Minneapolis Institute of Art

Lu Tong's Tea Song

Calligrapher: Maki Ryōko

Date

first half 19th century

Medium

Hanging scroll, ink on silk

Department

Asian Art

Institution

Minneapolis Institute of Art

This is a rendering of the famous Song of Tea that the Chinese poet Lu Tong (790–835) composed to share his sensation about tea. “Thanking Imperial Advisor Meng for the Fresh Tea He Has Sent Me” The sun seemed fifteen feet above me, and I had fallen asleep When an army officer knocked at the door, waking this Duke of Chou. He tells me the Advisor has sent me a letter On white silk with slanting fold and three official seals. I open the missive—it is as if the Advisor and I are face to face— And inspect by hand the Moon Brick tea, three hundred pieces of it. I have heard that early in the year, if one goes up in the mountains, Hibernating creatures are beginning to move and spring winds are starting to blow. The Son of Heaven, desiring men to taste fine Yangxian tea, All other plants never dare to blossom first. A gentle breeze secretly forms buds like pearls; Before spring actually arrives, they put forth sprouts of yellow gold. The fresh plants are gathered, the fragrant tea is fire-dried and pressed into bricks, The very best, the most exquisite—no empty luxury. Aside from the Most Honored, it is suitable for princes and dukes; So how is it that now it has arrived at the home of a mountain man? My bramble gate closed tight against vulgar visitors, Wearing a cap of gauze, by myself I boil and taste the tea. The blue smoke cloud, drawn by the wind, remains unbroken; A white froth—floating luster—congeals in the bowl. With bowl number one, my throat and lips are moistened; With bowl number two, my lonely sadness is dispelled. Bowl number three cleans out my withered bowels, Leaving only five thousand volumes inside! With bowl number four, I raise a light sweat And all the worrisome affairs of my entire life evaporate through the pores. With bowl number five, my skin and bones are purified; With bowl number six, I commune with immortal spirits. Bowl number seven I can barely get down; I only feel pure wind blowing, swishing beneath my arms! The mountains of the Penglai paradise, where can they be found? The Master of Jade Stream wants to mount this pure wind and go there now. The myriad immortals on these mountains officiate over this lowly realm; Their position is noble and pure, beyond stormy rains. What do they know of the millions of beings Tumbling from precipitous cliffs, suffering so much! Let me question the advisor about these sentient beings: Ultimately, should they obtain respite, or not? Japan, Asia

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