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Enjoyed reading these a lot Max.  Thanks

David
On 16 Mar 2016 18:48, "Douglas Barbour" <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

> It’s a good phase, Max, & I like the way(s) you mash up the old & your new
> (if old).
>
> There’s that sense in their poems, which you capture neatly, of
> conversation with friends who also write, & also the walks into the world.
>
> For those so interested, I recommend Guy Gabriel Kay’s 2 ‘Chinese’
> fantasies, set in another world, but based on Chinese history: Under Heaven
> & River of Stars, each of which has a poet among its characters, & in which
> the narrator manages to delicately unfold the intrigues & conflicts of such
> subtle courts & cultures…
>
> Doug
> > On Mar 15, 2016, at 8:10 PM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]>
> wrote:
> >
> > My Chinese Phase
> > eighteen poems
> >
> > 1. Madly Singing - via Laptop
> >
> > No one’s without a failing;
> > mine consists in writing verses.
> >
> > I’ve retired from my old life,
> > ties to people, place and property -
> >
> > this weakness still remains behind.
> > Each time I see a fine view, or garden,
> >
> > tree or flower, each time I encounter
> > an engaging human being, or recall
> >
> > something curious from my past, I think:
> > jot down the words for this, soon
> >
> > I’ll have another poem to show around.
> > Reciting aloud and singing are not for me,
> >
> > vain though I’ve been of my poetry voice.
> > It’s all on paper - and my laptop,
> >
> > from which I dream my poems can fly
> > past the deaf hills and waters of Seattle.
> >
> > Dogs, squirrels, raccoons. birds hereabouts
> > would startle should I sing them my poems
> >
> > all about them and their impact on me.
> > Unlike Po Chu-i in Arthur Waley’s version,
> >
> > I still want to be heard and read by folk
> > scattered round the world who once knew of me.
> >
> >
> > 2. Li Ho
> >
> > Singsong girls! admire
> > them - on pleasure barges
> > floating in the night
> >
> > with lantern and zither
> > where slow water flows
> > through wide gorges.
> >
> > There Li Ho, in search
> > of wilder muses than
> > his tradition grants,
> >
> > senses in the sweet
> > singsong girls’ grace
> > refined wildness
> >
> > he may celebrate.
> > Alas! he is poor. They
> > are unaffordable.
> >
> > Knowing how they
> > model their style
> > on archaic images,
> >
> > cloud, river, rainbow,
> > Li Ho contents
> > himself with poems
> >
> > of Nature; readers
> > know rainbows image
> > woman’s ecstasy.
> >
> > Mountain goddess,
> > your coat is fig leaves,
> > your cloak is orchids;
> >
> > drawn by leopards,
> > you lead lynxes;
> > you gather upland
> >
> > perfumes - for whom?
> > You entice a poet
> > from his penmanship,
> >
> > his wife, their fenced garden,
> > away to the risky hills
> > where mists swirl in
> >
> > hiding his way back.
> > Better stay down here
> > where rain is gentle
> >
> > like girls assisting
> > with the vegetables
> > his family needs.
> >
> >
> > 3. Three Travellers Cave
> >
> > Seeing off - parting from - sent to -
> > so many Chinese poems
> > start this way. Brothers, friends -
> >
> > partners, even. In Three Travellers Cave
> > in eight-one-nine by Western count
> > Pai Chu-yo, his brother Hsing-chien
> >
> > with their friend Yuan Chen here
> > paused. Pai’s poems of separation
> > made it famous ever since.
> >
> > ‘Forever suffering apart’!
> > ‘I only care that never
> > again we separate.’
> >
> > ‘The rivers of our souls’,
> > wrote Pai to Yuan,
> > ‘spring from the same well.'
> >
> > Along the cliff, visitors clutch
> > the iron chain locked to which
> > thousands of padlocks
> >
> > speak their fervent wish -
> > ‘forever locked together’.
> > Carved inscriptions cover all walls.
> >
> > Three statues now greet
> > visitors. Stone tablets by the dozen
> > lean their ancient wishes everywhere.
> >
> > Pai’s poems spoke for everyone.
> > Finding friends gone means pain.
> > Best not travel there alone.
> >
> >
> > 4. His Lyre
> >
> > There should be a small boy
> > walking behind me carrying
> > in its waterproof cover
> > my lyre - its several strings
> >
> > will have made my lyrics
> > when last I shared them
> > more melodious
> > and got us invited
> >
> > to perform elsewhere.
> > You moderns think
> > a lyre mere symbol -
> > this one’s intrinsic,
> >
> > yesterday today
> > tomorrow wherever
> > tradition’s respected,
> > keeping our classics ours.
> >
> >
> > 5. He Thanks His Host
> >
> > All week it’s been
> > a waning moon
> > as we emptied
> > your wine-cups.
