My Rant Against Li Bai- The Poetic Drunk

Almost every elementary  introduction of Chinese poetry opens with this Tang poem from Li Bai:

静夜思

Quiet Night Thought

translated by Yoyo

床前明月光

In front of my bed a bright moon

疑是地上霜

I thought the ground was covered with frost

舉頭望明月

I raise my head to gaze at the bright moon

低頭思故鄉

Lowering my head I think of my home

(Painting by Liang Kai, Northern Song)

Then the teacher goes, "Oh, how sad.  During a cold winter night, the moon evokes his inner lonely emotions."

"And of all the things he things he thinks about, he thinks about home!  Kids, take note!  Always be filial to your parents (the moral of almost every parable we learn as children)!"

Here are some things about Li Bai that a Chinese teacher will never tell you:

1.  HE'S NOT HAN CHINESE.  He was born near the Kyrgyzstan/central Asia.

2.  He wanted to leave home.  The man somehow traveled 2000 miles from his "home village" to Xi'an China.

3.  He's a chronic alcoholic.  Everyone who met him has kept some record of him being drunk/wasted/drinking someone under the table.

4.  He's completely reckless with his behavior.  While drinking and writing poetry with Emperor Xuanzong, he orders a high level eunuch to sniff his shoe.  That thankfully kicks him out of the Tang palace.

5, His calligraphy is butt ugly.  It literally was a drunk guy who wrote it:



When I read "Quiet Night Thought" again, I read it as a poor, lonely Chinese man having a hangover late at night.  Li Bai's poetry is simple and catchy.  Or as one of my professors said, "The Madonna of Tang China."

Perhaps my disdain for Li Bai is like my dislike of cheap party music.  Everyone likes it , but it completely lacks substance.  If I read Li Bai at my current age, perhaps I would have liked him more than when my Chinese teacher told me he was the epitome of Chinese poetry as a young kid.

Let's introduce alcoholic writers to students when they're at least teenagers.

 

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

It's Wednesday.  Let's do something easy!

(The Milky Way = 銀河  “Silver River")

English:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

The Chinese with literal meaning:

一閃一閃亮晶晶                               Shimmer, shimmer, shiny and bright.
滿天都是小星星                               The sky full of little stars.
掛在天上放光明                             Hanging in the sky shooting rays of light.
好像許多小眼睛                             Like many tiny little eyes
一閃一閃亮晶晶                             Shimmer, shimmer, shiny and bright.
滿天都是小星星                              The sky full of little stars.

The Chinese version makes the sky sound like a giant dark monster that shoots laser beams from its eyes. Puny earthlings!

Mountain Path

山行

Mountain Path

杜牧

By, Du Mu

Translated by Yoyo

遠上寒山石徑斜

Far up the winter mountain the rocky road slopes

白雲深處有人家

Deep within the white clothes are families

停車坐愛楓林晚

I stop my carriage and sit loving the maple night

霜葉紅於二月花

The dew leaves are more red than second month flowers

(Image Source)

***This is one of the first poems I learned in Chinese school that wasn't pandering to children.  The image of the tiny house in a mountain of maple still has a strong impression on me.

I'm Gonna Be A Butterfly

The last time I had a lucid dream, I built myself a solid gold pyramid with a gigantic waterside, shooting zombies  sliding down.

That begs the question, is one's consciousness indicative of reality?  I wonder of the director of Inception read Zhuangzi?

The next time I have a lucid dream, I'm going to be a butterfly.  Hope I don't get stuck. (**knock on wood**)

The Butterfly Dream

昔者莊周夢為蝴蝶，栩栩然蝴蝶也，自喻適志與，不知周也。俄然覺，則蘧蘧然周也。不知周之夢為蝴蝶與，蝴蝶之夢為周與？周與蝴蝶則必有分矣。此之謂物化。

Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuangzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuangzi. But he didn't know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi. Between Zhuangzi and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things. (2, tr. Burton Watson 1968:49)

Ballad of an Old Cypress

古柏行

Ballad of an Old Cypress

杜甫

by, Du Fu

Translated by Stephen Owen

孔明廟前有老柏，柯如青銅根如石。

In front of the shrine of Zhu-ge Liang there was an aging cypress, it boughs were like green bronze, its roots were like the stone.

霜皮溜雨四十圍，黛色參天二千尺。

It's frosted bared was streaked by the rains forty armspans round, dark arch of mascara touching sky two thousand feet above.

君臣已與時際會，樹木猶為人愛惜。

Already the minister and his lord have met their moment, yet still is this tree cherished by men.

雲來氣接巫峽長，月出寒通雪山白。

When clouds come, its vapors touch the full length of Wu Gorges; as the moon appears, its chill reaches the white of the Mountains of Snow.

憶昨路繞錦亭東，先主武侯同閟宮。

I think back now where the road wound east of Brocade Pavilion, where the Ruler of Shu and his Warrior Count share a common shrine.

