A Song from Cold Mountain - is it a koan or poem?

The Songs of Cold Mountain is a collection of several hundred Tang Dynasty poems that are often attributed to a single poet known as Han Shan or the Cold Mountain poet.  There are a number of legends that have developed around the figure of Han Shan -- he was a hermit monk who supposedly inscribed his poems on the rocks and cliffs that surrounded his mountaintop dwelling.   Yet there are some modern scholars who have suggested that these songs are not the work of a single poet but more likely were written by various hermits and monks living in or around the same remote mountaintop over the span of more than 100 years - the Cold Mountain collective, as it were.

Whether you prefer to think of these poems as the work of a single monk or a collective effort, there is a wide range evident in the style and tone of the poems that comprise the collection.  Some are deeply personal - they sound like the first hand observations of a hermit monk as he sits in meditation and watches the clouds gather and disperse in front of his cave. They are serene and utterly remarkable transcriptions of a Chan monk's inner life. (You can read a few translations of Han Shan's more personal and contemplative poems by clicking here.)  Others are more concerned with doctrinal matters and have a far less personal in flavor.  They read as if they were intended or specifically addressed to a public audience of disciples or fellow believers; often they discuss various nuances of the dharma.

This morning I translated one of the poems in the latter category.  What caught my attention was the striking claim in the poem's first two lines which at first struck me as a bit inconsistent, or at least hard to reconcile, with the basic tenets of Buddhism as embodied in the Four Noble Truths.

I’ve heard it said that worries are hard to get rid of
But that expression is not really true

闻道愁难遣

斯言谓不真

     

Intriguing right?  This doesn't sound like something you would expect to hear from a Chan Buddhist monk sitting on a mountaintop.  We encounter suffering everywhere throughout our life passage, from cradle to grave.  So how exactly is it possible for us to easily slough off our troubles?

It may help to understand this poem to think of it as something of a koan - a riddle or attempt to tease out a deeper truth that underlies this apparent contradiction.  Here's my complete translation of the riddle and one possible resolution.

I’ve heard it said that worries are hard to overcome

But that expression is not really true

What happened yesterday

Is already behind you

And today you face a whole

New set of woe

Next month will bring

Worries even more extreme

And the following year

Will bring new ones

And newer ones after that too

No one really knows

Who will enjoy the banquet next year

That’s the way it’s always been

What worries a person today

Will soon be in the past

闻道愁难遣

斯言谓不真

昨朝曾趁却

今日又缠身

 月尽愁难尽

年新愁更新

谁知席帽下

元是昔愁人

The seeming contradiction is resolved when we realize the important distinction between our worry about suffering and suffering itself.  We may not be able to avoid the slings and arrows of fortune, outrageous or otherwise - suffering in life no doubt is unavoidable.  But to worry about suffering, well that's another matter entirely.  Our worries turn out to be easily overcome in the same way today's concerns are soon supplanted by the new crop of worry that tomorrow is sure to bring.  As everything in life is transitory, our worries prove to be so too, and that's why worry is in fact easily overcome.

Is it a poem or a koan?  Perhaps it's best to embrace it as a little bit of both in order to fully grasp the spiritual insight that Han Shan, the mountaintop poet and monk is ready to share with us.  And what's the difference between a poem and a koan after all - neither one is ever susceptible to a definitive translation or understanding, as we keep reading and pondering, and our understanding continues to develop.  

My Morning Commute (for Matthew Zapruder)

Taking a 6 am bus into NYC yesterday for a meeting, I had a copy of Matthew Zapruder's new collection The Pajamaist to keep me company on the ride.  I dozed off after a while - no knock on Zapruder's fine poetry, but a function of the very early hour.  I woke up with a phrase from one of Zapruder's poems in my head and wrote this poem of my own. 