> >
> > The third cup
> > ushered me through
> > into greatness,
> > with the fourth
> >
> > I dissolved into
> > Nature altogether!
> > drinking further
> > we all flew far.
> >
> > Unsteadily now
> > we renew our thanks
> > and turn unsteadily
> > each to his bed.
> >
> > By the time that moon
> > returns from the dark
> > a sober sliver nightly
> > waxing towards fulness
> >
> > I shall be elsewhere
> > looking up thanking that moon,
> > and you my host, for our talk,
> > and your generous wine.
> >
> >
> > 6. Connect Art to Life
> >
> > Thanks to the Getty
> > and its munificence
> > the Asian Art Museum
> > up the road in the park
> >
> > where I walk my dog
> > thus missing the art,
> > now makes its collection
> > visitable online! free!!
> >
> > SAM connects art to life!
> > (The S stands for Seattle.
> > The hilltop building stands
> > behind two cement camels.)
> >
> > ‘High-quality images,
> > line-by-line transcriptions,
> > searchable seals,
> > zoom and deep zoom!
> >
> > Browse by artist,
> > dynasty, region
> > and more’ - here the
> > cute flyer expires
> >
> > breathless and blank.
> > But its other side -
> > Buffalo and Herder Boy,
> > 12th century, ink,
> >
> > color and silk -
> > calls to me: Visit,
> > search real walls
> > with naked eye,
> >
> > only then retire here
> > to my lonely screen
> > for experience
> > merely ‘virtual’.
> >
> > Well, I herd my dog past
> > often enough without
> > connecting art to 21st
> > century life. Too late
> >
> > for me, calligraphy?
> > Shall I just key in now
> > The Online Catalogue
> > and zoom and deep zoom?
> >
> >
> > 7. Tu Fu and his Times
> >
> > Before at last being known -
> > remembered since - as Ministry
> > of Works Tu, our Tu Fu
> > failed the civil service exam!
> >
> > Was it his experimental prose -
> > so young? Was it prejudice
> > from the then prime minister
> > who failed them all that other year
> >
> > to spite the emperor? Likely.
> > His later posting may merely
> > have been a sinecure, they say.
> > Once a bureaucrat, you write,
> >
> > however poetically,
> > as partaking of public life,
> > the Tao of government -
> > or recreation for officials.
> >
> > Emperors and prime ministers,
> > many of them, wrote poems.
> > Your enemy might respect them,
> > the pity of war unite them.
> >
> > The ghosts of those by blood defiled
> > are homeless. No one has gathered
> > the white bones on the Black Lake’s shore.
> > Where new ghosts cry, old ones are bitter.
> >
> >
> > 8. Butterfly Dream
> >
> > Chuang Chou dreamed
> > he was a butterfly;
> > waking, wondered now
> > was he a butterfly
> > dreaming he was
> > Chuang Chou wondering.
> >
> >
> > 9. In Class
> >
> > Beware the praise of schoolmasters -
> > such was the fate of Tu Fu, beware
> > perhaps the poem inflicted in class,
> >
> > however good one’s later years
> > may find it, however wise to
> > the good and bad in life which
> >
> > the young have yet to meet.
> > In the long run, Tu Fu survives,
> > in the short - beware schoolmasters.
> >
> > It’s the same for Shakespeare - I
> > was once a teacher, not of how
> > to praise falsely, I claim, but
> >
> > showing ‘How to Read’ - partly as
> > taught me, part discovered - letting
> > his lines sink in, radiate, connect.
> >
> >
> > 10. Thanks to the Bureau
> >
> > Emperor Wu (Han Dynasty)
> > has sent officials from his Bureau
> > of Music to bring in ‘folk-songs’
> > from his far-spread peoples.
> >
> > Thus he may know what
> > is their mind, their needs
> > and aspirations, the easier
> > to be managed, governed.
> >
> > No matter they are metrically
> > imperfect. At the palace now
> > scholars are making regular
> > ‘folk-songs’ all approve.
> >
> > (In these fractious times
> > even a scholar, falling out
> > with the anxious Emperor,
> > may meet his executioner
> >
> > or, sentence commuted,
> > have all his hair pulled out.
> > Rather exile to a province
> > giving him sad poems to write.
> >
> > Best to serve and prosper
> > like Ts’ao P’ei, promoted Great
> > Officer of Brilliant Favour,
> > though not for his songs.
> >
> > The poetry books collected
> > for Emperor Chienwen
> > are stacked with his own poems,
> > his father’s and family’s.
> >
> > Percussion, bells, wind
> > instruments may accompany
> > these songs. Others are chanted
> > to lyres or zithers.
> >
> > Our painters delight,
> > with pen and colour,
> > silken scrolls and paper,
> > scrolled and unscrolled,
> >
> > to show our scholars
> > holding cups of wine
> > under winter trees
> > by a lake or waterfall,
> >
> > reciting to the moon.
