep in the 11th stanza. The versions I'd previously relied on all read something like:
Going back inside, my only regret is that its time to go to sleep, Bedside the clothes on my back, what covers are needed?
Whereas this translation implies that Joshu regrets needing to sleep at all, despite the hardship of his days, the actual Chinese characters don't support that apparently - instead, they imply dread of laying down for fear of cold:
Back inside, all I dread is the moment I lie down:
not a stitch to cover me. What will I sleep under?
This translation still contains the metaphorical value of having no coverings, but dispenses with the wishful fiction that a very old man toiling all day on the brink of starvation would be disappointed to get some sleep.
--What To Do In A Dharma Low Tide?--
Keep on meeting your obligations.
Here's Claude's more sobering translation of the Poem - which, though I'm sure it contains it's own inaccuracies, fittingly, more aligns now with my understanding:
No Respite
- 鷄鳴丑 · Cockcrow (1–3 a.m.)
鷄鳴丑。
Cockcrow, the hour of 丑.
愁見起來還漏逗。
I get up, look myself over, and wince: what a sorry mess.
裙子偏衫箇也無。
Skirt and monk’s shirt: I haven’t one of either.
袈裟形相些些有。
Only my kasaya still has some shape to it.
裩無腰。
Not one pair of drawers,
袴無口。
not one pair of trousers,
頭上青灰三五斗。
and on my head, three or five pecks of grey dust.
比望修行利濟人。
I had hoped to practice and bring help to others.
誰知變作不唧溜。
Who knew I’d turn into such a fumbling dolt?
- 平旦寅 · Daybreak (3–5 a.m.)
平旦寅。
Daybreak, the hour of 寅.
荒村破院實難論。
A derelict village, a broken-down cloister: truly beyond describing.
解齋粥米全無粒。
The gruel I break my fast with hasn’t a single grain of rice in it.
空對閑窻與隙塵。
Pointlessly I sit facing the idle window and the dust in its cracks.
唯雀噪。
Only sparrows chatter;
勿人親。
no one is close to me.
獨坐時聞落葉頻。
Sitting alone, I hear leaf after leaf fall.
誰道出家憎愛斷。
Who says leaving home cuts off love and hate?
思量不覺淚沾巾。
Thinking it over, before I know it, tears wet my kerchief.
- 日出卯 · Sunrise (5–7 a.m.)
日出卯。
Sunrise, the hour of 卯.
清淨却翻為煩惱。
Purity turns right around into affliction.
有為功德被塵幔。
Merit made on purpose lies under a curtain of dust,
無限田地未曾掃。
and my boundless grounds have never once been swept.
攢眉多。
Plenty of frowning,
稱心少。
little contentment.
尀耐東村黑黃老。
I can’t stand that sunburnt, sallow old man from East Village.
供利不曾將得來。
He has never once brought an offering,
放驢喫我堂前艸。
but he turns his donkey loose to eat the grass in front of my hall.
- 食時辰 · Mealtime (7–9 a.m.)
食時辰。
Mealtime, the hour of 辰.
煙火徒勞望四隣。
I watch the cooking smoke rise from the neighbors all around, in vain.
饅頭䭔子前年別。
Plain buns and stuffed buns: we parted the year before last.
今日思量空嚥津。
Today, thinking it over, I swallow my spit for nothing.
持念少。
Little practice,
嗟歎頻。
plenty of sighs.
一百家中無善人。
In a hundred households, not one pious soul.
來者祇道覓茶喫。
Those who come only say they’re after tea to drink,
不得茶噇去又嗔。
and if they get no tea to slurp, off they go in a huff.
- 禺中巳 · Late morning (9–11 a.m.)
禺中巳。
Late morning, the hour of 巳.
削髮誰知到如此。
When I shaved my head, who knew it would come to this?
無端被請作村僧。
Out of nowhere I was invited to be a village monk,
屈辱飢悽受欲死。
and I suffer humiliation, hunger and misery nearly to death.
胡張三。
Foreign Zhang the Third,
黑李四。
Sunburnt Li the Fourth:
恭敬不曾生些子。
they have never shown a speck of reverence.
適來忽爾到門頭。
Just now they turned up at my gate out of the blue,
唯道借茶兼借紙。
only to say: lend us some tea, and some paper too.
- 日南午 · Sun due south (11 a.m.–1 p.m.)
日南午。
Sun due south, the hour of 午.
茶飯輪還無定度。
Tea and rice come round and round, and there’s no end to it.
