PETER JAEGER f. 1960, bor i Somerset, England. Poet, kritiker og tekstbasert kunstner. Virker som lærer ved Roehampton University. Underviser i litteraturvitenskap og lyrikk. Har gitt ut fire diktsamlinger.

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Cold Mountain (a translation) Han Shan Also hums in wind. Vague Rocks Involved with cliffs. Sky And here I am mountains. I can't sky. Ruins Old, large, small, I not I, in the books. Mumbles of Huang and Lao I haven't come for years. No Through Trail The way of Cold Mountain is Cold Mountain: there's summer and it doesn't sun and my heart's not the same. The White Ones and One Blue sky with sky under head and earth. No Rain No wind to sit. Morning After morning, year by year, the yammering. 30 Long years Friends? Family? This Cold Mountain is this. Today Can’t read at Cold Mountain, asleep. Straw Where does the morning go from Cold Mountain? Miracle If water clearly, if wind. He Means to Cut Down Senseless Craving There’s a shack whose hand holds the energy for two. Without Beans Cold Mountain is a house without sky, and the east on the west in the centre is nothing. A Karma Days and months of water, time to sit. Most Most don't know Han Shan, don't know this stupid talk. Untangled Once at Cold Mountain no more. Didn’t Care To set critics on "the fundamental truth of Tao" point to money. Hum I lived at Cold Mountain, song hungry, a grain of medicine. Priceless The round moon of natural meat. Gone With nothing in a million galaxies I know the Buddha’s beard. Han Shan He's not into don't.

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