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宋 Song · 诗 Poem

送珪师归衡岳

Seeing Master Gui Off to Mount Heng

张方平

Zhang Fangping

山水Mountains and Waters 田园Fields and Gardens 咏史Reflecting on History 愁思Melancholy Thoughts

师通禅律外，外学二篇微。
貌似寒山古，身随风叶飞。
潇湘曾晓梦，鸿鴈伴南归。
七十三峰里，云庵拂旧扉。

Beyond Zen and precepts, your learning extends;
The two chapters of Laozi, their subtle depths you comprehend.
Your face recalls Hanshan of ancient air,
Your body drifts like a leaf in the wind, without care.
Xiaoxiang once appeared in your dawn dream,
Wild geese accompany your southward journey, it seems.
Within the seventy-three peaks' embrace,
In cloudy hermitage, brush the old door's face.

Listen

Meaning

You, Master Gui, are versed not only in Chan and Vinaya, but also in the subtleties of Laozi's two chapters. With a countenance as ancient as the Tang recluse Hanshan, you drift like a windblown leaf. Xiaoxiang has appeared in your morning dreams; now you truly head south with wild geese. In the depths of the seventy-three peaks, your cloudy hermitage awaits—brush the dust from its old door.

大师你在禅宗与律宗之外，还兼通方外的外学，深得《老子》上下两篇的微妙。你的相貌像唐代的寒山子那样古朴，你的身影却随着风中的落叶四处飘飞。潇湘那一带，你曾在清晓的梦里回去过；这一回真要南归，恰好有成群的鸿雁与你结伴同行。回到那七十三峰之中，云雾缭绕的庵舍里，你该去拂一拂旧日的门扉了。

Appreciation

The poet praises Master Gui's broad learning without flaunting, and his wandering life that nonetheless finds its return. Rather than dwelling on parting sorrow, the poem accompanies the monk all the way to his old hermitage, letting readers sense the peace of coming home. In this context, 'return' is not merely an endpoint on a journey, but the restoration of the heart. The couplet 'Your face recalls Hanshan of ancient air, / Your body drifts like a leaf in the wind' perfectly captures the form and spirit of a wandering monk: ancient and light, still and moving. The final line, 'In cloudy hermitage, brush the old door's face,' ends with a tiny gesture that carries immense feeling—the most lingering image in the entire poem.

【白话串讲】张方平送珪师回衡山：“师通禅律外，外学二篇微”。“貌似寒山古，身随风叶飞”——“潇湘曾晓梦，鸿鴈伴南归”——“七十三峰里，云庵拂旧扉”——他写僧人归山。【意象与手法】全诗以寒山、风叶、潇湘、鸿雁、云庵、旧扉六物结成一条清寂的线：貌古是静，叶飞是动，梦到是虚，雁伴是实，云庵是远，旧扉是近，两两相生而终归于一处门前。首联外字顶针，是句法上的巧；末句以一个拂字收全篇，是章法上的巧。【情感与主旨】敬其学之博而不炫、行之轻而有归。诗人不写离愁，只把僧人一路送到旧庵门口，让读者自己去体会那份回家的安稳；所谓归，在此不是路程的终点，而是心的复位。【名句点睛】「貌似寒山古，身随风叶飞」十字写尽一位行脚僧的形神，古与飞一重一轻，相激成趣；「七十三峰里，云庵拂旧扉」则以拂字作结，动作极小而情意极长，是全诗最耐回味处。

Background

Zhang Fangping (1007–1091), courtesy name Andao, styled Lequan Jushi, served as Minister of Finance, Censor-in-Chief, and Councilor, retiring as Grand Guardian, posthumously honored Wending. In his later years he was deeply devoted to Buddhism and even transcribed the Lenga Sutra, for which Su Shi wrote a preface. His collected works, the Lequan Ji, contain many poems presented to monks. This poem sees off a monk named Gui returning to Mount Heng, reflecting the Buddhist circles Zhang frequented. Mount Heng (Hengshan) had been a major Buddhist center since the Six Dynasties: Huisi taught Tiantai there, and the Tang masters Nanyue Huairang and Shitou Xiqian established branches of Chan. The mountain traditionally had seventy-two peaks, but the poem says seventy-three, perhaps following a different reckoning or for the sake of rhyme. 'Cloudy hermitage' refers to the monk's old dwelling among the misty peaks.

