Up in the night reading Su Tung-p’o in Burton Watson’ translation I was struck how it is the details that hold the fast moving year in check as much as it is possible to do so. I went to bed as the 3am train rolled on the tracks miles away in Worthington.
Dipping Water from the River and Simmering the Tea
Living water needs living living fire to boil;
lean over Fishing Rock, dip the clean clear current;
store the spring moon in a big gourd, return it to the jar;
divide the night sky with the little dipper, drain it into the kettle.
Frothy water, simmering, whirls bits of tea
pour it and hear the sound of wind in the pines.
Hard to refuse three cups to a dried-up belly;
I sit and listen — from the old village clock, the striking of the hour.
east of the fog 