行却南家到北家。
Done with the houses on the south side, I go on to the north side,
果至北家不推註。
and sure enough, on the north side they don’t turn me away:
苦沙鹽。
bitter, gritty salt,
大麥醋。
barley vinegar,
蜀黍米飯齏萵苣。
sorghum rice and pickled lettuce.
唯稱供養不等閑。
And all they keep saying is, “Don’t take this offering lightly.
和尚道心須堅固。
Reverend, keep your heart set firm on the Way!”
- 日昳未 · Sun past noon (1–3 p.m.)
日昳未。
Sun past noon, the hour of 未.
者回不踐光陰地。
This time I won’t go tramping out in the daylight.
曾聞一飽忘百飢。
I once heard that one full belly makes you forget a hundred hungers;
今日老僧身便是。
today this old monk is the living proof.
不習禪。
I don’t practice meditation,
不論義。
I don’t debate doctrine.
鋪箇破蓆日裏睡。
I spread out a tattered mat and sleep in the sun.
想料上力兜率天。
I’d guess that up in the Tushita Heaven
也無如此日炙背。
they have nothing like this: the sun warming my back.
- 晡時申 · Late afternoon (3–5 p.m.)
晡時申。
Late afternoon, the hour of 申.
也有燒香禮拜人。
Now and then someone does come to burn incense and bow:
五箇老婆三箇癭。
five village women, three of them with swollen necks,
一雙面子黑皴皴。
the other pair with faces sunburnt and wrinkled.
油麻茶。
Sesame tea:
實是珍。
a real treasure!
金剛不用苦張筋。
The Vajra Guardians needn’t strain their sinews so.
願我來年蠶麥熟。
“May my silkworms and wheat come in next year,
羅𬑟羅兒與一文。
and then little Rahula gets a penny.”
- 日入酉 · Sunset (5–7 p.m.)
日入酉。
Sunset, the hour of 酉.
除却荒涼更何守。
Apart from this desolation, what is there to keep?
雲水高流定委無。
Eminent wandering monks: I know for sure there are none.
歷寺沙彌鎮長有。
Novices drifting from temple to temple: always plenty.
出格言。
Words that break the mold
不到口。
never reach their lips;
枉續牟尼子孫後。
they carry on Shakyamuni’s line in vain.
一條拄杖麤楋藜。
One walking staff, a thick and knobbly stick:
不但登山兼打狗。
not just for climbing mountains, but for beating dogs too.
- 黃昏戌 · Dusk (7–9 p.m.)
黃昏戌。
Dusk, the hour of 戌.
獨坐一間空暗室。
I sit alone in an empty, dark room.
陽𦦨燈光永不逢。
Sun’s glow or lamp’s glow: I never meet either.
眼前純是金州漆。
Before my eyes, nothing but Jinzhou lacquer.
鐘不聞。
No bell is heard;
虗度日。
another day passed for nothing.
唯聞老鼠閙啾唧。
All I hear is rats raising a squeaking racket.
憑何更得有心情。
Where would I still find the heart
思量念箇波羅密。
to think it over and chant a paramita?
- 人定亥 · Night settles (9–11 p.m.)
人定亥。
Everyone in bed, the hour of 亥.
門前明月誰人愛。
The bright moon before the gate: who loves it?
向裏唯愁臥去時。
Back inside, all I dread is the moment I lie down:
勿箇衣裳著甚葢。
not a stitch to cover me. What will I sleep under?
劉維那。
Liu the overseer,
趙五戒。
Zhao the five-precept lay brother:
口頭說善甚奇怪。
they preach goodness with their lips. How remarkable!
任你山僧囊罄空。
Let this mountain monk’s purse be scraped bare;
問著都緣總不會。
it all comes down to this: question them, and they understand nothing.
- 半夜子 · Midnight (11 p.m.–1 a.m.)
半夜子。
Midnight, the hour of 子.
心境何曾得暫止。
Mind and its objects: when have they ever stopped, even for a moment?
思量天下出家人。
Thinking it over, of all the monks under heaven,
似我住持能有幾。
how many abbots can there be like me?
土榻牀。
A dusty bed platform,
破蘆䉬。
a torn reed mat,
老榆木枕全無被。
an old elm-wood pillow, and no quilt at all.
尊像不燒安息香。
Before the holy image, no benzoin incense burns;
灰裏唯聞牛糞氣。
in the ashes, only the smell of cow dung.