张方平（一〇〇七至一〇九一），字安道，号乐全居士，历三司使、御史中丞、参知政事，以太子太保致仕，谥文定。他晚年笃好佛教，尝手写《楞伽经》，苏轼为之作序，称其多生宿习。四十卷《乐全集》中赠僧送僧之作颇多，此诗写送一位法名带珪字的僧人回衡山，正是这一交游圈的产物。珪师生平文献无征，由诗中所述，可知他是一位兼通内外之学、又常年行脚在外的南岳僧。衡岳即南岳衡山，自六朝以来便是佛教重镇。南岳慧思在此弘天台之教，唐代南岳怀让、石头希迁一系于此开宗，禅门南岳、青原两脉的名目即由此而来。衡山旧称七十二峰，以衡阳城南的回雁峰为首、长沙的岳麓为足；诗云七十三峰，当是宋时别说或就韵取数，峰数之说本来参差，不必强合。云庵指山中云雾间的庵舍，是珪师旧日的住处。首联所记尤可注意。佛门称佛典为内学，称儒道诸子为外学；诗说珪师于禅律之外犹通外学，且深得《老子》二篇之微，这是北宋僧界的实况。彼时三教融通之风颇盛，孤山智圆自号中庸子而兼治儒典，明教大师契嵩作《辅教编》以论儒释一贯，僧人读老庄者更所在多有。张方平以士大夫之身与这类僧人往还，谈的既是佛法，也是老庄，故一开口便点出对方的外学，等于说：你我原是可以谈得来的。送归之作，通常写别情；此诗几乎不写别，只一路把人送到山中庵门口。以张方平久居案牍的处境看，这样写并非疏淡，而是把自己心里最想去的地方，替朋友先走了一遍。

Art

The poem's excellence lies in its pure quietude, achieved through three layers. First, the opening couplet uses anadiplosis: 'outer' ends the first line and begins the second, elegantly displaying the progression of learning. Second, the rendering of the monk's form and spirit: 'ancient' is heavy and still, 'flying' is light and transient—two poles contrasted to create a full-dimensional portrait. The leaf image suits a wandering monk while subtly suggesting the eventual fall, i.e., return. Third, the shift from rto reality: the dream of Xiaoxiang is virtual, the wild geese are actual; one belongs to the past, the other to this journey. The final couplet zooms in from vast mountain ranges to a small hut, to an old door, and finally to that door's dust—the spatial narrowing intensifies the emotional depth. Throughout, the poet himself is absent: no mention of himself, no parting grief, only attention to the monk and his destination, hidden sentiment in apparent detachment.

此诗的好处在清寂二字，而清寂全靠三层安排撑住。第一层是句法。首联师通禅律外，外学二篇微，两句以外字蝉联，前句之末即后句之首，是所谓顶针格。五律起句用此，既省去一个转折的虚字，又使学问的层次自然推进：先说他超出禅律的范围，再说他在这范围之外读的是什么书。十字之内交代一位僧人的学术家底，不见一丝费力。第二层是形神的相激。貌似寒山古，身随风叶飞，一句写貌，一句写身；古是沉的、重的、不动的，飞是轻的、散的、不定的。一个人可以同时又古又飞，正因古在相貌气质，飞在行踪去处。宋人写僧多用瘦、清、寒诸字，此联偏取一重一轻两极并置，遂使人物有了立体感。风叶一意象尤妙：叶本无主，随风到处，恰是行脚僧的写照，而叶终究要落，也暗伏下文的归。第三层是虚实的推移。颈联潇湘曾晓梦，鸿雁伴南归，上句是梦，是虚；下句是雁，是实。曾字管过去，伴字管此行；从前只能梦回，如今真有雁同路。一虚一实相接，归途便有了分量。到尾联七十三峰里，云庵拂旧扉，镜头再推进：由一路的天空落到一座山，由一座山落到一间庵，由一间庵落到一扇门，最后停在门上那一层浮尘。空间层层收拢，情意层层加密，收得极稳。还须一说的是全诗的无我。八句无一句写诗人自己，无一句道离别之苦，甚至连送字的动作都不出现。所有笔墨都用来描画对方与对方的归处，而送者的心事就藏在这份专注里——愈是把别人的家写得妥帖，愈见自己的向往。这是宋人送僧诗常用的藏情之法，比一唱三叹更耐读。

