Kasa: Long Poems in the Vein of Prose

The Joy of Spring Chŏng Kǔg-in (1401–1481)

You who live in the dusty world, judge how my life is—

Whether it's worthy of the ancient sages who lived in grace.

Though I’m no wiser than many born between heaven and earth,

Should I, living in retreat, not know the consummate pleasure of life?

Having built a hut near a clear stream, I dwell among the thickly grown 5

Pines and bamboos, and have come to own the wind and the moon.

Winter was over the other day, and spring is here.

Peach, plum, and apricot blossoms bloom in the sunset,

And the grass looks greener in the threadlike rain streaks.

Did the Maker use a carving knife or a drawing brush? 10

Wherever I turn, His exquisite skill shines to dazzle my eyes.

Overcome by the vernal spirit, the birds twitter amorously.

When I am one with nature, can I have a sentiment different from hers?

I stroll to the brushwood gate, and sit in the bower.

As I pace along, humming, the quietude of my dwelling is renewed. 15

No one will guess what spirit has captured my life in leisure.

Neighbors, let's go watch the mountains and the streams.

Let's tread the fresh grass today and bathe in the river tomorrow;

Let's pick the herbs in the morning and go fishing in the afternoon.

Watching the fresh-brewed wine flowing through the hempen filter, 20

Let's drink bowl after bowl, counting the flower twigs piling up.

After crossing the clear stream, a soft breeze is blown, whose

Sweet breath enters my bowl, shedding the petals on my sleeves.

When the crock becomes empty, boy, let me know without delay.

Having bid my attending boy to ask for good wine at a tavern, 25

I walk with a stick, while the young one carries the jar.

I hum as I pace along, and sit alone beside a brook.

Filling the bowl washed in the water flowing over the white sand,

I look on the stream, where, lo, peach-blossom petals come adrift.

The earthly paradise must be near! Is that mount telling me so?* 30

Holding on to the azalea stalks along the lane through the pines,

I rush uphill to reach the peak, and sit above the clouds.

I can hardly count all the villages scattered below my eyes.

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