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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.

赤松

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Bill Porter (aka Red Pine)

It all started with a book of Chinese poems I picked up at random from the shelves of the Central Library. It was called Dancing with the Dead: The Essential Red Pine Translations. It turns out that Red Pine (Chinese: 赤松) is the pen name of one Bill Porter, an American writer known for his translations from the Chinese of ancient poetry. I guess that’s where “the Dead” in the title comes from.

That book, which I read in April, opened a whole new world to me. I had read Chinese poems in translation before, from translators like Arthur Waley, Kenneth Rexroth, and Ezra Pound. But I had the feeling that Red Pine was somehow closer to the original. Like this short poem from a poet who calls himself Cold Mountain:

Looking for a refuge
Cold Mountain will keep you safe
a faint wind stirs dark pines
come closer the sound gets better
below them sits a gray-haired man
chanting Taoist texts
ten years unable to return
he forgot the way he came

If you are interested, I sugget you begin the way I did, by reading Dancing with the Dead: The Essential Red Pine Translations. It excerpts some of the best selections from his thirty-odd books containing selections from such poets as Cold Mountain, Stonehouse, Tao Yuanming, Wei Ying-wu, and Liu Zongyuan.

Here is a poem from Tao Yuanming:

With the passing days and months
as you leave childhood behind
good fortune won’t be undeserved
but disaster easily earned
rise early and retire late
I hope such habits are yours
if they aren’t
so be it

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.

“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

“The Vanity of Success”

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Laozi (aka Lao Tzu and Lao Tse)

However you pronounce his name, Laozi is one the world’s greatest thinkers. Born in 571 BC or sometimes thought to be in the 4th century BCE, or whenever, and died whenever, Laozi may in fact never have existed; yet he is a great author.

I have been reading Dancing with the Dead: The Essential Red Pine Translations (Port Townsend, Washington: Copper Canyon Press, 2023) with great pleasure. There is something about Chinese poetry—even in English translation—that hits me where I live. And Red Pine (alias Bill Porter) is a superb translator. His explanatory notes are revealing: He says that even Chinese scholars have a difficult time and have to rely on explanatory notes dated in the centuries after the poems were written.

Here is an excerpt from Laozi’s The Way and Its Power (aka Daodejing aka Tao Te Ching) on the subject of striving:

Instead of poring in more
better stop while you can
making it sharper
won’t help it last longer
rooms full of treasure
can never be safe
the vanity of success
invites its own failure
when your work is done retire
this is the Way of Heaven

Around 130 AD, the Chinese sage Heshanggong wrote the following note about this passage:

Excessive wealth and desire wearies and harms the spirit. The rich should help the poor, and the powerful should aid the oppressed. If, instead, they flaunt their riches and power, they are sure to suffer disaster. Once the sun reaches the zenith, it descends. Once the moon becomes full, it wanes. Creatures flourish then wither. Joy turns to sorrow. When your work is done, if you do not step down, you will meet with harm. This is the Way of Heaven.

This is very old and powerful wisdom. But does anyone listen? Not in today’s world.