Allusions

The poem draws on several cultural references. 'Chan and Vinaya' are the internal schools of Buddhism; 'two chapters' refers to Laozi, divided into the Daode Jing. 'Hanshan' is the Tang monk-poet Hanshanzi, admired in Song Chan circles—comparing the monk to him instantly defines his spiritual quality. 'Windblown leaf' echoes Buddhist metaphors of impermanence while realistically depicting a wandering monk. 'Xiaoxiang' is the region where the Xiao and Xiang rivers meet, near Mount Heng. The 'wild geese' allude to the legend that geese flying south stop at Hengyang, hence Huixian Peak, the first of the Hengshan peaks—the geese and the monk share the same destination. 'Seventy-three peaks' follows the traditional count of Hengshan peaks, slightly varied; 'cloudy hermitage' and 'old door' are realistic images, needing no allusion.

此诗典事不多，却处处有出处，且皆与题旨紧扣。禅律与外学是佛门的成语。禅指禅宗，律指律宗，二者为内学的两大门径；佛家以佛典为内学，以儒道诸子为外学。诗说通禅律外而精外学，正是当时僧界兼修的实录。二篇则指《老子》，其书分道经、德经上下二篇，故称二篇，又称五千言。以微字属之，取《老子》微妙玄通之义。寒山即唐代诗僧寒山子，相传隐于天台寒岩，形容枯槁而言语奇警，其诗至宋代大行于禅林，《寒山子诗集》流布甚广，士大夫与僧人皆好之。诗云貌似寒山古，是拿一位人所共知的高僧作尺子来量珪师，一句便定其品格。此处寒山既是人名，字面又带山寒之意，与全诗清寂的色调相合，是双关而不着痕迹。风叶之喻，通于佛家以聚沫、芭蕉、飘叶喻身之无常，而在行脚僧身上又是实写：芒鞋所至，如叶随风。潇湘指湘、潇二水交汇之地，衡山正在其间，故以潇湘代衡岳一带。鸿雁南归一语最见巧思：旧说雁南飞至衡阳即止，衡阳城南遂有回雁峰之名，为衡山七十二峰之首；王勃《滕王阁序》所谓声断衡阳之浦，范仲淹词所谓衡阳雁去无留意，皆用此说。诗人写僧人南归而以鸿雁作伴，不但写出秋日的节候与同路的暖意，更暗指二者的终点原是同一处——雁到衡阳而回，僧到衡岳而止，人与雁在此合为一事。用典至此，可谓不着一字而尽得风流。七十三峰承衡山峰数之说而略有出入，云庵、旧扉则纯是实景，不用典而自足，正与前面的典事相济。

Commentary

Zhang Fangping is not a famous poet, yet this piece stands among better-known Song regulated verses. The opening couplet is particularly striking: instead of praising the monk's vinaya or enlightenment, it highlights his mastery of the Laozi—this reflects the actual intellectual exchange between Song literati and Buddhist monks, who often shared interests in Confucian and Daoist texts. The comparison to Hanshan elevates the monk without overstatement. Elsewhere, the poem's language is plain and unforced, with no strained rhymes or padding. The final 'brush the old door' line is especially memorable, making the poem a worthy example of Song poetry's quieter, more restrained mode—lyrical rather than didactic.

