Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf
Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf
Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpufv
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpufv
Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf
A kapuőrhöz:
én boldog vagyok,
ő integet, és Dsunag Dszi álmodja a lepkét
to the Gatekeeper:
I'm sunny
he is waving, and Tsuang Tsi dreaming about the butterfly
Szabó Lőrinc:
Dsuang Dszi álma
Kétezer évvel ezelőtt Dsuang Dszi,
a mester, egy lepkére mutatott.
– Álmomban – mondta – ez a lepke voltam
és most egy kicsit zavarban vagyok.
– Lepke – mesélte –, igen, lepke voltam,
s a lepke vígan táncolt a napon,
és nem is sejtette, hogy ő Dsuang Dszi…
És felébredtem… És most nem tudom,
most nem tudom – folytatta eltűnődve –,
mi az igazság, melyik lehetek:
hogy Dsuang Dszi álmodta-e a lepkét
vagy a lepke álmodik engemet?
Én jót nevettem: – Ne tréfálj, Dsuang Dszi!
Ki volnál? Te vagy: Dsuang Dszi! Te hát!
Ő mosolygott: – Az álombeli lepke
épp így hitte a maga igazát!
Ő mosolygott, én vállat vontam. Aztán
valami mégis megborzongatott,
kétezer évig töprengtem azóta,
de egyre bizonytalanabb vagyok,
és most már azt hiszem, hogy nincs igazság,
már azt, hogy minden kép és költemény,
azt, hogy Dsuang Dszi álmodja a lepkét,
a lepke őt és mindhármunkat én.
Lőrinc Szabó:
The Dream of Tsuang Tsi
Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”
„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,
now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”
I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”
He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.
And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams.
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