Ikkyu I Hate IncenseA masters handiwork cannot be measured But still priests wag their tongues explaining the Way and babbling about Zen. This old monk has never cared for false piety And my nose wrinkles at the dark smell of incense before the Buddha.

A FishermanStudying texts and stiff meditation can make you lose your Original Mind. A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can be an invaluable treasure. Dusk rain on the river, the moon peeking in and out of the clouds; Elegant beyond words, he chants his songs night after night.

My HovelThe world before my eyes is wan and wasted, just like me. The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all the grass withered. No spring breeze even at this late date, Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reed hut.

A Meal of Fresh OctopusLots of arms, just like Kannon the Goddess; Sacrificed for me, garnished with citron, I revere it so! The taste of the sea, just divine! Sorry, Buddha, this is another precept I just cannot keep.

Exhausted with gay pleasures, I embrace my wife. The narrow path of asceticism is not for me: My mind runs in the opposite direction. It is easy to be glib about Zen -- Ill just keep my mouth shut And rely on love play all the day long.

It is nice to get a glimpse of a lady bathing -- You scrubbed your flower face and cleansed your lovely body While this old monk sat in the hot water, Feeling more blessed than even the emperor of China!

To Lady Mori with Deepest Gratitude and ThanksThe tree was barren of leaves but you brought a new spring. Long green sprouts, verdant flowers, fresh promise. Mori, if I ever forget my profound gratitude to you, Let me burn in hell forever.(Mori was a blind minstrel, and Ikkyus young mistress)