送僧诗在唐宋是一大宗，写法约有两路：一路重境，如刘长卿《送灵澈上人》，苍苍竹林寺，杳杳钟声晚，荷笠带斜阳，青山独归远，全用景语，人在景中渐远，馀韵最长；一路重人，直写僧人的学问、形貌与操守。此诗属后一路，却在末联借云庵旧扉补足了境，故不失清远。它最见识力处，是首联。宋人赠僧，习惯称其戒行精严或道行高妙，此诗偏从外学落笔，说他通《老子》二篇之微。这一笔看似旁涉，实则最能见出北宋僧俗交往的真实情形：士大夫与僧人能长久往还，往往不只因佛法，更因彼此在老庄一路谈得投契。孤山智圆自号中庸子，契嵩作《辅教编》论儒释一贯，皆是此风的证据。张方平以此起句，等于承认二人的交谊建立在共同的读书趣味上，坦诚而不虚饰。次可称者是貌似寒山古一句。宋代禅林与士林盛推寒山，以其诗质而奇、貌古而神清；用寒山比人，在当日是极高的评价，且省却一切铺陈。以人为喻而不以物为喻，是宋人写人物的常法，胜处在于精确，短处在于须读者先识那个人。张方平诗名素不显。《宋史》本传重其识量，苏轼为撰墓志亦称其虑事之远，历代唐宋诗选本却罕录其诗。此诗虽无警绝之句，然八句无一处凑韵，无一字浮泛，尾联拂旧扉三字尤有馀味，置于北宋五律中不算弱手。钱钟书《谈艺录》谓宋诗多以筋骨思理见胜，此诗却是宋人诗中偏于清韵的一格，可见宋调本非一味瘦硬，只是这类作品被大家之名掩住，少人拈出而已。

Prosody

Form Pentasyllabic Regulated Verse (五言律诗)五言律诗

Rhyme Rhymes on ping-sheng wei (五微): wei, fei, gui, fei. The first line ends in a falling tone, thus not rhymed—standard regulated verse.押平声微韵（上平五微）：微、飞、归、扉。首句师通禅律外以仄声收，不入韵，为五律正格。

Tone pattern Level-tone initial, no rhyme in first line. The tonal pattern is perfectly regular throughout: shi tong chan lü wai / wai xue er pian wei / mao si han shan gu / shen sui feng ye fei / xiao xiang ceng xiao meng / hong yan ban nan gui / qi shi san feng li / yun an fu jiu fei. Oblique and level tones alternate correctly, with proper linkage between couplets.平起首句不入韵式，全篇几乎无一处出格。师通禅律外为平平平仄仄，外学二篇微为仄仄仄平平，貌似寒山古为仄仄平平仄，身随风叶飞为平平平仄平，潇湘曾晓梦为平平平仄仄，鸿雁伴南归为平仄仄平平，七十三峰里为仄仄平平仄，云庵拂旧扉为平平仄仄平，粘对一无差失。

Reading note The rhyme words—wei, fei, gui, fei—belong to the 'wei' group, a fine, closed rhyme that suits quiet, wistful themes. The sound narrows and fades, perfectly matching the poem's tone of quiet return. The metrical regularity is not rigid but complementary: the poem describes an old monk returning to the mountains, so the steady, unhurried rhythm reinforces the mood. The middle couplets are antithetical: 'face' vs. 'body,' 'Hanshan' vs. 'wind leaf,' 'ancient' vs. 'flying.' The 'ancient' and 'flying' pair is especially effective, contrasting stillness and motion within strict parallelism.此诗是张方平集中格律最为工稳的作品之一，八句的二四字平仄悉合，粘对亦无一处走脱。这份规整并非拘谨，而与题材相成：写一位貌古神清的僧人归山，声调若跌宕，反与清寂之境相违；正因句句循规，全诗才有一种不慌不忙、缓步而行的从容。韵部的选择极为讲究。微、飞、归、扉同属上平五微，韵母是齐齿细音，发音时口形收窄，气息内敛而略带上扬，音色轻细幽远。这种韵最不适合写豪迈，却最宜写清寂与思归：微是幽微，飞是轻举，归是心之所向，扉是门之半掩，四个韵脚本身就构成一条由学问到形貌、由归途到归处的意脉，声音一路细下去、远下去，到末字扉时几乎只余一丝气息，与门上浮尘同时落定。若改押阳韵或寒韵，声一放开，那扇半旧的柴门便撑不住了。节奏上，五言的二三停顿贯彻全篇：貌似——寒山古，云庵——拂旧扉。前二字点出主体，后三字下判断或给动作，句句同一节拍，无一处变奏。这种毫不腾挪的稳，与首联顶针的巧恰成对照：句法上有一处小小的机智，声律上则通篇老实，巧不伤朴，是此诗分寸最好的地方。对仗方面，中二联皆工：貌对身、寒山对风叶、古对飞，形容与名物相当；潇湘对鸿雁、曾对伴、晓梦对南归，虚实亦称。尤以古与飞一静一动相对，最见五律对仗中求变化的用心。

Line by line

师通禅律外，外学二篇微。

You are versed beyond Chan and Vinaya, and beyond that, you have grasped the subtlety of Laozi's two chapters. The anadiplosis 'wai' connects the lines, outlining the scope of the monk's learning without wasted words.

