Tea is poetry in a cup
Celebrated on 21 March every year, World Poetry Day communicates ‘the innermost values of diverse cultures’. It’s also a perfect accompaniment to a cup of tea, writes Adeline Teoh.
The world is troubled and hectic right now, so in this edition we’d love to share some tea poetry with you. Do take a moment to sit, sip and reflect.
If tea had a poet laureate, it would probably be Chinese Tang Dynasty artist Lu Tong
(b. 790AD). This sensory journey is often quoted as the definitive way to appreciate tea.
Song of Tea
The first bowl moistens my lips and throat;
The second bowl banishes all loneliness;
The third bowl clears my mind of words and books.
At the fourth cup, I begin to perspire and
life’s troubles evaporate through my pores.
The fifth cup cleanses my entire being.
Six cups and I am in the realm of the Divine.
Seven cups – ah, but I can drink no more:
I can only feel the gentle breeze blowing though my sleeves,
wafting me away to the Isle of Immortality!
If brevity is the soul of wit, however, the wittiest tea poet would have to be Kobayashi Issa (b. 1763), master of the haiku. Fun fact! His chosen pseudonym, Issa, actually means ‘one cup of tea’ as derived from ‘i-cha’.
now and then the deer
stand close by…
tea pickers
***
drinking morning tea
the monk is peaceful
the chrysanthemum blooms
***
morning after morning
my tea tastes better…
falling mist
London poet Jo Shapcott offers a more modern take on a well-worn theme: how tea can be a salve for the past. Between the lines she says ‘this too, shall pass’, which is exactly what we need to hear right now.
Procedure
This tea, this cup of tea, made of leaves,
made of the leaves of herbs and absolute
almond blossom, this tea, is the interpreter
of almond, liquid touchstone which lets us
scent its true taste at last and with a bump,
in my case, takes me back to the yellow time
of trouble with blood tests, and cellular
madness, and my presence required
on the slab for the surgery, and all that mess
I don't want to comb through here because
it seems, honestly, a trifle now that steam
and scent and strength and steep and infusion
say thank you thank you thank you for the then, and now
From Of Mutability by Jo Shapcott
Below: Kobayashi Issa (Credit: Paradelle)