The Poets light but Lamps --
Themselves -- go out --
The Wicks they stimulate
If vital Light
Inhere as do the Suns --
Each Age a Lens
Disseminating their
Circumference --
“The Poets light but Lamps –” (930) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
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Category Archives: Literature
BOOKS: “The Art of Writing” Trans. / Ed. by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping
The Art of Writing: Teachings of the Chinese Masters by Tony BarnstoneMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Publisher Website
This thin volume is packed with insights on writing — especially, but not exclusively, poetry. It consists of four chapters. The first two are the ars poetica of Lu Ji and Sikong Tu, respectively (i.e. The Art of Writing and The Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry.) The second half of the book consists of two chapters of collected sayings and poetry commentary excerpts.
I haven’t read a book so dense with quotable lines in a while. Some of the advice offered is universal and timeless (e.g. avoid cliches and read voraciously,) but some of it reflects a uniquely Chinese perspective rooted in Taoist and Zen sentiments (e.g. how to use wu wei [effortlessness] in one’s writing and so forth.)
There is a preface and each of the sections has its own editorial opening, but these never feel like padding (which often happens with books that come out to less than a hundred pages of content.) Instead, this ancillary material is concise and helps to offer historic and cultural context.
I’d highly recommend this book for writers and those interested in Eastern aesthetics and literature. That said, you don’t necessarily have to be interested in both. Any writer could pick up some beneficial tips while reading this book, and it’s compact, highly readable, and even humorous in places.
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“Leda and the Swan” by William Butler Yeats [w/ Audio]
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
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“The Friend” by A.A. Milne [w/ Audio]
There are lots and lots of people who are always asking things,
Like Dates and Pounds-and-ounces and the names of funny Kings,
And the answer's either Sixpence or A Hundred Inches Long,
And I know they'll think me silly if I get the answer wrong.
So Pooh and I go whispering, and Pooh looks very bright,
And says, "Well, I say sixpence, but I don't suppose I'm right,"
And then it doesn't matter what the answer ought to be,
'Cos if he's right, I'm Right, and if he's wrong, it isn't Me.
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“A Dream Within a Dream” by Edgar Allan Poe [w/ Audio]
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
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“Tiantai” [天台] by Fēnggān [w/ Audio]
I came once to Tiantai,
And back ten-thousand times.
Like clouds or water tides:
Drift and flow, come and go.
I stroll, free of worry,
Buddha's Path - in no hurry.
While the world's forked roads
Lead men to fret and scurry.
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“No Man Is an Island” by John Donne [w/ Audio]
No man is an island,
Entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
As well as if a promontory were:
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know
for whom the bell tolls;
I tolls for thee.
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“Spring Rise” by Fan Chengda [w/ Audio]
In Spring, the waters rise --
Shore grass sways with breezes,
And geese drift right beside;
Boats glide as the stream pleases.
Yon pagoda looks far,
but feels quite close.
Streamside, one feels a chill.
Fields have yet to be plowed --
Not while the torrents spill.
Mulberry limbs are bowed.
Soon we'll have a taste,
and harvest cocoons.
NOTE: The title of this poem is 蝶 戀 花. Xu Yuanchong uses the quite literal “Butterflies in Love with Flowers” as his translated title. I chose differently because a wet Spring is the throughline of the poem and, well, there are no explicit butterflies (or flowers) in the poem [only their potential.] Of course, maybe that’s exactly why the original is a great title.
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“My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun” (764) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -
In Corners - till a Day
The Owner passed - identified -
And carried Me away -
And now We roam in Sovreign Woods -
And now We hunt the Doe -
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply -
And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow -
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it's pleasure through -
And when at Night - Our good Day done -
I guard My Master's Head -
'Tis better than the Elder Duck's
Deep Pillow - to have shared -
To foe of His - I'm deadly foe -
None stir the second time -
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye -
Or an emphatic Thumb -
Though I than He - may longer live
He longer must - than I -
For I have but the power to kill,
Without - the power to die -
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BOOKS: “A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass” by Amy Lowell
A Dome Of Many Colored Glass by Amy LowellMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Project Gutenberg Page
This was Lowell’s first published collection (1912,) and my 5-stars notwithstanding, it is not everyone’s cup of tea. I think I understand why this is. If you read some of Lowell’s more popular and highly anthologized poems, you might find that this collection is unlike them in several ways. Many of those popular poems are highly imagist, emulate East Asian sparseness, and are free verse. These poems are by and large metered and rhymed verse and I would not be the first to say that they often feel conventional and pedestrian. As I was reading the final section, “Verses for Children,” I figured out what other key feature of Lowell’s poetry was largely missing from the lyric poetry and sonnets that preceded these Children’s poems — playfulness. [Fortunately, it’s on display in the kid’s poems.]
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With all that said, there are some spectacularly evocative images presented within these poems. I particularly enjoyed poems like: “New York at Night” and “A Japanese Wood-Carving.” As I don’t have the aversion to metered verse that many poetry readers seem to have today, I wasn’t as dismayed by the collection as some readers seem to be. Though I will admit that the collection doesn’t just play it safe with form, it also infects the tone and content of the poems.
Still, I found the collection readable and pleasant reading. (But maybe this is because I like a good scavenger hunt for golden nuggets of beautiful verse.)
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