大师你在禅宗与律宗之外，还兼通方外的外学，深得《老子》上下两篇的微妙。

Master, beyond your mastery of Zen and the Vinaya, you have sounded the outer learning of the two chapters with subtle depth.

起手十字，交代一位僧人的全副学问，而句法上用了顶针：上句末字外，即下句首字外，前后勾连，不用一个虚字过渡。这种蝉联格在五律首联并不常见，用得好则学问的层次自然推出——先划定范围之外，再说明范围之外的所得，一步一步，绝不含糊。更要紧的是取材的角度。佛门以佛典为内学，以儒道诸子为外学；赠僧诗通常称其戒行或道行，此诗偏说他精于《老子》。这一笔看似旁出，实则最贴近北宋僧俗往来的实情：士大夫与僧人谈得投机，往往不止在佛法，更在老庄。诗人以此起句，等于先把二人的交谊底子摊了出来。微字下得极准。《老子》所贵在微妙玄通，一个微字既指书的性质，也指他读书所得的深度——不是通晓，是入微。十字之内，学问的广度与深度俱在，而语气始终平静，不见一句夸辞。

The opening ten characters account for a monk's whole learning, and syntactically use the anadiplosis: the outer at the end of the first line is the outer at the start of the second, the front and back linked without a single empty word to bridge. This chain form is uncommon in the opening couplet of a five-character regulated verse; used well, the levels of learning unfold of themselves - first marking the range's outside, then stating what is gained beyond the range, step by step, no ambiguity. More important is the angle of selection: Buddhism takes the sutras as inner learning and the Confucian and Laozi masters as outer; monk-poems usually praise his moral discipline or Way, yet this chooses to say he is versed in Laozi. This stroke seems a side move, really closest to the Northern Song reality of monk-lay intercourse: when scholar-officials and monks talked at ease, it was often not only on the dharma but on Zhuangzi and Laozi. The poet's opening thus lays bare the ground of their friendship. The word subtle is laid on with exactness: Laozi prizes the subtle and mysterious and penetrable; the word subtle points at once to the nature of the book and to the depth of what he gained from reading it - not comprehension, but entering into the subtle. Within ten characters, the breadth and depth of learning are both present, and the tone remains calm, not a word of boasting.

貌似寒山古，身随风叶飞。

Your face resembles the ancient Hanshan, your body drifts with the windblown leaves. One line is heavy and still, the other light and wandering, together forming a complete portrait.

你的相貌像唐代的寒山子那样古朴，你的身影却随着风中的落叶四处飘飞。

Your face is as ancient as Hanshan's; your body flies away like a leaf in the wind.

这一联一重一轻，把人写成了立体的。上句取寒山子为尺子。宋代禅林与士林盛推寒山，以其貌枯而神清、语质而意奇；说貌似寒山古，是当日极高的评价，且不必再费笔墨形容——认得寒山的人，一读便见其人。古字尤妙，它不是老，不是丑，是一种远离时俗的质地，仿佛此人是从前代走过来的。下句忽然让这尊古貌动起来。风叶飞，是叶随风去，无所系着；行脚僧芒鞋所至，正如此叶。佛家本以飘叶、聚沫喻身之无常，此处却兼是实写：他确实一年年在路上。两句合看，古在相貌气质，飞在行踪去处；一个不变，一个不定。愈是相貌古定，愈显行踪飘忽；愈是行踪无着，愈见那份气质的稳。宋人写僧多用清、瘦、寒诸字，此联却以两极并置立人，笔法比堆叠形容词高出一层。风叶的叶字又埋着伏笔——叶终归要落地，人终归要还山。