That's how it starts
Poetry is a way
To figure things out loud
(talking yourself back to sleep)
A process undeniable
Playful yet earnest
Drenched in the aroma of youth

Then one day you awake
To discover the universe
Is a lover willing to open
All her silken robes for you
And then what my friend?
No royalty checks to speak of
No platform for either
Publishing or prayer
Just you and your scribbling

Sitting on a rush-hour bus
The road slick in a chill rain
You must have dozed off
Shaking off dreams
Out the window
There's a field of rubble
Amidst the row houses
In middle Queens
And now it seems
Like you still have
A lot of explaining to do
With love diminished
For language games
The fable drinker in the park that's you
Realizes there is barely time left
For speaking the truth

I Too Am Much Alone in This World - in reply to Rilke

I too am much alone in this world

I thought you would never ask

There’s some that do

And others who can’t seem to stay on task

There are poets beholden to a higher truth

And those who aren’t very good at math

We’re all so alone in the world

Yet together we travel such a crowded path

Consecrated or not we may never know

Now that our time

Has all but passed

*****

Yesterday was Rilke's birthday and I wrote this poem in reply to one of his poems called I Am Much Too Alone in this World.  You can read Rilke's poem here.

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The Marvel of a Marbled Sky

Here we are approaching a critical moment in the lunar cycle, at least ifor like me you subscribe to the basic tenets of Daoist cosmology.  There's a super-moon rising tonight as the moon approaches its perigee.  We are also close to the shortest day of the year as the sun falls into its most diminished capacity.  There's a madman on the throne and things all around us seem to have fallen into a deeply troubled and unsettled state.  This is all perfectly explained as a result of the Yin Ascendency. 

Through the marvel of a marbled sky

Vaulted reminder of autumn passing us by

This morning the sun began reclining southward

No sooner than it rose in the east
Daylight now being held on its tightest leash

And what remains of it will be spent

Awaiting tonight’s main event with 

The veiled ascent of the Cold Moon

 

For those so inclined to continue tonight's lunar celebration, here is my translation of a poem by Li He called The Tenth Moon, the Cold Moon also being the tenth full moon of the year, according to the traditional Chinese lunar calendar.  And this year, as it happens, the Tenth Moon's arrival finds us in this unsettled state, half frozen, the shadows dancing, a madman on the throne; it's a super-moon rising, as the moon approaches its perigee, and we all strain to reach the moment of the Yin extremity.

The water won’t pour from

The jade vase’s slender silver spout

The hanging lantern casts its shadow and light

Playing hide and seek with the night

Frost broken and scattered and dancing

Is spread like a canopy across the lawn

Two rows of candles in their wicker baskets

Shine outside the lady’s chamber

Behind the pearl screen she lies

Troubled and unable to sleep

The gold phoenix has been pricked by a thorn

Not even the bedclothes will keep her warm

Long eyebrows so perfectly matched

The moon strains to reach its climax 

十月

李贺

玉壶银箭稍难倾   

釭花夜笑凝幽明

碎霜斜舞上罗幕   

烛龙两行照飞阁

珠帷怨卧不成眠   

金凤刺衣著体寒

长眉对月斗弯环

The Tenth Moon (by Li He)

This poem for the Tenth Moon finds the world in an unsettled state, half frozen, the shadows dancing, approaching its perigee, the Cold Moon strains to reach for the Yin extremity.

The water won’t pour from

The jade vase’s slender silver spout

The hanging lantern casts its shadow and light

Playing hide and seek with the night

Frost broken and scattered and dancing

Is spread like a canopy across the lawn

Two rows of candles in their wicker baskets

Shine outside the lady’s chamber

Behind the pearl screen she lies

Troubled and unable to sleep

The gold phoenix has been pricked by a thorn

Not even the bedclothes will keep her warm

Long eyebrows so perfectly matched

The moon strains to reach its fullness 

十月

李贺

玉壶银箭稍难倾   

釭花夜笑凝幽明

碎霜斜舞上罗幕   

烛龙两行照飞阁

珠帷怨卧不成眠   

金凤刺衣著体寒

长眉对月斗弯环