Month: July 2004

I generally look for new insights in poems, but sometimes it’s enough to merely be reminded of old truths. Although there’s not too much “new” in Cold Mountain’s poems, he certainly reminds us of ancient truths. Many of the my favorite poems remind me of Jesus’ saying that “The poor shall always be with you” and that we reveal much about our true nature in how we treat them.

At worst, some would discriminate against the poor simply because they are poor, not rich:

104

Rich men met in an elegant hail
the colored lanterns glowed so bright
then a man who had no candle
thought he would sit nearby
instead he was chased away
back to his place in the dark
how could more eyes ruin the light
strange to begrudge leftover rays

Red Pine’s notes on the poem: 104. This poem is adapted from the following story: In the state of Ch’i, Mrs. Hsu and Mrs Li did their weaving at night by candlelight together with other village women. Mrs. Li complained to the other women that Mrs. Hsu didn’t bring any candles. Mrs. Hsu Said, “I’m simply too poor to buy candles. Every day I get up early and do housework and wait on others and always sit at the back. One person more in the room won’t make the candles dimmer. And one person less won’t make the candles brighter. How can a neighbor begrudge the extra light and not let a poor woman benefit so that she can do her work?” (Liehnuchuan: 6)

It’s hard to believe that people would be so petty, but apparently such discrimination is nearly as old as human nature. It reminds me of a recent controversy in Bellevue, Washington, where well-to-do neighbors objected because a church was hosting transients for a limited time as part of a county-wide attempt to equitably provide shelter for the poor. Strangely enough, the people had no objections earlier when other parts of the county had found space for the same people.

The follow poem reminds us that it’s not enough accept those that are “worthy” of our acceptance:

152

If others are worthy accept them
if they aren’t then don’t
if you’re worthy there’s room for others
if you aren’t there’s none for you
praising the adept and consoling the inept
a disciple of kindness finds his place
I urge you to follow Tzu-chang’s words
and ignore Pu-shang’s advice

Red Pine’s notes on the poem: Tzu-chang and Pu-shang were disciples of Confucius. The first two lines paraphrase Pu-shang’s view of entering into friendships, while the next four lines paraphrase Tao-chang’s response (Lunyu: 19.3

I especially like the lines “if you’re worthy there’s room for others/ if you aren’t there’s none for you.” Those who are truly “worthy” have room for all in their heart, and if they don’t have room in their heart they simply aren’t worthy.

Number 200 reminds me how uncomfortable I use to feel when I went to my favorite Greek restaurant in Portland because it was built right next door to a shelter for homeless people:

200

The unfortunate human disorder
a palate that never wearies
of steamed baby pig in garlic
of roast duck with pepper and salt
of deboned raw fish mince
of unskinned fried pork cheek
unaware of the bitterness of others’ lives
as long as their own are sweet

Somehow it just felt wrong to be spending as much for one meal for two as it would be too feed the poor food for a month at a shelter. To me it clearly illustrated the dilemma of trying to restore old areas of a city, a good cause in its own right, but one that invariabley seems to bring greater misery for the poor while simultaneously enriching the rich.

Unfortunately, it’s not always easy to tell when enough is too much.

And it’s hardest to be aware of others’ misery when you’re happiest.

Red Pine’s translation of The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain has been an enjoyable read so far. I first encountered Cold Mountain awhile ago while reading Kerouac’s Dharma Bums and through some Gary Snyder’ translations, which I discussed a few years ago

Though I suspect I would find Cold Mountain’s poems too “religious” for my taste if written by a Christian poet, I don’t find them objectionable here because the ideas are still relatively “new” to me. The newness of the ideas also makes me grateful for the “translator’s preface” and the introduction by John Blofield written in 1982. Blofield’s essay points out Taoist elements in Cold Mountain’s poetry, while still noting the importance of Buddhist elements:

The majority of these mountain men, whether overtly religious or not, would probably describe their manner of life as “hsiu Tao,” which literally means “practicing the Way?” The term Tao (Way) was for some two millennia at least used by Chinese of all religious and philosophical persuasions to mean whatever they individually regarded as “the highest good,” “ultimate truth,” “the absolute,” “the goal of existence,” etc. To those familiar with Taoist teaching, it meant the invisible, formless matrix that gives rise to the endless succession of forms which are no more apart from or different from the matrix than waves are apart from or different from the sea. To Chinese Buddhists the Tao was synonymous with the One Mind or Pure Consciousness, which they held to be not only the impersonal creator, but the very substance (or rather non-substance”) of the entire universe. The use of a term meaning “way” to describe the vast, unfathomable reality of which every form is but a transient manifestation has very subtle implications, pointing to the non-dual nature of reality; for, if reality is in fact non-dual, then the source, the way to the goal, the wayfarer, and the goal are all indivisible from one another.