This couplet, one weight one light, writes the man in three dimensions. The first line takes Hanshanzi as the measure: the Song Zen community and scholar circles greatly honored Hanshan, for his face was withered and his spirit clear, his words plain and his meaning strange; to say his face is as ancient as Hanshan's was the highest praise of the day, and no more brush need be spent - one who knows Hanshan sees the man at once. The word ancient is finest: it is not old, not ugly, but a texture remote from the times, as if this man walked over from a former age. The second line suddenly sets this ancient face in motion: a leaf in the wind flies, the leaf goes where the wind takes it, no tether; the wandering monk's straw shoes go exactly where this leaf goes. Buddhism uses drifting leaves and gathered foam to meta-phor the body's impermanence, and here it is also actual: he is indeed on the road year after year. The two lines together: ancient in face and bearing, flying in where he goes; one unchanging, one uncertain. The more ancient and settled the face, the more drifting the tracks; the more trackless the going, the more steady the bearing. Song writers of monks usually use the words clear, thin, cold; this couplet sets two poles side by side to stand up the man, a brush a cut above piling adjectives. The word leaf also plants a thread: the leaf at last falls to the ground, and the man at last returns to the hills.

潇湘曾晓梦，鸿鴈伴南归。

Xiaoxiang once appeared in your dawn dream; now wild geese accompany you south. The dream is unreal and in the past; the geese are real and in the present—the transition from virtual to actual gives substance to the journey.

潇湘那一带，你曾在清晓的梦里回去过；这一回真要南归，恰好有成群的鸿雁与你结伴同行。

Once you dreamed of Xiaoxiang at dawn; now the wild geese accompany you home south.

上句写从前，下句写此行；上句是梦，下句是实，一联之内完成了由虚入实的过渡。曾晓梦三字轻而酸楚：常年在外的人，回不去时只能靠梦，且是天将明时的梦，短而易醒。诗人不说思乡，只说曾晓梦，那份积年的挂念便有了着落。下句一转，路上有伴了。鸿雁南飞本是秋日常景，但用在此处却别有深意：旧说雁南飞至衡阳即止，衡阳城南因有回雁峰，为衡山诸峰之首。也就是说，僧人与雁不但同路，而且同一个终点——雁到衡阳而回，僧到衡岳而住。一句之内既点明时令，又暗合归处，还添出结伴的暖意，可谓一石三鸟。伴字是这一联的关节。前面写他貌古身飞，孤零零一人；此处忽然给他找了一群同行者，全诗的温度由此上升。归途不再是漂泊的延续，而是有序的返回。

The first line writes the past, the second this journey; the first is dream, the second reality, and within one couplet the transition from void to solid is complete. The three words once you dreamed at dawn are light yet aching: the man long away, unable to return, can only rely on dreams, and the dawn dream, short and easily woken. The poet does not say homesickness, only says once you dreamed at dawn, and the year-long longing has its landing. The second line turns: on the road there is now company. Wild geese flying south is an autumn common sight, yet used here it carries another meaning: the old saying is that geese stop at Hengyang, and south of the city of Hengyang stands the Returning Goose Peak, chief of the peaks of Mount Heng. That is to say, the monk and the geese not only share the road but share the destination - the geese turn at Hengyang, the monk dwells at Hengyue. In one line it points out the season, secretly matches the homecoming, and adds the warmth of companionship, three birds with one stone. The word accompany is the joint of this couplet: earlier it wrote him ancient-faced and flying-bodied, a solitary man; here it suddenly finds him a company of fellow travelers, and the poem's warmth rises. The road home is no longer the continuation of drifting but an ordered return.

七十三峰里，云庵拂旧扉。

In the seventy-three peaks, brush the old door of your cloudy hermitage. The lens closes from the vast peaks to the door itself; the act of brushing the dust implies both long absence and peaceful return.

回到那七十三峰之中，云雾缭绕的庵舍里，你该去拂一拂旧日的门扉了。

Among the seventy-three peaks, a cloud hermitage brushes its old door.

