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Ikkyu Sojun: Zen Master
History of Zem Master Ikkyu Sojun
POETRY BY IKKYU
My Love's dark Place is fragrant like narcissus
At midnight, your face in a dream brings a sigh.
Ch'u's love pavilion was long ago far away.
But like a blossom on the flowering plum,
Sweet narcissus blooms between your thighs.
Elegy
We first lay down among flowers
Ten years ago and found a timeless rapture.
Sadly, I remember being pillowed by her lap,
All-night love, all eternity in our vows.
Face to face with my lover on Daito's anniversary
Monks recite the sutras in honor of the founder,
Their many voices cacophonous in my ear.
Afterward, making love, our intimate whispers
Mock the empty formal discipline of others.
Song of the Dream Garden
Pillowed on your thighs in a dream garden
Little with its perfumed stamen,
Singing, sipping from the stream of you-
Sunset, moonlight- our song continues.
My hand is lady Mori's Hand
My hand is Lady Mori's hand
And knows her mastery of love.
When I am weak, she resurrects my jeweled stem.
The monks I train are grateful then.
Night talk in a dream chamber
Whether by sea or river or in mountains,
A monk in the world abandons fame and fortune.
Every night, we nestle lie ducks in bed, sharing
Intimate whispers, our bodies become at one.
Source: https://web.archive.org/web/20000312042040/http://www.geocities.com/Paris/5870/ikk.html
History of Zem Master Ikkyu Sojun
POETRY BY IKKYU
My Love's dark Place is fragrant like narcissus
At midnight, your face in a dream brings a sigh.
Ch'u's love pavilion was long ago far away.
But like a blossom on the flowering plum,
Sweet narcissus blooms between your thighs.
Elegy
We first lay down among flowers
Ten years ago and found a timeless rapture.
Sadly, I remember being pillowed by her lap,
All-night love, all eternity in our vows.
Face to face with my lover on Daito's anniversary
Monks recite the sutras in honor of the founder,
Their many voices cacophonous in my ear.
Afterward, making love, our intimate whispers
Mock the empty formal discipline of others.
Song of the Dream Garden
Pillowed on your thighs in a dream garden
Little with its perfumed stamen,
Singing, sipping from the stream of you-
Sunset, moonlight- our song continues.
My hand is lady Mori's Hand
My hand is Lady Mori's hand
And knows her mastery of love.
When I am weak, she resurrects my jeweled stem.
The monks I train are grateful then.
Night talk in a dream chamber
Whether by sea or river or in mountains,
A monk in the world abandons fame and fortune.
Every night, we nestle lie ducks in bed, sharing
Intimate whispers, our bodies become at one.
Source: https://web.archive.org/web/20000312042040/http://www.geocities.com/Paris/5870/ikk.html