For an outsider like myself, it’s difficult to make the distinction between Taoist and Buddhist beliefs, but Blofield helps to see where the two overlap and where they differ:

To my mind, Cold Mountain owed more to Taoism than to Buddhism, so complete was his unconventionality and so profound his empathy with nature, but he did not fail to castigate as quacks those wandering Taoists who earned their living as healers by combining natural remedies with magic charms. In making these observations, I may be guilty of being oversubjective; for some of them might be hard to justify by reference to particular poems. My impressions are grounded rather upon the general effect made on my mind by reading all three hundred.

As interesting as the introductory essays were, it’s the poems, and the notes that Red Pine includes for each poem, that are most interesting. I like many of them but tend to favor those that describe Cold Mountain’s home and life style:

48

Beneath high cliffs I live alone
swirling clouds swirl all day
inside my hut it might be dim
but in my mind I hear no noise
I passed through a golden gate in a dream
my spirit returned when I crossed a stone bridge
I left behind what weighed me down
my dipper on a branch click clack

Red Pine’s notes on the poem: The Chi-ch’ueh (golden gate) refers to the imperial palace. The sixth line recalls the poems of Ch’u Yuan (340-278 B.C.), who often called his spirit to return from its wanderings among the unvirtuous and depraved. The stone bridge is a natural arch that spans two merging cataracts near the summit of Tientaishan. After crossing its thirty- foot length and less than one-foot width, Hsu Hsia-k’o (1586 -1641) wrote: “Looking down at the deep pool below, my hair and bones trembled” (Travel Diaries). The hermit Elsu Yu (third millennium s.c.) preferred to drink water with his cupped hands. Once someone gave him a gourd dipper. He took one drink with it and left it hanging on a branch, knocking in the wind.

I’ve always sought the silence found in the mountains, and in my old age I find that more and more I leave behind what weighs me down in search of a simpler life style, though perhaps that’s just because I lack the strength to drag them with me up the mountain anymore.

What I often find most attractive in Cold Mountain’s poems, though, is not the Taoist and Buddhist philosophy, but the very human frailties he reveals in his poems:

53

Once I reached Cold Mountain
I stayed for thirty years
recently visiting family and friends
most had left for the Yellow Springs
slowly fading like a dying candle
or surging past like a flowing stream
today facing my solitary shadow
suddenly both eyes filled with tears

Red Pine’s notes on the poem: The Huang-ch’uan (Yellow Springs) are the destination of the dead. The association of a stream with impermanence recalls the scene of Confucius standing beside a river and sighing, “We pass on like this, not stopping day or night!” (Lunyu: 9.16)

No matter what our philosophy, it’s impossible to escape the sense of loss that accompanies our life. Even those who’ve devoted thirty years to meditation cannot escape the sense of loss when old loved ones leave them.

Still, there’s something inspiring, almost mythic, in this image of an aged hermit standing alone in the mountains searching for his soul:

71

Someone lives in a mountain gorge
cloud robe and sunset tassels
holding sweet plants he would share
but the road is long and hard
burdened by regrets and doubts
old and unaccomplished
called by others crippled
he stands alone steadfast

Red Pine’s notes on the poem: The phraseology and rhythm of this poem recall that of Chu Yuan (340-278 B.C.), the banished poet-official of the ancient state of Ch’u. The Chuantang edition takes this connection farther by adding that poet’s characteristic breath particle hsi to lines five and six, and also uses it to replace tao (sit) in line one. The tassels were attached to the chin strap which in turn held an official’s hat in place. In his poetry, Ch’u Yuan used the fragrances of plants to represent human virtues and vices. A sound body was a prerequisite for government service. Cold Mountain was, I believe, physically unfit for office, perhaps as a result of a riding injury.

It seems we’re all “crippled” in some way, doesn’t it? The difference is that some recognize it and still stand “steadfast,” while others are unwilling to admit it and at best spend their lives trying to avoid confronting their weaknesses or, at worst, indulge those weaknesses.