尾联把镜头一层层推进：先是七十三峰的莽莽群山，再是云雾间的一间庵，最后落到一扇门，停在门上的浮尘。空间由极大收到极小，情意却由淡转浓，这是五律收束最见功夫的走法。衡山旧称七十二峰，诗作七十三，当是别说或就韵取数，不必强合；数字愈具体，山愈显真。全诗的分量都压在拂字上。它是个极轻的动作，用手一掠而已，却包含许多消息：门上有尘，说明久无人居；要拂，说明主人回来了；只拂而不修不扫，又说明这门本来就是他的，回来便住，无须张罗。诗人不写重逢的喜悦，不写山中的清景，只让他伸手拂一下门——所有归家的安稳，都在这一下里。更妙的是这句没有主语。是珪师拂，还是云替他拂？字面两可，境界遂宽。八句写到此处忽然收住，读者的目光留在那扇半旧的门上，久久不去。

The closing pushes the camera layer by layer: first the vast mountains of the seventy-three peaks, then a hermitage among the clouds, finally landing on a door, stopping at the dust on the door. Space contracts from the greatest to the smallest, yet the feeling turns from light to deep, the most finished way of closing a five-character regulated verse. Mount Heng was anciently called the seventy-two peaks; the poem says seventy-three, likely a different account or a number taken for the rhyme, not to be forced to agree; the more concrete the number, the more real the mountain. The poem's whole weight presses on the word brush. It is an extremely light motion, a single sweep of the hand, yet it holds many messages: dust on the door shows long uninhabited; to brush it shows the master has returned; to brush only, not repair or sweep, shows the door was his of old, and he dwells on return, no preparation needed. The poet does not write the joy of reunion or the clear mountain scenery, only lets him reach out and brush the door - all the peace of returning home is in that one motion. The beauty is that this line has no subject: is it the master who brushes, or the cloud brushing for him? The words allow both readings, and the realm widens. At this point the eight lines suddenly close, and the reader's gaze stays on that half-old door, long unwilling to leave.

Study

Word focus

微 Subtlety; profound and mysterious. 外学二篇微的微字，是首联的落点。它可作两解而并行不碍：一指《老子》其书的性质，所谓微妙玄通、其道幽微；二指珪师所得的深度——不是知其大略，是入其微处。两义相叠，一个字便把书与人同时说到。它的分量还来自位置。微是韵脚，是首联唯一入韵之字，声细而收敛，读来幽然不尽，恰与《老子》的幽深相配。若换作精，则偏于技术，像在夸他学问扎实；换作深，则太实，失了那种若有若无的意味；换作玄，虽亦切合老子，然与后文清寂的调子相比稍嫌重。唯有微字，既是评语，又是形容，还带着一点不肯说尽的分寸。再看它与全诗的关系。微是小、是隐、是不显；下文的风叶、云庵、旧扉，无一不是细小幽隐之物。一个微字定下调子，全诗遂无一处高声。

古 A key expression in this poem; read it with the Chinese note below. 貌似寒山古的古字，用得极省而极狠。它形容的不是年纪，不是容貌的丑俊，而是一种质地——像旧器物、像古碑，让人一见便觉此人不属于当下的时俗。寒山子在宋代禅林中正以此见重，故一个古字既承着寒山的形象，又替珪师定了品格。此字妙在与下句的飞相反。古是静止的、沉着的、有重量的；飞是流动的、轻的、无所着的。一个人身上同时有这两种性质，才立得起来：气质如古物之不移，行踪如落叶之无定。若上句换作瘦、清、寒，皆是宋人写僧的熟字，与下句的飞只是同一路的清淡，便少了这重张力。古字还带着时间的纵深。它把珪师从眼前推向远处，仿佛他与寒山同代，与山中云雾同龄；有了这层纵深，尾联的旧扉才不显突然——门是旧的，人也是旧的，归去便是回到自己本来的时间里。

拂 A key expression in this poem; read it with the Chinese note below. 云庵拂旧扉的拂字，是全诗的诗眼。八句写学问、写形貌、写归途，一路清远，末了只用一个极轻的手势收住：伸手掠一下门上的浮尘。拂字含着三重消息。其一，门上有尘，可知久无人住，主人在外的年月都藏在这层灰里。其二，回来第一件事是拂门而不是开门，动作在门外完成，读者的目光便停在门上，境界因此留白。其三，只拂不扫、不修、不整，说明这本是他的地方，回来即住，无须打点——归的安稳，全在这份不必费事里。若换作开，则太直，门一开境界便尽；换作扫，则动静太大，添出劳作之意；换作叩，那是客人的动作，与归字相违；换作掩，方向恰恰相反。唯有拂字，轻到几乎无声，又实在有一个手的动作，把归家的踏实与山中的寂静同时写出。以最小的动作收最长的路程，是宋人五律的高招。