Incidentals, Dogen's plum tree

Dogen’s plum tree

Tiantong’s first phrase of winter
Old plum tree bent an gnarled
all at once opens one blossom, two blossoms
three, four, five blossoms, uncountable blossoms
Not proud of purity
Not proud of fragrance
spreading, becoming spring,
blowing over grass and trees,
balding the head of a patch-robed monk.
Whirling, changing into wind, wild rain,
falling, snow all over the earth.
The old plumtree is boundless.
A hard cold rubs the nostrils.

Dogen

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