> > Not much needs saying, much
> > may be reflected. Chilling
> > moonlight on rippling waters.
> >
> >
> > 11. A Merchant’s Dream of Power
> >
> > An upstart merchant fancied himself
> > chief minister, nay emperor!
> > intrigued, and strutted about loudmouthed.
> >
> > When I’m in charge, he said, our border
> > will have a Great Wall built, to keep
> > out barbarian invaders.
> >
> > Those already here disguised
> > as citizens my men will bustle away.
> > Away with their wives and children!
> >
> > They take our jobs and wreck our schools
> > and never seem to learn Chinese.
> > My China has no room for mosques.
> >
> > My soldiers will be trained how best
> > to torture suspect enemies and
> > prisoners; my bombers will unload
> >
> > our state-of-the-art bombs on our
> > enemies’ hideaways - we know where
> > they are, disguised as hospitals.
> >
> > Foreign devils will now trade with us,
> > on our terms. Losers - the idle poor
> > sick of China - are multiplying:
> >
> > sweep away benefits and supporters.
> > China’s greatness comes from its merchants;
> > I will give them scope to make us great.
> >
> >
> > 12. Mad Wind
> >
> > These winter weeks, our soils
> > have been soaked, saturated,
> > softened round the roots of trees.
> > Soon they’ll be toppled, please
> >
> > not against power lines!
> > Watch out for downed ones -
> > they may be ‘energized’.
> > Well, we bunkered down,
> >
> > sallying forth next day
> > well wrapped up, beret
> > firmly down to my ears -
> > but not swept away.
> >
> > Nor the trees I feared for.
> > Elsewhere, maybe. Look
> > out for reports and more
> > forecasts for where storms lurk.
> >
> > Frail boats are out on the lake
> > as if reassured, trusting
> > such winds now promised
> > will thrill but not sink them.
> >
> > Were we young again, wouldn’t you
> > and I be down there involved so!
> > Pour me a glass of red wine
> > by the weather-watch window.
> >
> >
> > 13. Sent Far to Alan Roddick
> >
> > We meet so seldom! It was always the way,
> > even that brief time we lived in the same town
> >
> > before I tried Scotland then Australia. Not that
> > when briefly together we quaffed wine
> >
> > in quantity like the old poets of old China
> > whom (mutatis mutandis) we now resemble.
> >
> > In our prime we clambered together up
> > Hanging Rock on our way to Ballarat,
> >
> > both sensing its aura, making sure
> > neither vanished in its cloven atmosphere.
> >
> > To send you a poem newly drafted,
> > and hear back quickly not just you liked it,
> >
> > but see (tactful) how to improve it
> > or just correct some simple slip! -
> >
> > that’s been a pleasure all these years.
> > And hasn’t email made a difference!
> >
> > In the U.S. a while, the distance I sense between
> > Seattle and Dunedin feels no more nor less.
> >
> > Your moves have been strenuous enough,
> > up and down both poetic islands
> >
> > North! South! of our shared New Zealand,
> > home-making, profession-following,
> >
> > family-manning, retiring to work,
> > poems again, written and published.
> >
> > Decades after the event I hear you fished
> > ‘my’ Hutt River! - dusk over the water.
> >
> > Boyhood not far from Seamus Heaney’s! -
> > your accents sweet part of your elegy for him.
> >
> > Now we exchange bad news about English:
> > the decay of grammar, ugly idioms.
> >
> > Some fresh ones - the mouth-feel of Yiddish
> > enriching American - and our - English.
> >
> > Drink to that! you in bungalow Dunedin,
> > me at my laptop in our Seattle flat.
> >
> >
> > 14. Old Poet’s Advice to the Old
> >
> > Walk out daily briskly,
> > even if slowly back.
> > Keep your eyes peeled
> > for those who smile,
> >
> > whether or not you
> > manage to smile back.
> > Watch the skies, their
> > changing expressions,
> >
> > for fear, as mother
> > used often to say,
> > you ‘catch your death’
> > from sudden downpour.
> >
> > Wear a hat against
> > both sun and wet
> > and a non-slip boot
> > on each old foot.
> >
> > Watch, when your feet
> > stumble, but don’t
> > (let’s hope) quite fall -
> > underfoot may be
> >
> > where freshest green
> > and blossom teem,
> > fragrant as thyme
> > or camomile. Smile.
> >
> > Drink and be merry.
> > Tomorrow may be dry.
> > Remember yesterday,
> > savour Memory.
> >
> > When asked: 'How was
> > your weekend?’, have
> > ready some answer your
> > questioner can admire.