崔嵬枝幹郊原古，窈窕丹青戶牖空。

Trunk and branches loomed high there, ancient upon the meadows, with paintings dark and hidden away through the empty doors and windows.

落落盤踞雖得地，冥冥孤高多烈風。

Spreading wide, roots coiled and clasped-- but though it found firm place, high and alone in the black of sky there are many violent storms.

扶持自是神明力，正直原因造化功。

Surely that which holds it up is the might of some bright god; its upright straightness is finally due to the deed of the Fashioner.

大廈如傾要梁棟，萬牛回首丘山重。

If some great mansion should collapse and they needed rafters and beams, ten thousand oxen would turn their heads at its weight, which is a mountain's.

不露文章世已驚，未辭翦伐誰能送。

Even before it shows its grain, all the world is amazed; it would not object to being cut, but who would be able to send it?

苦心豈免容螻蟻，香葉終經宿鸞鳳。

It's bitter core cannot keep out intrusions of termites, yet its fragrant leaves have ever given a night's lodging to the phoenix.

志士幽人莫怨嗟，古來材大難為用。

Let neither sigh-- not the man of grand aims nor the man who lives hidden away-- it has always been true that the greatest timber is hardest to put to use.

Owen, Stephen. "Ballad of an Old Cypress." An Anthology of Chinese Literature: Beginnings to 1911. New York: W.W. Norton, 1996. 432-33. Print.

My reflections:

Reading this poem again, I still can't fully grasp the last clause of this poem.  Owen mentions in the preceding paragraph how "才" (talent or innate ability) is a pun for "材" (timber).  I noticed this time the metaphor he used for talent as something alive, not dead timber.  Although this tree is incredibly old, its existence exudes an essence that the living still appreciate.

Through the vicissitudes and ravages of time, what may be en vogue one moment may become passe.  What we know to be simple truth is difficult to fit into our complex world.

This is why I love looking back into ancient poetry.  The essence of the truisms it emits from the past tell us what to value in the present.

I'd also like to dedicate this poem to my friend's new Bonsai tree, Kirk!

My Attempt at Haiku

My attempt at this.

Is very short for this blog.

Will type longer one.

Motionless Night

《船夜援琴》

 The Boat and Night Brings About the Qin

白居易

Bai Juyi

Translated by Yoyo.

鳥棲魚不動，夜月照江深。

Birds perch fish motionless, the night moon glows in the deep river.

身外都無事，舟中只有琴。

Beyond myself all is not happening, middle of a boat there is only a Qin.

七弦為益友，兩耳是知音。

Seven strings for my good friend, two ears there is knowing music

心靜聲即淡，其間無古今。

Heart calm sounds plain, no past present at this space.

*I'm listening to Ella Fitzgerald scatting.

River Snow

江雪

"River Snow"

作者:柳宗元

Author:  Liu zongyuan

Translated by Yoyo.

千山鳥飛絕，

A thousand peaks birds fly vanish.

萬徑人蹤滅。

Numerous footprints disappear.

孤舟蓑笠翁，

Lonely boat straw coat and hat fisherman

獨釣寒江雪。

Fishing alone in the winter river snow.

Manic Monday

匆匆 Rushing

作者: 朱自清 Zhu Ziqing

Translated:  Yoyo

燕子去了，有再來的時候；

The sparrow leaves, there will be a time when they come again.

 

楊柳枯了，有再青的時候；

Poplars and willows wilt, there will be a time when they will green again.

 

桃花謝了，有再開的時候。

Peach blossoms wither, there will be a time when they open again.

 

但是，聰明的，你告訴我，我們的日子為什麼一去不復返呢？

But, you’re smart, tell me, why do our days go and not return?

 

是有人偷了他們罷：

There must be a person who stole it then

 

那是誰？

so who is it?

 

又藏在何處呢？
where did they hide it?

 

是他們自己逃走了罷：
They must have escaped by themselves,

現在又到了哪裡呢？

where are they now?

 

我不知道他們給了我多少日子；

I don’t know the number of days they gave me,

 

但我的手確乎是漸漸空虛了。

but I know for sure they slowly empty in my hands.

 

在默默裡算著，

In silence I count,

 

八千多日子已經從我手中溜去；

8000 days have already slipped through my hands.

 

像針尖上一滴水滴在大海裡，

Like water dripping from a needle into sea.

 

我的日子滴在時間的流裡，

My days drip in the flow of time,

 

沒有聲音，也沒有影子。

without a sound and without a shadow.

 

我不禁頭涔涔而淚潸潸了。

I cannot help but shed tears.
去的儘管去了，來的儘管來著；

What has left already left, what has come already came.

 

去來的中間，又怎樣地匆匆呢？

Within the coming and going, how did it all rush by?

 

早上我起來的時候，

When I rise in the morning,

 

小屋裡射進兩三方斜斜的太陽。

Sharp rays of the sun enter my house.

 

太陽他有腳啊，輕輕悄悄地挪移了；

The sun has feet, softly and quietly it drifts by.

