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“Reading Books”

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Ancient Chinese Scroll

This is a delightful poem from Liu Tsung-yuan (AD 773-819) who was exiled by the Emperor to Yungchou in the 9th century for espousing unpopular opinions. Though it is more than 1,100 years old, it could have been written yesterday—especially in today’s political environment.

Reading Books

Living in obscurity I’ve given up current affairs
I bow my head in silence and reflect on the sage kings
the highs and lows of the ancient past
the ups and downs of countless paths
I laugh to myself when I’m pleased
when I’m sad I simply sigh
I take my books from their cases
I go through from front to back
despite the affliction of tropical diseases
I feel different than in the past
while reading I suddenly understand
when I’m done my mind is a blank
who can I talk with at night
if not these texts on bamboo and silk
I lie down when I get tired
after a good sleep I feel refreshed
I yawn and stretch my limbs
I read out loud to my heart’s content
I enjoy doing what suits me
not to please learned men
I shut up when I’ve said what I want
free of restraints I relax
the clever consider me stupid
the wise think I’m a fool
but reading as managed to make me happy
what good is working till you drop
cherish this body of yours
don’t use it to chase after fame

The translation is by Red Pine. The book is Written in Exile: The Poetry of Liu Tsung-Yuan, published by the Copper Canyon Press.

Deer, Wildcats, Tigers & Bears

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One of China’s greatest writers of prose and poetry was Liu Tsung-yuan. Here is Red Pine’s translation of one of Liu’s tales:

Deer are afraid of wildcats, wildcats are afraid of tigers, and tigers are afraid of bears. Covered with long shaggy hair and able to stand upright, bears possess exceptional strength and are capable of killing people. In the south of Ch’u there once was a hunter who could make all kinds of animal calls with his flute. One day he took his bow and arrows and his firepot into the mountains, and he made a call to attract deer. He waited, and when a deer appeared, he started a fire, then he shot the deer. But when a wildcat heard the deer call, it came too. The hunter was terrified and pretended to be a tiger to frighten it. But when the wildcat ran off, a tiger appeared. The man was even more terrified and pretended to be a bear. The tiger disappeared. But a bear heard the call and came looking for a mate. When it saw the man, it grabbed him and tore him apart and ate him. It turns out that those who rely on external aids instead of developing what they have within themselves invariably end up as bear food.

The Poetry Project

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Inspired by reading Red Pine’s translations of Chinese poetry, I have decided to give it a try myself. By posting this intention in my blog, I am determined to shame myself into giving it a try. What I publish here will probably be short and blank or free verse. This week, I have medical and physical therapy appointments to eat up my timer, but I will be freer next week. Probably the end of next week.

And, no, I will not be using a fountain pen.

“Dust in the Wind”

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Page from Ts’ao Chih’s “Worlds of Dust and Jade”

This summer, I discovered Chinese poetry, particularly as translated by the excellent Red Pine, alias Bill Porter. The poet Ts’ao Chih had his problems dealing with the Chinese court in Loyang and wrote a magnificent poem called “Dew on the Leek.” The following is Red Pine’s translation of a section from that poem, as quoted in his Finding Them Gone: Visiting China’s Poets of the Past:

From “Dew on the Leek”

There’s no end to Heaven and Earth
light and shade take turns
people live but awhile
suddenly we’re dust in the wind
I hoped to perform meritorious deeds
to devote myself to my lord
to assist my king with my talents
with an open and unbiased heart
swimming things honor dragons of the deep
running things honor a unicorn
if creatures can recognize virtue
why not the gentlemen at court
in the works compiled by Confucius
the royal way is abundantly clear
I offer this modest brush of mine
to promote sweetness and style

As I typed this poem, I suddenly realized that I was talking about my own working life, in which I deeply felt I was not sufficiently appreciated. At least I didn’t have to be sent into exile on a hostile frontier.

“Farewell to My Soldier Friend”

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As I grow older, I become more and more enamored of ancient Chinese poetry. One of the all-time greats was Tu Fu, also known as Du Fu, who was born in AD 712 and died in 770. This poem is called “Farewell to My Soldier Friend.” The translation is by Chao Tze-chiang.

Farewell to My Soldier Friend

The Jo River flows to the land’s end;
The Yang Pass looms on the horizon.
Now you will cross the sand-bar;
There smoke didn’t rise for months.
To show your valor, take no care for life;
To be a marquis, do not count the years.
In winter, keep your horse from being lost,
Or snow will bury his broidered saddle.

