In the recent storms the rain was heavy and the wind strong. I took a walk down the muddy track above the river one afternoon, and, just before I had reached the place where the pigsty is, I came to a tree that had been blown over and had fallen across the path.
When Gerard Manley Hopkins encountered the sight of an ash tree being chopped down, some time before composing a poem on a similar theme, he wrote of the event:
…looking out and seeing it maimed there came at the moment a great pang and I wished to die and not see the inscapes of the world destroyed any more
Although the tree before me had been felled by natural causes (perhaps one could argue that the freak weather of those days, bringing floods to Wales and the South West, was not natural), I felt something like the pang that Hopkins described. It was as if the future itself were felled and blocked my way forward. I sighed. There was nothing I could do. I contemplated the scene and looked around, not wanting merely to dismiss it from my thoughts. Of course, it occurred to me, the tree itself probably doesn't mind. Then again, I can't be sure of that. But as I looked to the side of the path, I envied those trees that were still standing, and, by extension, even that which had fallen.
Their roots delve straight into the good earth. They spring directly from it, and die directly into it.
I've long felt an almost erotic attraction to the soil. Perhaps 'erotic' is a wilfully inaccurate word, or perhaps not, but, anyway, rather than 'eros', the word 'thanatos' might have more bearing here. The thought of burying myself in rich, wet soil, there to decay, fills me with joy. This is by no means a recent attraction. One of the earliest poets in whom I took an interest, in my early teens, was Baudelaire, and of his poems, one of my favourites was 'The Happy Corpse', which starts with the lines:
Wherever the soil is rich and full of snails
I want to dig myself a nice deep grave –
Deep enough to stretch out these old bones
Thinking about my own return to the soil is more and more what sustains me. I just wonder why I have had to have the bit in between birth and earth.
Another of life's depressing little frustrations – I've looked all around and can't find the book containing the poem from which I took the title of this entry. It is, anyway, a poem from 300 Tang Poems as translated by Innes Herdan, one of my most cherished volumes. 'The Way', of course, is 'the Dao'. When I think of Daoism, I think of roots and earth, roots taking me down, down, into the earth.
Let me die before I die.
Strong input here. I will ponder.
Please do. Always happy to accomodate ponderers, and even, occasionally, ponderousness.
Villa on Zhongnan Mountain In my middle years I came to much love the Wayand late made my home by South Mountain’s edge.When the mood comes upon me, I go off alone,and have glorious moments all to myself.I walk to the point where a stream ends,and sitting, watch when the clouds rise.By chance I meet old men in the woods;we laugh and chat, no fixed time to turn home.
Excellent. Thank you very much. I think I must have left my book in storage. I should have known not to. It’s a beautifully illustrated bilingual version.
His father died early and his mother was a Buddhist. Yes, dao literally means road, way, street, blvd, but here means Buddhism.Wang Wei was also a painter and held official positions most of his life part time. Because of he was influenced by Buddhism early on, he started to live in the mountains in his youth. By middle age, he had seen enough of politics and became half-hearted in his official position. And about this time he got to move into a villa in the Zhongnan Mountain with a friend where they spent a rather carefree life. Because he was also a painter, his poems are particularly elegant and beautiful. Because he studied Buddhism, his poems also carry philosophical meanings. In this poem, the most enchanting lies in the 5th and 6th lines. But unfortunately you can’t see it in this version of translation, which is very plain and misses both the poetic beauty and the philosophical dynamics. I may deal with this in an upcoming post (when I am in the right mood).
I should have remembered it’s Wang Wei. I have a volume of his poems somewhere, too:http://clearharmony.net/articles/200508/28326.htmlBuddhist, of course, but I’d be willing to bet the character used in the original poem is ‘dao’, for ‘the Way’. Something happened to Buddhism in China, and I think what happened was ‘dao’.
I have just finished reading the link you provided and found this other version of translation interesting. The interpretation there still does not say enough of the two most significant lines.
I’d be very interested to read anything you write about this poem. Thank you.I take it these are the lines you mean (I hope this comes out):行到水窮處 坐看雲起時
Yes. Couldn’t see it on cell phone though. Talk to you later.
Beclabbered writes:
Quentin,Have you read anything by John Cowper Powys perchance? In my early twenties I discovered his work and devoured much of it (non ficition more than his fiction). What you said concerning feelings of eros/thanatos towards the soil sounds akin to ideas Powys has expressed.
Hello. I know the name, but I don’t believe I’ve read any of his stuff. I shall have to look him up. Thank you.
Have since been recommended John Cowper Powys from another source, and he’s on my list.