 

我也茫 茫然跟著旋轉。

I ignorantly follow its orbit.

 

於是——洗手的時候，

Usually, when I wash my hands

 

日子從水盆裡過去；

The day crosses over from the basin

 

吃飯的時候，日子從飯碗裡過去；

While eating, the day crosses over my rice bowl.

 

默默時，便從凝然的雙眼前過去。

Silently, you cross my staring pair of eyes.

 

我覺察他去的匆匆了，伸出手遮挽 時，

I sense it rushing by, I reach my hands to cover it

 

他又從遮挽著的手邊過去，

It still crosses over my hands.

 

天黑時，我躺在床上，他便伶伶俐俐地從我身上跨過，

At night, when I lie on my bed, it wittingly crosses over my body

 

從我腳邊飛去了。

It flys away from my feet.

 

等我睜開眼和太陽再見，這算又溜走了一日。

When I open my eyes, I see the sun again, this counts as another day slipping by.

 

我掩著面嘆 息。

I cover my face and sigh.

 

但是新來的日子的影兒又開始在嘆息裡閃過了。

But the shadow of the new day already dodges my sigh.
在逃去如飛的日子裡，

The fleeing day that flies by,

 

在千門萬戶的世界裡的我能做些什麼呢？

through the numerous doors and windows of the world what am I able to do?

 

只有徘徊罷了，只有匆匆罷了；

I only wait for it to end, only wait for it to rush by.

 

在八千多日的匆匆裡，除徘徊外，又剩些什麼呢？

through the numerous doors and windows, besides waiting for it, what left is there to do?

 

過去的日子如 輕煙，被微風吹散了，

The fleeting day is like light smoke, the gust of wind blows it away.

 

 

如薄霧，被初陽蒸融了；

Like a shallow fog, the early sun burns it away.

 

我留著些什麼痕跡呢？

What mark will I leave behind?

 

 

我何曾留著像游絲樣的痕跡呢？

How do I leave a tiny hairspring mark?

 

我赤裸裸來到這世界，轉眼間也將赤裸裸的回去罷？

I came naked into this world, with the turn of an eye I will return naked?

 

但不能平 的，為什麼偏要白白走這一遭啊？

But this is unfair!  Why must we go through this event in vain?
你聰明的，告訴我，我們的日子為什麼一去不復返呢？

You’re smart, tell me, why do our days go and not return?
March 28^th, 1922

1922年3月28日

Curling Up with a Lovely Cup of Tea

It's Friday night and my legs are sore from work.  This is my moment to de-tox and unwind with a good cup of tea before going to bed.  Don't worry, Chrysanthemum tea has no caffeine.

Here's a poem by Sushi (蘇軾  SUE-SHRRR, not raw fish) that captures the feeling:

   (btw, this is "The Metal Bodhisattva", my favorite kind of tea)

 

汲江煎茶

蘇軾

活水還須活火煮，自臨釣石取深清

大瓢貯月歸春甕，小杓分江入夜瓶

雪乳已翻煎處腳，松風忽作瀉時聲

枯腸未易禁三碗，坐聽荒城長短更

 

Jian Tea from River Well Water

by Sushi

translated by me, Yoyo

 

Live water still needs a live flame to boil, I fetch clean deep water from the fishing stone.

A big dipper holds the moon returning to a spring vase, the little ladle parts the river entering a nocturnal pot.

Snow froths as tea leaves roll, pine wind whips as it flows.

My parched innards cannot easily take three forbidden cups, I sit and hear the lonely city's uneven night toll drum.


 

Dying Flowers

Unlike the rest of the country, living in Southern California enables you to prolong the heat of summer.  Sadly even the warmest of seasons fall victim to the periods of life and death.  As I was picking the last flower in my front yard, it reminded me of Lin Daiyu, a character from Cao Xueqin's The Red Chamber.

For those of you unfamiliar with The Red Chamber, it's a comprehensive book that saga that follows the rise and fall of an aristocratic Qing Dynasty family.  I initially interpreted Lin Daiyu as an overly emotional sick girl that complained to much.  But once I continued reading into her character and the movement of the story, I regretted my initial underestimation of her.

As the year 2012 is about to end, I couldn't help but not feel the present and it's ephemeral nature.  As Lin Daiyu feels pity for the fallen flower petals, she says in a few lines:

"儂今葬花人笑癡，他年葬儂知是誰?"

"As I bury flowers others laugh at my insanity, how will I know who buries me?"

"一朝春盡紅顏老，花落人亡兩不知!"

"Once spring ends the red face of youth ends, fallen flower and missing departed will never be known!"

The entire poem roughly translates to "Ode to the Flower Burial".   Here's a shortened English translation, and a the full Chinese text.

Death and endings are morbid truths that seems to have been erased, or at least blind-sighted by instant communication and high speed internet.  The internet is not a window into the future, or even the present. It's quick recall of information from the past.  Constant availability of quick information provides the illusion of power and immortality, but death and endings are truths that cannot erase.

Stop.  Smell the flowers.