“The Hardships of Travel”

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Tao Yuanming (365-427) is one of the great poets of China. I have been reading a translation of his poems by Bill Porter (under his pseudonym Red Pine) and came across this unnamed poem. It talks about the hardships of travel in China around the year 400 AD. I, who yearn to have the money to allow me to travel and find myself stuck in Southern California, am in a slightly different situation.

People sigh about the hardships of travel
I’m just learning about them now
about the size of mountains and rivers
and the unexpected dangers of both
about crashing waves that echo across the sky
and relentless winds that never cease
the more I travel the more I long for home
why am I stuck where I am
I’ve been thinking about how much I love my garden
and why haven’t I said goodbye to the world
how long will my good years last
and why did I ever question my heart

“I Have No Family To Say Farewell To”

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Chinese Soldiers Around Time of Tu Fu (8th Century)

Two of the greatest poets who have ever lived are Li Po and Tu Fu (a.k.a. Du Fu), who not only lived around the same time in China but who knew each other. Here is a heartbreaking poem by Tu Fu about coming back home after the wars to find his home has changed irrevocably.

A Homeless Man’s Departure

After the Rebellion of 755, all was silent wasteland,
gardens and cottages turned to grass and thorns.
My village had over a hundred households,
but the chaotic world scattered them east and west.
No information about the survivors;
the dead are dust and mud.
I, a humble soldier, was defeated in battle.
I ran back home to look for old roads
and walked a long time through the empty lanes.
The sun was thin, the air tragic and dismal.
I met only foxes and raccoons,
their hair on end as they snarled in rage.
Who remains in my neighborhood?
One or two old widows.
A returning bird loves its old branches,
how could I give up this poor nest?
In spring I carry my hoe all alone,
yet still water the land at sunset.
The county governor’s clerk heard I’d returned
and summoned me to practice the war-drum.
This military service won’t take me from my state.
I look around and have no one to worry about.
It’s just me alone and the journey is short,
but I will end up lost if I travel too far.
Since my village has been washed away,
near or far makes no difference.
I will forever feel pain for my long-sick mother.
I abandoned her in this valley five years ago.
She gave birth to me, yet I could not help her.
We cry sour sobs till our lives end.
In my life I have no family to say farewell to,
so how can I be called a human being?

Restless Night

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Chinese Poet Du Fu (712-770)

Although the Chinese language is a formidable obstacle to understanding the poetry written in it, there are some Chinese poets whose thoughts nonetheless ring clear. Such is Du Fu (aka Tu Fu), who wrote some thirteen hundred years ago. The name of the poem in today’s blog is:

Restless Night

As bamboo chill drifts into the bedroom,
Moonlight fills every corner of our
Garden. Heavy dew beads and trickles.
Stars suddenly there, sparse, next aren’t.

Fireflies in dark flight flash. Waking
Waterbirds begin calling, one to another.
All things caught between shield and sword,
All grief empty, the clear night passes.

Tao Te Ching #2

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The Taoist sage Lao Tzu (floruit BCE 500), author of the Tao Te Ching, is one of those figures at the nexus of three great religions: Taoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism. Below is Sam Hamill’s translation of the second section of the Tao Te Ching, as printed in the Shambala Library edition of The Poetry of Zen:

Beauty and ugliness have one origin.
Name beauty, and ugliness is.
Recognizing virtue recognizes evil.

Is and is not produce one another.
The difficult is born in the easy,
long is defined by short, the high by the low.
Instrument and voice achieve one harmony.
Before and after have places.

That is why the sage can act without effort
and teach without words,
nurture things without possessing them,
and accomplish things without expecting merit:

only one who makes no attempt to possess it
cannot lose it.

Jade Flower Palace

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Beijing Palace Ruins

Du Fu (aka Tu Fu) was born in AD 712 and died in 770. The following poem is from Kenneth Rexroth’s One Hundred Poems from the Chinese. It is a great favorite of mine.

Jade Flower Palace

The stream swirls. The wind moans in
The pines. Grey rats scurry over
Broken tiles. What prince, long ago,
Built this palace, standing in
Ruins beside the cliffs? There are
Green ghost fires in the black rooms.
The shattered pavements are all
Washed away. Ten thousand organ
Pipes whistle and roar. The storm
Scatters the red autumn leaves.
His dancing girls are yellow dust.
Their painted cheeks have crumbled
Away. His gold chariots
And courtiers are gone. Only
A stone horse is left of his
Glory. I sit on the grass and
Start a poem, but the pathos of
It overcomes me. The future
Slips imperceptibly away.
Who can say what the years will bring?