> >
> > He or she well may
> > be old like us one day
> > (if lucky!), waking
> > in pain to a surprised
> >
> > face in the unfair
> > truthful mirror:
> > ‘now I look like that
> > old man - I bet
> >
> > he learned to avoid
> > mirrors! My turn now,
> > bring out the floppy hat,
> > hide the wrinkled brow,
> >
> > accept being unsteady
> > and painfully slow.
> > This journey must end -
> > the further the better -
> > try every detour whatever.
> >
> >
> > 15. Broken
> >
> > Broken the moon of March -
> > soon mended. Springtime,
> > soon done. Myself, past
> > mending - when quite done?
> >
> > No knowing, no saying.
> > Earth still has room for me,
> > above ground, I mean, after
> > which I’ve made no plan.
> >
> > I still have eyes for moon,
> > cherry blossom groves
> > a stiff walk away
> > that still need watching,
> >
> > for the young, the smiling;
> > ears for their voices.
> > Aren’t I lucky?
> > Expensive vices
> >
> > have lost their hold
> > on me, music now
> > comes cheaply though
> > canned. I’ve told
> >
> > my wife what to pipe
> > into the chapel for
> > my last farewell:
> > some oboe solo.
> >
> > She may not be there.
> > No predicting where.
> > Why bother your head?
> > Let the dead, etcetera.
> >
> >
> > 16. Inspiring Horses
> >
> > Chih Tun, fourth-century
> > Buddhist monk, well-known
> > for his expensive pastime -
> >
> > kept a stable stocked
> > with splendid horses!
> > When you asked, is this
> >
> > quite suitable for one
> > in these pious robes?
> > Yes, came his response,
> >
> > my horses inspire me
> > with what I can only
> > call their spirituality:
> >
> > courage, beauty,
> > profundity,
> > pride and purity -
> >
> > mounting an emblem
> > of divinity,
> > I feel I'm galloping
> > past death to eternity.
> >
> > What did he die of?
> > Wish I could tell you.
> > The perfect man (for him)
> >
> > rides upon the truth
> > of heaven, soars aloft,
> > free in infinity.
> >
> >
> > 17. Discipline
> >
> > Famous for his huge armies -
> > a million or more men,
> > Ts’ao Ts’ao enforced on them
> >
> > the strictest discipline -
> > by example. For letting
> > his horse stray in standing
> >
> > crops, he condemned himself
> > to death - a sentence which
> > he was persuaded to commute.
> >
> >
> > 18. Scroll
> >
> > To write a painting -
> > paper, ink, brush -
> > that’s the style -
> >
> > one that writes scrolls,
> > vertical if for the wall;
> > for table, horizontal.
> >
> > Writes - not shapes and looks
> > but - meanings. Silk, colour,
> > brush - allow to dry, scroll,
> >
> > vertical if for the wall;
> > for table, horizontal.
> > Meanings in beholders’
> >
> > minds blossoming
> > invisibly; eyes lead down
> > or along the scroll.
> >
> > What look like looks
> > and shapes - do they
> > prompt in you, beholder,
> >
> > meanings blossoming
> > along your mind’s
> > unrolling scroll?
> >
> > Afters:
> > 1. Madly Singing - via Laptop
> > After Bai Juyi, 772-846,
> > Arthur Waley’s Po Chu-i.
> > 2. Li Ho
> > 8th century; after Gary Snyder,
> > A Place in Space, p.88.
> > 3. Three Travellers Cave
> > After Bill Porter (‘Red Pine’), Finding Them Gone:
> > Visiting China’s Poets of the Past - Po is now Pai.
> > 6. Connect Art to Life
> >
> http://www1.seattleartmuseum.org/eMuseum/code/emuseum.asp?emu_action=collection&collection=27526&collectionname=WEB%3AAsian&currentrecord=1&moduleid=1&module=
> > 7. Tu Fu and his Times
> > After Arthur Cooper, Li Po and Tu Fu.
> > 8. Butterfly Dream
> > After Arthur Cooper, Li Po and Tu Fu, p.36.
> > 10. Thanks to the Bureau
> > After Arthur Cooper, Li Po and Tu Fu;
> > and Anne Birrell, New Songs from a Jade Terrace.
> > 15. Broken
> > After Arthur Cooper, Li Po and Tu Fu, p.200.
> > 16. Inspiring Horses
> > After Arthur Cooper, Li Po and Tu Fu, pp.209-12.
> > Livia Knaul, Journal of Chinese Philosophy, Vol.13 (1986), p.411-428
> > 17. Discipline
> > After Arthur Cooper, Li Po and Tu Fu, p.214.
> > 18.Scroll
> > After Simon Leys, The Hall of Uselessness, p.337.
>
> Douglas Barbour
> [log in to unmask]
> https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
>
> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations
> 2 (UofAPress).
> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
>
>         Done in by creation itself.
>
> I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
> The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
> We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
>
>                 Robert Kroetsch.
>